scarecrow and fungus
#1
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The past days had made it evident that many, if not all surviving residents of Bleeding Souls had squeezed through the mountains and scattered out into the western half of what was once called Nova Scotia. It was strange to pass by trances of so many living scents that she associated with Bleeding Souls alone, in an entirely different landscape and context. No one wore the stamp and seal of a pack, the soot-tainted traces of what was, muddled and scattered. It created a wary chaos, Poe imagined, for all of those that had a name for home and had wrapped it in a illusion of security.


She could be happy for that, at least--she had little to lose, Her family and friends were few and far between, none of which she relied on for predictable comfort, and very capable by their own means. Ahren was too savvy to miss a beat, Endy too steady to slip, and Naniko had a network too tight to allow a scratch. Even Misery, haggard and half-lame, had proven that she could survive deadly fires. And of course, Hollow was either a figment of her imagination or a ghost stalking her from the Beyond, where he was likely very safe from something as little and petty as a wildfire.


Which was all to leave her in the same state that she had been a week before while standing in an entirely different landscape. And even in all of her travels, she had never come across something quite like this. Row upon row of the fall, yellow flowers, just as many stooped over in a winter's defeat as those looking brightly to the blue sky, aching for the height that would taken on quicker than one would imagine. They were an abstract glimpse of herself years ago before... Well, a lot of things. No matter, it was enough to tug at the corners of her lips and send her deep into the sunflower field, hands open to brush against the stiff fuzzed stalks that just as often as not, stretched up and beyond her measly five feet.
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