[m, p] our blood, our grace
#1
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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.




(536)



Eris is by Requiem!

The dark-furred Auxiliary had been spending most of her waking hours along the territory of the winding Pictou river, attending to the building of the weir at the end of the tributary she'd dubbed Pesce Creek, using the word for fish from Sirius's language. She did not need to do much instructing, for Khirot was the one who'd informed her of the weir technology in the first place, and so she was simply here to watch the magic unfold, in truth. She'd brought a small bag of things, taking with her the cloth wrapper she usually took her miscellaneous spiritual goods within. It was not good to dam a river and change its flow without offering something in return, she thought.

This was what the lamb was for -- the little white thing had been dropped by one of the ewes the previous night, and the lamb was beautifully white. Eris had allowed it to remain with its mother until just an hour or two ago, when she'd snatched it away and carried it, bleating and complaining meekly, out to the river. A chunk of amethyst and the bit of polished amber, perfectly orange and glowing like fire in the direct sunlight, sat on the cloth, and on her finger, she wore the brilliant black fire opal ring, gift of the Boss. The bone dagger, the thing she was relegated to using now that the obsidian dagger was properly amongst its things in the Storage facilities, sat beside it.

Eris sprinkled bits and chunks of cannabis and indian tobacco within her gourd-pipe, her chartreuse eyes occasionally flicking to the river to check the slaves' progress. She had no need of her heavy substances on this day. With the power of her stones arranged around and on her, the bone dagger and the lingering essence it carried within it, as well as the life force of the rabbit and the fire, Eris had no need of her truly mind-bending substances. The hybrid lit the pyre carefully with a match, thankful the day's wind was low. Even so, she cupped the same match with a hand as she brought the gourd-pipe to her lips, inhaling. The smoke burned in her lungs and she exhaled, repeating several times until the bowl was exhausted.

Long moments later, the lamb was eviscerated, the ribs separated and the small liver drawn from the animal's corpse. Its white fur was stained red, and it lay limp and lifeless beside the fire. The shadow-furred Auxiliary held the organ in her hand a moment, half-lidded chartreuse eyes gazing down with odd fondness at the still-warm thing. The fondness evaporated from her face, draining away quickly to be replaced by concentration and a strange look -- almost akin to reverence, Eris stared hard at the smoke that curled up from her fire, and stuck her hand over it, allowing the liver to slide down into the flames. It landed with a hiss and splat, and immediately began curling, burning. The smoke of cooking meat filled the air, and the hybrid watched the pale gray ribbons dance and weave in and out of one another.

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#2
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515 → I stole Molca ;O; Mild PP, as well. Lemme know if you want anything changed!

Despite his near-inability to speak English, Khirot had explained as best he could at her request to know more about the weir that was being built under her mother's instruction. According to him, they could be used to a few different ends; slowing the overall flow, making the waters accessible by boats, and preventing flooding were amongst the most common of them. Though he'd warned her that they could also be quite dangerous to swimmers because of the crest, Artemisia remained indifferent toward him. He was helpful, but was not her family, not the way Salsola thought of family.


For nearly three hours now she'd been practicing her ruins and letters with absolute diligence. The thick beams of her favorite abandoned ruin made her feel safe, and there was only a single entrance which made it easy to keep an eye on anyone who came and went. Only when her mother's slave, Molcaxitl—who she tended to thing of fondly, as opposed to the rest of the slaves—framed herself in the entryway and reminded her that she'd wanted to see the weir today, did she throw a large bowl of water over the fire pit and wordlessly hand her pamphlets off to the older woman with a curt nod. She envied the woman's bright eyes, but would never mention such a thing. Though she believed her own eyes weren't as nice, she had something going on behind them. More often than not she wondered how intelligent her mother's slave was. She was terrible when it came to Arte and her sisters, easily convinced of lies when Eris' name was mentioned, and seemed dim overall.


Only moments ago the ruin had been belching heavy black smoke from the slow-burning fire she'd made to keep herself warm; now the air and sky were clear, but chilled by winter's firm grip. It would remain cold for a long time to come, she thought. At the urging of Moca, she headed in the direction of Pesce Creek after reminding the older woman to remain a distance behind her. Close enough to be helpful should danger fall upon them, but far enough away that she felt liberated and free. She was, after all, the largest and held the most potential; with that came with certain expectations. She didn't need the dimwit's nannying.


She arrived in time to witness the death of the pristine white lamb, but hung back to watch the end of the ritual. No pity flourished in her chest for the little beast. It didn't know what it was to live, having been snatched up by her mother so quickly. Maybe if it'd been older she would have felt an inkling of depression as the liver fell into the embers, but she'd never know. Only when it was complete and she was nearly sure that her presence wouldn't be a bother did she step forward to run a finger along the muscle along her mother's neck and shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting manner, but also to let her know her daughter was there.

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#3
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(371) Molcaaaa ! Big Grin



Eris is by me!

The sable-hued woman's concentration was on the smoke and fire. Little else mattered; she ceased to send glances toward the river and the slaves after only a brief time passed, and they might have been carefree, romping in the water for all she knew or cared. She watched the smoke rise upward, pale wisps that disappeared quickly into the overcast skies. Eris needed the smoke closest to the fire, however, and it was here she concentrated her focus, willing her eyes to truly see.

And she did -- fish, leaping to and fro in frenzied panic, trapped in the creek. And something else -- something she hadn't yet considered. There was another boat, entirely dissimilar to the flat-bottomed, wide thing between the mainland and the Borgata Mayate isle, but a boat nonetheless! She recognized it and her jaws parted slightly, a happy and unbecomingly dim grin upon her face. Her chartreuse eyes followed the boat until it disappeared, and she realized her eyes had drifted away to the smoke, and were now focused on the slaves once more. Khirot had ceased working and looked up at her with a strange expression on his face.

It was then she felt the touch, and turned her head quickly to crane at her companion, though not with any sort of fear or panic. There were few among the Salsolian canines who dared touch her without permission, and she had no doubt it would be one of her daughters (the younger, to be sure -- Salvia would not have greeted her in such a manner). This was confirmed upon seeing Artemisia, and the hybrid's muzzle split into a pleased smile. She saw Molcaxitl standing several yards behind, but paid the coyote slave little mind.

Artemisia, she said, her voice throaty from the smoke she'd inhaled earlier. The loveliest visions have come to me -- success for my weir, she said, indicating the construction with a flourish of her hand. She was pleased to see Khirot had returned to work without so much as a look on her part, and grinned down at him, waist-deep in water. The tide would remain out for some hours, still, and they could still accomplish much today.

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#4
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405 → Her speech probably shouldn't be this well formed, but I don't careeee.

As far as the communal slaves were concerned (or really, any of the slaves) Molca was far from her favorite due to her stupidity; no, she greatly preferred the company of the red-eyed wolf known as Darijus. She valued him due to his inability to speak however, not for anything he was particularly useful at. It made her sudden and long lapses of silence seem normal. At some point she'd decided he must wish the ability to speak. If suddenly told she would no longer be able to, the oil-colored child suspected she might suddenly have a lot to say. Shooing away Molcta with an air of disdain, she hoped the stupid woman wouldn't misplace her alphabet practice or destroy it.

She didn't know why her mother could see things where she could not, but it neither worried her nor made her envious. Some people simply had skills, and her mother seemed to be a very talented individual. With an amused light to her eyes, Arte noted that despite the insinuation she was helping build the weir, Salsola's second maintained a safe difference from the manual labor. Did that mean she thought it was below her, or worse, truly was? For all the enjoyment learning the alphabet brought her it was not something that would bring her glory all by itself. No, she would have to lend her musculature to physical tasks. When her dark-painted mother's head snapped up in her direction, Arte's head dipped downward to look toward the smoke as it was announced the weir would be successful. She saw nothing as expected, but a wan half-smile managed to appear. Withdrawing her hand away from the Auxiliary's person and let it rest at her side for the time being. "I'm happy for you." Arte wanted nothing but success for the woman who'd given her life and almost never frowned at her sudden appearances.

Seeing Khirot return to his work under the intent gaze of both mother and child, the youngster huffed slightly. "Did your visions tell you when it would be complete?" Or if she was supposed to help its completion? Despite feeling no concrete emotions toward the idea of religion, she respected her mother's gift and had decided at some point that there were things even Salsolan's were incapable of controlling. These things included love, where your children roamed after being born, and, as was the case presently, things she couldn't explain.

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#5
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(367)



Eris is by Libri!

The dark woman knew some daughters were meant to peer into the fire, others were meant to use the power of the liver, and still others might cast with bones and stones to see their visions. Others still were entirely blind to the spirit-world, but Eris had already learned those with spiritual dullness were not altogether useless: Salvia was one such canine, incapable of delving into the ethereal even with the alembic of psychedelic substances. Yet Salvia was not without value; the dark-haired woman knew this well enough.

In any case, it was not yet proven which of her daughters might listen with a different ear or see the deeper shadows and brighter lights of the world, those otherworld things not all were so lucky to see. Artemisia might yet find herself undergoing an awakening; Eris's own gifts had not been apparent when she was her daughter's age. There was no derision in the ashen-furred youth, however, and Eris would not have responded in kind even if there had been. She was a tolerant mother, preferring to show indifference to whatever fits her children threw.

No, of course not, she said, her own voice entirely lacking in derision. I am never granted such concrete knowledge. Even what I have just seen may not come -- fate is immovable, but canines make their own decisions, the hybrid said, her chartreuse eyes flickering toward Khirot and Darijus. If, for example, one of them chose to revolt by kicking over her weir, it would be a setback to delay the eventual success she so desired. The dark woman did not think such a thing was likely, however. Darijus had learned his lesson and Khirot had been nothing less than complacent within Salsola for his long months of servitude.

Perhaps two more weeks, if the work goes smoothly, she said. This was not a thing of the visions, but my own speculation, she said, having no idea how accurate her prediction was. She was not exceptionally gifted where it came to higher intellectual pursuits, and as she was not extremely well-versed in weir's architecture, the dark-furred coyote could not say with any absolute certainty.

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#6
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382 →

It didn't seem likely that the youth would ever consider her mother's gifts with contempt or ridicule, however far-off they seemed to her at times. She wasn't one to wonder why certain people had gifts and others did not; Arte was not without her own abilities however, as noted by the gentle knotting of her muscled shoulders. Since coming into this two-legged formed, she'd been hesitant to leave it, however odd others might have thought of her for it. Fingers, toes, and the ability to literally grasp things were a formidable draw, especially for someone showing such promise in the realm of physicality.

Therefore, she remained quite awestruck at what Eris' skills did and did not allow; the visions didn't give whole truths, merely a glimpse. It seemed fair to her. Surely there must be a precarious balance between power and ability, restraining one from being the all-seeing.

Eris confirmed such thoughts with a note pertaining to the ever-changing minds of their kind, and how ones will could change the future. "Of course," She parroted slowly in rich tones, as if she'd known all along, like it was as obvious as her shadowy mother made it out to be. It was her own hope that the weir's progress moved along at an acceptable pace, and if allowed, that she might ensure it with her own two hands. Leaning forward slightly to get a better look at the serpentine flames that licked both wood and meat alike, Artemisia's build belied the elegance with which she moved, as always. Nothing jumped out at her, neither a vision or crackling embers. Licking her charcoal lips in thought for a moment, Arte finally leaned away and took a step away before pivoting to view the slaves and their progress.

One by one, the girl laced her fingers together as she contemplated how best to frame her next question, all the while keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. Even if she wasn't meant to be a prized orchid for being a slender beauty, her never wavering gaze might just be the key. Nothing went unnoticed or untouched under her keen orange-yellow gaze. Finally, she cleared her throat. "May I help?" She murmured, still in the husky tones, gesticulating toward her mother's prized pearl of a dam.

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#7
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(370) I forgot to say Arte is so purdy. @_@ Kiri make her gorgimous.



Eris is by Nat!

The coal-furred woman's daughters were princesses, children of the pack's alphas, but there was no special place reserved for them. Eris had thought perhaps there should be, and had considered bringing the idea to Sirius, but he had no sons and daughters of his own -- would he understand her plight as a mother? Surely, offspring brought forth from the loins of the leadership were worth more than common whelps. It was too late for her children, however, and the dark-furred woman did not think more would come -- since Basilaris had surprised her, she had been far more careful with Larkspur.

Her daughter spoke and Eris's ear flicked. The woman's yellow-green eyes were on the movement of the dark-toned woman, her grace despite the already thick lines of her body. She resembled Larkspur, to be sure, but Eris's own thickness might have played a part in this, as well. There was only approval lurking in her eyes, even as her daughter turned and moved to look at the weir, seeming almost anxious in the next moment. Though nothing of Artemisia's countenance led Eris to think this, her finger-motions and throat-clearing were larger signs to Eris, who had known Arte all her short (thus far, anyway) life.

The hybrid's gaze did not widen in surprise, but she looked to the river. The creek flowed lazily, its waters sharper and clearer than the main Pictou River, which was muddy and full of silt further downstream. The water gleamed beneath the sun, rutilant light dancing over the current. It seemed picturesque enough, but the prettiness of the water detracted nothing from its possible danger. Yes. I will help, as well, but, dearest -- we must be careful of the tide. The rising waters are dangerous, and when they come, we all leave the river, she said, unwilling to have her daughter step into the river without doing the same herself. Working beside slaves was no pleasant thought, but Eris wanted her weir done, and they hadn't the slaves to do it in a timely enough manner, and her daughter was braving the water and work -- why shouldn't she, as well?

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#8
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372 → I think so too! :'D I'm assuming here that the finished weir will look something like this; feel free to correct me if I'm wrong!

Thus far she seemed to have taken to Salsola as a bird was expected to take the sky; originally a hollowed out shell, she was now full to the brim of the secretive pack's ideals, and would proceed to eat, breathe, and drink the propaganda. In her eyes, there was no alternative. If her siblings could succeed, then so could she. It was as simple as that. Her build gave her a specific advantage over them and she intended to to use as such. So long as her mother stood to watch, Artemisia would be the antipode of failure. Surely the dark-haired woman wouldn't leave her behind so long as she proved capable and willing to do what was necessary.

Eris spoke out to warn her of the rising tide, saying that they must abandon their efforts once it became dangerous, and the dark child flicked her tail in acknowledgement, but remained unconvinced that it wasn't a sort of jibe at her. If the adult slaves—dumb and useless as they tended to be—could do it, then she saw no reason why she couldn't do just as well, if not better. Knowing that her mother obviously cared for actual well-being made her smile though. Even if she somehow became a cripple, she held hope that her mother would love her anyway. Disregarding the warning about the tide for the moment, Arte' met the water with quick, strong steps. It was no enemy of hers, and she found little resistance as she plunged waist deep into the river. Dragging her feet along the bottom as she waded deeper, the girl made note of rocks capable of tripping someone and vocalized their location to Eris in her typical husky tones. As protective as her mother was of her, she was just as protective in return.

It would take someone with nimble fingers and knowledge of vines and other rope-like things to do the lattice-work across the posts that slaves had been sinking deep into the rocks bottom of the river, but she didn't need to worry about that right now. There was plenty to be done, including making room for more of the posts and how to get them in the right places.

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#9
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(303)
Probably more like this on the stone end, but that wouldn't be TOO far off the other end, except it'd be netting rather than sticks, and just two sticks on either end, meant to sit there and trap the fish, then picked up slaves on either end and walked a bit downriver to trap lots of fish directly between the weir and the net! Page here! <3



Eris is by Poppz!

The water was cold against her feet, and the dark woman stepped forward into it, watching her footing where her daughter indicated there were particularly large rocks. The bottom of the river was not, as she'd expected, muddy, but sandy and silty -- evidence of the tide and the river both interacting to drag rich soil down from the mountains and up from the bay. It was good of Salsola to build their garden alongside the river -- though it was not quite so protected as their ruins, the coal-furred Auxiliary thought it was a necessary concession -- the thin and rocky soil of Drifter Bay would make for a poor garden, while the nutrient-rich delta of the Pictou fostered large plants and larger yields.

Gjalda looked up in surprise at his masters, but Khirot continued working with mechanical precision, never lifting his eyes from his work. The hybrid regarded the renamed slave with a sharp chartreuse eye and a faint smile, though it disappeared quickly enough. The slave was quick to resume his work thereafter, scurrying to move a stone into place. The water crept further up the dark woman's body as she inched forward, and she kicked a small stone loose. Bending to snatch it, the hybrid was almost completely submerged in the cold water. She had never been averse to swimming and water, and regained her feet a moment later, drawing the stone from the riverbed with her. She placed it close along the weir.

Small stones along the base, to keep it strong and sturdy, she advised, shaking some of the water from herself. She'd soon be completely wet again anyway, but it made no matter. Even in the cold of winter, the water was refreshing, biting chills into her legs and up and down her arms.

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#10
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363 → Sorry for the atrocious wait m'dear; I think I've written this four times now.

Listening in quiet comprehension as to go about helping with the weir's progress, she barely acknowledged hearing the woman from whom she seemed to have drawn none of her appearance. With some luck she might take after her older Sylvia and have curves, but even that was unlikely, and made the child bitter. She'd considered asking one of the slaves if she was a pretty child, but felt they would lie to her, and rightfully so. In her frustration it wouldn't be entirely unlikely for her to lash out at an underling, someone who wouldn't fight back or complain. The occasional swoosh of water was the only thing around to alert her as to where her mother was, but it was enough, and when it stopped Arte turned slowly to watch her bend to retrieve a stone from the bottom of the river.

Water was a foreign element to her, but she understood from Molca's preachings as a puppy that she wouldn't be able to breathe while submerged, and that the tides were—as Eris had been kind enough to remind her—dangerous. So she took to reaching below the surface for a rock as one from the chelonian family might; slowly but surely. Only when she couldn't reach any further without dipping underneath did fear momentarily paralyze her. Glancing about, as if to make sure no one would attack her while she was vulnerable under the water, she finally sank into its depths and dislodge a smallish rock by her foot. Gripping it with both hands, she felt a pang of pride. Placing it quickly next to the one Eris had just lined up next to the others, the child couldn't help but let the corners of her mouth move into a wary smile.

Only after repeating the process a few times and she'd begun to get her bearings in the river did she broach the subject of growing up, a process she could neither ignore or fully begin to understand the ramifications of. "If I desired a job that took me from away from Salsola, would it upset you?" Her wary smile had disintegrated to a thin line, obviously seeking approval.

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#11
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(321) I loves you. ♥



Eris is by me!

The work was not exceptionally difficult at this point. Most of the largest stones, the foundation of the weir, were already in place, moved by the slaves to their resting place. This structure would last as long as their pack -- forever, long centuries. Khirot had spoken of weirs old even to human civilization, something which intrigued the sable hybrid greatly. The ruins were an old structure, and if Salsola could build things with such longevity, all the better.

Eris continued her work, glancing to Artemisia or the slaves now and again to gauge their progress. All was coming together as planned, and a soaring hope entered Eris. She had done this herself -- no, it hadn't been her idea nor even primarily her labor which had driven this concept into actualization, but it was her motivation. She was the driving factor behind this weir, and she had contributed to Salsola in a very concrete way, one which could not be disputed.

The hybrid touched the edge of the weir with her fingers, bobbing down low in the water. She ran her hands over the smooth stones, sticking her digits into the chinks in the wall, one after the other. She moved slowly down the entirety of the weir as she did this, checking to find any stones which might luxate with an especially strong tide. As she drew back toward Artemisia, her daughter spoke, and the hybrid turned toward her, spreading her arms out in the water.

No, the woman said, honestly. I would worry for you, as your mother, but as the Auxiliary, I cannot let worry interfere with duty. What do you consider? the woman said, cocking her head to the side. She had taken the Reclutador's role, expressly because it afforded her the excuse of wandering the world. The Pescador's role kept her closer to home, of course, but it was a good balance, she thought.

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#12
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413 → Aweee, Erismom is the bestest.

Eris was the driving force behind it, yes. And that was what urged the child on, to continue dislodging stones from the bottom of the river and to the base of the weir. If she hadn't hankered so earnestly for approval, maybe the offer to help wouldn't have even occurred to her, but it had, and she was. It wasn't often that her mind wandered to what might be, unless of course it had to do with the harm of those she most cared about, and it felt bizarre. Such a foreign concept it was, 'what if'.


Perhaps—no, of course—the word 'upset' had been incorrectly used in this situation. Her mother wouldn't be troubled by the progress of her children but, as she had so eloquently phrased it, worry for them instead. It was only right, or so the middle-child thought. Nodding her quiet agreement to this clarification, Artemisia made a mental note to remember it. A mother would worry, a leader would be proud. Was that the life of her mother, constantly separating her personal life from her work? The dust colored child would make an effort to do the same if the decision ever arose. Somehow... Somehow she doubted it would come down to that. She would always put Salsola and The Family ahead of herself, but not only because she thought it was right, but because it was necessary. Duty, honor, necessary, morals. She would have much to think about later, thanks to the dark woman working next to her.


She was not of the typical build for those who gathered intelligence (slight, small, easily hidden) and she feared that because of this her mother might laugh at her ambition, but she was ever-watchful, keen, and strong; even pyknic if one were to go so far, despite her hopes that the gods would at least give her hips. The Auxilary possessed a mother's love though, so Arte hefted her shoulders and wedged a stone into place with her foot. Leaving no room for doubt, Arte spoke with a boldness previously unknown to her. "I will be Salsola's Sapienza," She broke off, looking for laughter or cruelty, but mentally objected and continued. "In a few weeks I'll go to Ichika no Ho-en and gather information." Her ambivalence would help here, as opposed to hatred for the strangers. They had proved themselves a danger to The Family, but she was a child still. No one would hurt her. They couldn't.

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#13
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(--)



Eris is by James!

The river's waters were cold, but not so frigid as those they might have found in winter. Eris was at home in the water, possessing a natural capability there, and she hovered in the river near Artemisia, even as the woman continued to work. Eris's feet prodded the bottom of the river, seeking for smaller stones and nudging them toward the weir's bottom, where they'd be put into a more proper place. As her daughter seemed to ready herself, though, the dark woman stopped and straightened in the water, standing on a rise so her waist was nearly out of the water.

The coal-furred woman considered the orange-eyed youth's statements with a grave look over her face. Ichika was a dangerous place for Salsolians to be, and would continue to be so for some months, Eris suspected. Still, she could not deny her daughter's will -- when Artemisia passed from Bambino to an adult rank, she was her own woman and Eris could not order her to do anything. So, she nodded. You must disguise your scent, and you must be careful. They will not be kindly to us, the woman said. Who knew what the upcoming weeks would bring? The woman was not entirely comfortable with the idea, but the way her daughter had spoken -- she dared not shatter Artemisia's dreams with her cautions and motherly worries.

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#14
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### → I thiiiiiink this can be archived?

The power of foresight would have provided the anxious mother with a soothing balm for her worries; the white woman she was to stumble upon in Ichika no Ho-en would prove to be no threat. Rather, the hulking girl would quickly be thrust into a situation where, in order to get what she wanted, she would be forced to play a role unknown to her. Chatty, light, open. Reaching down to shift a larger stone into place, her fingers slipped over the surface and the object disappeared into the water. Disgruntled, Arte stuck her face into the water to find it, and upon doing so, kicked it into place. Satisfied, she resurfaced, the fur on her face wet but not entirely unbecoming. Rather, it made her smile a bit, seeing her reflection. Comedy wasn't entirely lost on her.


Offering an uncharacteristic smile, the child (nearly an adult, now) straightened her posture and squared her shoulders. After a long moment of staring at her mother in profile, she ceded to the whims of a child. Don't worry, Then, as if there were multiples of her, the facade was gone. Her smile thinned and her eyes sharpened. I'll make you proud of me. Eris had seen the success of her weir, and for a moment the Auxiliary's child wondered whether her powers allowed her to see where she would end up.

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