[P] Heaven and hell were words to me
P. Owen | Amherst | late morning
[Image: wolfmoon.gif] Ramshackle Word of the Day - 11 May 22 adjective | in a very bad condition and needing to be repaired

[Image: black.png]   Grand Quest - Prompt #5   [383/1000] Be an advocate for an insect or arachnid by explaining their value to someone who wants to kill it.

Location: Amherst || NPCs: Reblin (Percy's cNPC) || Form: Optime

She no longer left the Realm with only her own shadow for company; some days, when sleep had filled her mind with terrors and she awoke with fear in her heart, she didn't even leave the settlement of Fort Louisbourg alone. Times had changed. She had changed. Youth, with its unquestioning trust and its careless innocence, had been [M]chased out of her and abandoned entirely with the war. Sólveig understood now the necessity for caution that her father had so often tried to instill in her. She understood now that danger could lurk anywhere, everywhere, even in the purported safety of one's own home.

Sólveig had changed, yes, but not in a way that made her cynical, nor even especially shrewd. Merely careful; attentive; perhaps even a little circumspect.

"Thanks again for joining me out here, Mister Reblin," she said to the piebald wolfdog alongside her, tipping her head to look up at him warmly. "It's nice having someone to talk to besides the bees and the birds." Sóli giggled softly then. "They're too busy this time of year to listen to me, anyway!"

Reblin smiled crookedly at her and huffed a mild laugh of his own.

"Not that they could talk back anyway," he replied and snapped his maw shut with the look she gave him.

"Sure they can!" she argued with amiable passion. "Just in their own way."

"Okay. Sure." Reblin allowed his ears to flatten apologetically but his expression suggested dubiety. "But would ya quit with that 'Mister' stuff already? It's just... weird."

"Oh, I'm sorry! I keep forgetting!" she gasped, holding a hand to her mouth.

Reblin dismissed her apology with a wave of a hand. "Anyway, pretty sure I owe you more than a pleasant spring stroll. Y'know, for..." He gestured to his face by drawing a wide circle in the air around his disfigured face. "Yeah, so, ask away! Anything you need."

Sólveig meant to argue that that wasn't really how any of what she did worked, and besides that it had been Councillor Bellad who had played the biggest role in Reblin's treatment, but she was cut short. They were definitely not alone out here in this little ramshackle pocket of Amherst...

[WC -- 383]

He could have sworn that he had climbed every tree searching for Mosie, eagerly and clumsily hoisting himself as high as he could before disappointment at a lack of desired results lead to him ungracefully slip and scramble his way back down. On one such trek, he foisted himself up onto branches and peered through the dappled canopies, only to spy grey, monolithic shapes out in the distance that doubtlessly reached higher than any oak on Simo’s farm. Perhaps there –

It had taken a few hours, dawn pink bleeding to blue skies and fluffy white clouds. Owen’s arms and shoulders ached, and he hissed quietly to his various aches and abrasions as he padded the swathes of indifferent asphalt and concrete. His hands cupped to amplify his voice, he hollered out to the stillness, and shook birds from their roosts.

Mosie! It felt weird to repeat her name so many times until it no longer felt like a word.

An age had passed since he and Landon had seen her last – but he knew better than to expect the worse of his scrappy sister. She was clever, and resourceful, and far smarter than he was – it was no doubt to him that she was out there, somewhere, enjoying the sun. That did not mean he did not worry. Sucking in another lungful of air, he echoed the battle cry of his sister’s name, only to hear it clap off the sharp angles of the crumbling ruin of Amherst. He pursed his lips at the silence that followed.

OOC: licks this B)
don't you worry about what change brings
'cause you can't stop it

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