Above deck, the spirits of the Oerwoud stir with lazy delight, drawn by the whistle and the scent of citrus still clinging to the humid air. A breeze winds through the open space like a sigh, ruffling leaves and stirring the sticky warmth into something briefly cooler. From Flora’s kitchenette, a handful of bowls and pitchers clatter softly to life, lifted by invisible hands as they whisk through the air with cheerful purpose, rattling up the stairs one by one.
On the deck, fruit begins to roll across the planks—lemons, limes, grapefruits, oranges—nestling themselves in neat piles as if arranging for a banquet. With a soft rustle, the unseen spirits begin their work, squeezing juice with exaggerated squelches and the occasional satisfying pop, laughter seeming to echo faintly in the leaves above as liquid sunshine begins to fill the pitchers.
On the deck, fruit begins to roll across the planks—lemons, limes, grapefruits, oranges—nestling themselves in neat piles as if arranging for a banquet. With a soft rustle, the unseen spirits begin their work, squeezing juice with exaggerated squelches and the occasional satisfying pop, laughter seeming to echo faintly in the leaves above as liquid sunshine begins to fill the pitchers.
RANDOM EVENT
