It was a bright and beautiful Leafchange afternoon, the air still holding a comforting warmth as the sun shone down unclouded. The air was still, a lazy late-Longheat glow spread across the land as crickets and flinthoppers sang a few last songs and a hawk soared high overhead, seeking a meal amidst the long grasses and crops ready for reaping. Change was in the air, and Deepfrost with its deadly Long Night was right around the corner, but for the moment the world held a peaceful breath, clinging to the memory of summer.
Whether that breath would be released in a sigh or a scream was yet to be decided.
Zariah’s absence had made him bolder, but Jigano still took care when he walked the Hollowed Grounds on two legs. His disguise remained in place; his skin and hair darkened with walnut husk dye, age lines painstakingly worked into his skin with the artifice he had learned as a bard, his clothing rough and drab compared to his usual flowing, finely-woven and lightly-colored garments. A broad-brimmed, battered grey hat sat atop his head, and an eyepatch covered his right eye as he slouched along with the aid of a walking stick across the fields. Nearby, a small gryphlet with fur and feathers of grey and rust, gamboled in the Leafchange grasses chasing late-season bugs and hunting mice amid the grain.
Emmett’s loss had been… difficult. Jigano sighed as he walked, his steps slow as he made his way towards the fields where he and the farmer had met before. The pilgrimage was a personal one, and in his other hand he carried a paper lantern with sheaves of wheat and a sickle painted upon it. The farm would probably have to be abandoned, but it seemed such a waste of all the work the brave young man had put into it after such a hard year, and especially so near to harvest time. Still, the bard knew nothing of farming or harvesting except what Rory was teaching him, and he wracked his brain for ways to help as he trudged along, both reluctance to reach his destination and the distraction of his thoughts slowing his steps.
Granger
Whether that breath would be released in a sigh or a scream was yet to be decided.
Zariah’s absence had made him bolder, but Jigano still took care when he walked the Hollowed Grounds on two legs. His disguise remained in place; his skin and hair darkened with walnut husk dye, age lines painstakingly worked into his skin with the artifice he had learned as a bard, his clothing rough and drab compared to his usual flowing, finely-woven and lightly-colored garments. A broad-brimmed, battered grey hat sat atop his head, and an eyepatch covered his right eye as he slouched along with the aid of a walking stick across the fields. Nearby, a small gryphlet with fur and feathers of grey and rust, gamboled in the Leafchange grasses chasing late-season bugs and hunting mice amid the grain.
Emmett’s loss had been… difficult. Jigano sighed as he walked, his steps slow as he made his way towards the fields where he and the farmer had met before. The pilgrimage was a personal one, and in his other hand he carried a paper lantern with sheaves of wheat and a sickle painted upon it. The farm would probably have to be abandoned, but it seemed such a waste of all the work the brave young man had put into it after such a hard year, and especially so near to harvest time. Still, the bard knew nothing of farming or harvesting except what Rory was teaching him, and he wracked his brain for ways to help as he trudged along, both reluctance to reach his destination and the distraction of his thoughts slowing his steps.
