It's Lord of the Flies in my mind tonight
So this is Torchline.
A bit too sunny for her tastes, but then you can’t win ‘em all, can you? She imagines the rest of the Grounders will be quite happy with this thriving, warm, bright little corner of Caido. It’s so much more hospitable to the average person and it’s so fucking annoying. People. Everywhere. And they smell, in a way that is very different from old furs and smoke.
News had reached the Wraith that Remi and Ronin were alive and well and while she could honestly kind of care less about the ‘well’ part of that saying, she’d also heard that they had themselves a wagon. Cleverly named. And Remi was selling his wares, or trading, rather. As the day is cooling off and the sun is sinking behind a brilliantly colored horizon, a cloaked woman approaches the wagon and stops a few feet away, gazing at it with the slightest of frowns.
It was too easy to find. The poor guys must be inundated with Grounders. She almost turns and walks away. Almost. Instead, she takes a seat with her back to the sun on a nearby washed up thing (log? Timber? Who knows, it’s dark and half-covered with sand) and waits for someone to poke their head out or around or whatever.
A bit too sunny for her tastes, but then you can’t win ‘em all, can you? She imagines the rest of the Grounders will be quite happy with this thriving, warm, bright little corner of Caido. It’s so much more hospitable to the average person and it’s so fucking annoying. People. Everywhere. And they smell, in a way that is very different from old furs and smoke.
News had reached the Wraith that Remi and Ronin were alive and well and while she could honestly kind of care less about the ‘well’ part of that saying, she’d also heard that they had themselves a wagon. Cleverly named. And Remi was selling his wares, or trading, rather. As the day is cooling off and the sun is sinking behind a brilliantly colored horizon, a cloaked woman approaches the wagon and stops a few feet away, gazing at it with the slightest of frowns.
It was too easy to find. The poor guys must be inundated with Grounders. She almost turns and walks away. Almost. Instead, she takes a seat with her back to the sun on a nearby washed up thing (log? Timber? Who knows, it’s dark and half-covered with sand) and waits for someone to poke their head out or around or whatever.
