[PQ] [SE] don't die or whatever, part one

my ears can hear my mouth can speak my spirit talks my soul believes

Chaele chants a prayer for every marker she hangs, tying the twine to the base of the branch so that the light twigs might be better noticed among the dark trunks and ivy. They will have to be replaced frequently, she assesses as she peers at a bird harvesting nesting materials nearby. But that can be a task left to herself and Zamara as time wears on. After setting out the last of the literal stick-figures along the riverbend, their trek back to the station is much faster.

The bricklaying goes quickly in the cleared space, though Maeve will find one particularly stubborn root that refuses to accommodate the foundation. It should not hinder the setting of the floorboards, even if there is one plank that might be a little loose. When the shaman returns, she pauses in examination of the construction; it had not occurred to her to have anything but a dirt floor, but Darkeye’s assessments will surely combine well with Maeve’s materials to boost the hut’s longevity.

Leaving Zamara to the rest of the markers, Chaele moves toward the building materials to help Darkeye with the walls. While bricks are ideal for weatherproofing, wood is plentiful in this place and already cut into usable lumber. So she begins to set the planks together on the ground, along one edge of the foundation in an estimation of a wall. “Do you know the best way to do this?” She asks, glancing toward the trees in search of any sign of Remi.

With the vines set aside but the demigod’s collection pouch filling nicely otherwise, the path Remi takes is largely productive. His keen eyes even catch the glint of an iridescent wing in the underbrush. The dead modilu fly’s insides are slowly being harvested by a line of ants, but its fine exoskeleton is relatively well preserved for now. A bird caws high above, protesting his approach to a possible meal.

Base code by Odd • Art by Krakenkatz