[SE] Catch the Sun Before It Sparks Afire

The Greatwood and the Oasis were shady havens from the punishing sun as summer stretched long fingers over the land and sucked the moisture from the weary soil of the Hollowed Grounds. If he had been as wise as some of his friends seemed to think he was the bard would have been there, or else enjoying the cool underground comfort of his guild hall beneath the Atheneum. Instead he was looking critically over the dry meadows and fields surrounding Rory’s farm, feathered head cocked as he perched upon a fencepost. Sunlight gleamed over white feathers as the burning orb in the sky pounded unforgiving heat down onto the land, searing grasses a pale yellow to create a living mirror of itself on the earth below.

It was a heat he was unused to, coming from a northern land, and his beak parted as he panted and fluffed out his feathers for more insulation. But the danger from the flinthoppers had been made very clear to him: one of Longheat’s smallest threats, but all the more serious for being harder to hunt down, and capable of destruction far beyond their size. One spark in midsummer from a chatty flinthopper rubbing its legs together could create a fire in the dry fields that would feel like the sun had fallen to earth, a fire that would burn across the grasses and crops and leave only ashes in its wake.

A still-damp basket lined with snowmoss sat at the base of the fence post, woven of grey birch branches, knotted and twisted together in a tight, beautiful pattern with white crescent moons imprinted on the wood. A pair of flinthopper legs had already been deposited in it, safely away from the dry grasses. The rest of the insect had been spat out beside the basket after Jigano had realized that it tasted, frankly, terrible, even to his normally-forgiving corvid’s palate.

It also meant that he couldn’t simply call his feathered kin for assistance, he had to coax and cajole, bribe and compel them into helping, demonstrating what he wanted and promising proper food for all of them when they were done. Even now the five crows who had answered his clarion were hopping through or soaring above the fields, helping him to hunt down the flinthoppers. The white raven cawed once and took off as one of his assistants brought an insect over to drop its legs in the basket and spit out the body before going back to the hunt. Jigano flew up, appreciating the breeze for a moment, as it brought him temporary relief from the heat, before turning his sharp blue eyes to the grasses below, gliding low and slow to spot another of the sun-sparkers before they could threaten his friend’s farm.

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

Melita’s basket, sewn and woven beneath the boughs of the Mathair, swung from her arm as she and Fangorn skipped and frolicked into one of her preferred places: the fields. They reminded her of her sister’s songs, her mother’s lullabies, the thick grass perfectly indicative of the meadows she once trilled and hummed within, blazed and emblazoned through, before the world fell apart, before she was hastened off into darkness. In the distance, she could see a gathering of birds, crows, blackened feathers catching the rays of the sun, and she held her hand up to shield her eyes as she stared at their expanse, wondering what it was like to fly, to spread one’s wings in the air and float on the wind. Fangorn hissed something, eerie, enigmatic gaze caught and distracted by a passing insect, while the girl watched, enchanted by their bewitching movements and motions, until she noticed they were doing something rather out of the ordinary. Her head tilted, her mind whirled, and so she crept, closer and closer, intending to figure out what the birds were conducting and concocting. Only when she noted another basket leaning against one of Rory’s fence posts did she take care to see ivory feathers amidst the onyx and sable, cranium twisting back and forth, trying to embody all of them in one major, maneuvering picture, a tapestry, a portrait, a canvas. They maneuvered like poetry, dropping things into the basket – very clever, like the rumor of all crows being capable of rationale thought – and when she meandered to peek into the containments, she noticed they were all insects, a familiar grasshopper-like shape with some otherworldly adornments. “Hm. I wonder why they’re taking them?” She inquired towards Fangorn, who had begun snatching a few of his own, grasping them with his fangs and tossing his head back and forth, as if they were a newfound trophy or prize. Melita withheld her grimace, but didn’t truly expect an answer. “Maybe we could help?” She shrugged, then lowered her basket near the other, very different from one another, then turned to her left, where another one of the hopping bugs managed to skitter by her. This would require some precision, which thankfully she’d been practicing and honing her skills within – reaching out towards the next, hands swift, fingers grasping, clenching, until it settled in her palm, and she made a victorious screech. M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe

Fox's ears might have heard the woman's approach, or a human's eyes might have scanned the horizon to see her growing nearer. A raven's stature was shorter and when its eyes were pointed down at the ground, the horizon went unnoticed in the hunt for the wretched insects that endangered Rory's farm. There were more of them than he had anticipated, making him glad that he had decided to come out and do something about them. Perhaps a batch of eggs had hatched nearby, unleashing this brood upon this area of the fields? Or perhaps it was simply poor luck that had drawn them here... or good luck, if he and his flock could diminish the local population enough to save Rory's crops!

The why of it all occupied Jigano's thoughts as he hopped through the grass on the hunt until he spied another flinthopper just as it jumped away from him. Pouncing with pinpoint accuracy he caught the creature in his thick beak and flapped over to his basket, crunching down on the struggling creature only then so the legs would fall into the basket and he could spit the disgustingly metallic-tasting body to the side. That was when he realized a second basket had joined his, and an eerily-familiar gourd was happily hunting down another flinthopper nearby.

The raven cawed in surprise and flapped his way back up to the fencepost lest the creature make a try for a feathered snack, as its brethren had done three seasons before. Only then did he notice Melita as she screeched her victory cry, and the white bird ruffled and resettled his feathers in confusion. He didn't recognize the woman, and she almost certainly wouldn't recognize him in this form, but he was still very shy about transforming around others, especially strangers, and he clacked his beak together in uncertainty.

Unlike foxes, however, ravens were not quite so limited in their ability to communicate, and after a moment of trying to decide what to say, he opened his beak and the harsh voice that emerged managed to form simple but understandable words. "Who?" he tried first, then "Help hunt?"

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

Had Melita not already been exposed to some of the more magical properties of Caido, and by extension, the Rift and Helovia, she might’ve been shocked, stupefied, and bewildered by the ivory raven settling along the fencepost and striving to talk with her. For an instant, she had been somewhat surprised, crushing the flinthopper in her grasp by accident, mouth rounding and open, before forming it back into a luminescent grin. The mystery and wonder of this world enticed and tempted her, beguiled her into more inquiries, more questions, more inquisitions with every pressing moment. Despite wishing she had some of their clarities and power, she also understood that her precision, prowess, and potential would simply have to be from herself; the world had never quite granted her any other enchantments but the lure of her own determination and resolve. But she also had people, friends, comrades, who extended their kindness, their benevolence, and she vowed and pledged to do the same, to give back, to return the favor, to savor and dig into the emboldened fortunes. “I’m Melita!” Then she turned back to the ferocious pumpkin, who was still tearing, rather viciously, into a few flinthoppers within reach. It wasn’t a pretty picture, and represented the vampire gourd at the core of what he really was, but he was hers, and she’d introduce him regardless of the maliciousness – because she was the same (vehemence and force, animosity and barbarity when the restlessness won her over, when the lands threatened to take apart the things she cherished the most). “This is Fangorn!” The gourd managed a grumble as it crunched down on some exoskeleton, and she masked a floating sigh. As for the aforementioned assistance, she settled into it with great relish, no pretenses, magnificent in her glorious efforts. “Sure!” Her war cries lifted again, extending back into a broader patch of tilting blades and earth, hands striving to catch more in her grasp. “What do you need them for?” The honeybee girl asked out of pure curiosity, conducting discourse with a talking raven as if this was perfectly normal, an everyday nuance, clutching one of the grasshoppers in her fingers and then glancing into the others’ basket – clearly all dead and dispatched. She made quick note, squished this one between her fingers and placing it in her container, mourning it only temporarily, since Fangorn had unleashed his unholy terror on at least ten, and she wouldn’t be able to save them all. M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe

"Jigano!" he cawed back, his corvid's voice harsh and his tongue limited to what it could shape in succession. As Melita turned to the gourd the raven fluttered his wings in concern, wondering if he dared change his shape to something more suited to defending the girl, but the predatory pumpkin seemed more interested in attacking the bouncing insects that tried - and failed - to flee from its malicious attentions. The last thing he expected was for the young lady to introduce her cackling companion with a name and a resigned sort of fondness usually reserved for destructive puppies and aloof felines that invariably knocked inkwells off desks at every opportunity.

Was it possible that she had bonded to one of the carnivorous cucurbits? It clearly wasn't tame, exactly, but it was at least being helpful... though that might have been accidental on its part. His part? Did gourds have genders? A philosophical question that would keep him up that night, but for the moment he was just glad to have Melita's enthusiastic assistance in hunting down The Enemy. And despite her human size, her human fingers were entirely clever enough to prove a valuable ally in the fight against the diminutive foe.

Jigano fluttered a little ways away as his crows brought more flinthopper legs to drop in his basket, the ground around the post becoming littered with bodies that not even the scavengers would swallow. He pinned a 'hopper beneath a taloned foot while he cocked his head at the girl and marshaled his limited words. "'H'lint legs," he tried, cawing the words out though his lack of lips. "Make h'fire." He flapped up managing to encompass the spread of the fields with his wings before he circled back to strip the legs off his prey and drop them in the basket, tossing the body aside. "H'fire bad!" He cocked his head at Melita to see if she had caught his gist, or if the drawbacks of his current form were just too much for an understandable explanation.

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

For Melita’s part, she understood a couple notes and refrains from Jigano’s beak: his name, something about legs, and fire. Her eyes went back to the insect in her hand, eyeing the flinty-like substance coating their legs, and she let out a very chipper cry. “Oh!” It was almost excited, having always containing and hoarding a penchant for fire – perhaps in her blood, a girl of dust, sand, reverent to a god long since gone, but once emblazoned with light and infernos – but then her stare went to the lengthy fields of grass. She could comprehend the danger here, for Rory’s farm, for everything laden in between, should just the right spark settle along dried reeds, curl them into a roaring conflagration, twisting, turning, swallowing, and devouring in its bewitching wrath and ire. Ordinarily, she was a creature of mayhem and bedlam, but only for those that deserved the comeuppance, for demons who lanced their claws down innocents’ backs, for monsters who thrived on others’ miseries and calamities. Neither Rory, nor anyone else in the vicinity, warranted the haunting flames and embers. She nodded to the talking raven, resolve segmented to her heart, lungs, body, and soul, instigating and inciting a rabble-rousing frenzy to her companion. “Fangorn, get ‘em!” Even though the gourd had already readily applied himself to the task, he did so with gusto now, reverting back to the arcane, ancient survival mode of his lineage before him. He was fast and swift, and the speed he once used to escape the grasping nails of human hunters, were now extended into his own carnivore instincts, grabbing hold of more and more flinthoppers, ripping them apart with no hesitation. It might’ve been difficult to watch, a great, grand slaughter, but Melita rarely flinched from disaster and ruin, not anymore. Instead, she launched into the same frenzy, hands struggling to grab hold of anymore within her reach, missing a few when she forgot to ground herself, when she failed to apply those honing capabilities so many of her favored instructors had tried to drill into her. Slow down, and she breathed, became one with the earth, with the fire, with the wind again, steadied; and shot her hand out to ensnare two more, crushing them in her grasp, placing their carcasses in her basket. M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe

His explanation might have been lacking, but clearly Melita was a quick study, and he cawed approval and agreement when her eyes lit up with understanding. She and her companion dove into the battle anew, and Jigano and his compelled ravens redoubled their efforts, chasing down the dangerous insects with focused intent and fierce determination to protect that which was precious to the lorekeeper-turned-raven. Between the eight of them the nearby fields were soon decidedly lacking in the harsh scraping calls of flinthoppers, and Jigano's basket was piled high with flinty legs while the area around the post was a grisly memorial to the fallen foe.

When no more flinthoppers could be found or scared into flight the white raven flapped tiredly back to the fence post tiredly, tilting his head at his pair of unexpected helpers. He waited until Melita was distracted by something the vampire gourd had done and her back was turned before he hopped off his perch, body flowing and reforming into his more usual shape of tall, white-haired man, slender and wearing his brown leggings and, in the heat, a short-sleeved linen shirt in dove grey in place of his more usual - and heavier - gear. He cleared his throat tentatively as he picked up his now-full basket and the crows came to rest on the fence post behind him, watching Fangorn with bright black eyes that held wariness and curiosity in equal measure.

"Melita? Thank you very much for your help today. I can't offer the full hospitality of the farm, but I'm sure Rory won't mind if I offer you a drink of water, at least, after all your assistance?" The leatherworker was in town that day, trading his finished goods, but the dogs were used to Jigano and Isuma now, and though he was careful not to overstep his bounds as a guest in his lover's home, some things were just plain good manners - like a cool drink on a hot day after a job well done!

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

When a voice managed to crawl its way through the air, without a croak or crackle, floating through mouths and lips instead of beaks, she jumped; but just slightly, whipping her head back towards her name laced and lanced with inquiry. Her eyes adjusted accordingly from their widened, surprised, befuddled efforts; taking in the shape of the tall, lanky ivory-tasseled man, recognizing the figure from a host of other events and festivals, but never having a name attached to the face. Reality dawned on her seconds later, processing intervals and experiences – like with Remi, lion-hearted, before a proclamation clambered out of her mouth, hands still full of flinthopper ruins. “Oh, you shift too!” A smile glimmered on the edges of her lips, pushing down the envious designs of her mind – because how wonderful and amazing it would be to be able to do half the things these other beings could manifest and claim. The best things she had were endurance and fortitude, might and persistence, capable of bending her will into the earth eventually, as if it had to cave in at some point in time, corrode beneath her palms, fists, and savage little steps. I don’t have any talents, she almost thought to say, hanging her head lowly, but it remained, steady and stalwart, gazing back at wisdom and sagacity, more things she’d yet to acquire or maintain. “You’re welcome!” She proffered back, always content, happy, and eager to help; a call-back to the days in the Rift, when assistance was a necessity, a requirement to make it to the end of the day. The offer to wander into Rory’s home though, seemed a little off, as if she shouldn’t trespass. She licked her lips in passing, however, thinking of water passing down her throat in the sultry swing of the sun. Fangorn made his intentions perfectly clear by accepting the invitation on their behalf, much like he’d done with Ronin when she showed even the slightest hesitation, bounding beneath fence posts and growling at the latest insect struggling to dodge his menacing fangs. Melita shook her head, wild, crimson locks flowing, clambering over her shoulders, before sighing, accepting the notion. “I don’t want to intrude…as long as you believe he’d be all right with it.” Rory was kind and obliging, but she didn’t want to take advantage of his benevolence, bending slightly to grab hold of her basket, now filled with more flinthopper carcasses, before returning to her prior position, half-grin aloft, waiting for further notice to continue, too much of her boldness finessed into Fangorn’s efforts – long gone, ambling along the farm. M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe

"Ah, yes, at times," Jigano admitted with a lopsided smile, knowing there was no point in trying to hide the obvious but still feeling the hairs prickle on the back of his neck with the verbal admission. At least it was easier than it had once been, practice slowly sanding the rough edges off his pride and secrets. "It comes in useful, once in awhile." It was just a pity that the bugs weren't edible, making his raven shift not terribly more efficient than Melita's quick fingers at plucking up bugs and crushing them to death. And the young woman wasn't left with the nasty metallic taste of the bugs on her tongue! So perhaps his plan wasn't as well-thought-out as he'd hoped when he'd begun the day's labors.

And labors they had been, jumping and pouncing and flapping about beneath the hot summer sun! Melita's smile was almost as sunny as the sky, and Jigano grinned back in return, finding her sweet helpfulness infectiously cheerful. Hopefully Rory would appreciate what they had done, and while he didn't think the hunter would necessarily enjoy coming home to a stranger - was she a stranger? - in his home, the bard also didn't think his friend would begrudge a drink to someone who had helped to protect the farm. Melita's hesitation spoke well of her courtesy, and her words a moment later proved the point admirably. "We can just sit in the shade outside," he assured her. "I'll bring some water out for us - and some food for my friends. Er. Would Fangorn like anything to drink or eat?" He looked after the vampire gourd a little dubiously, remembering a bruised leg from last Leafchange... but also the first time he had met Rory, and his expression softened into a little smile.

Baskets in hand, he led their way back onto the farm, setting his basket by the door to the house and ducking inside to grab two clay mugs before coming out to wave at Melita and head for the water pump. The crows followed, flying low and cawing eagerly for their promised treat, and he grinned up at the murder fondly. "It's nice to meet you, by the way. I feel like I've seen you out and around, but I'm sorry I never introduced myself before. I'd like to hear your story, if there's some part of it you don't mind sharing," he offered as he began working the pump to get the water flowing up so they could fill their mugs and cool their skin.

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

“It must be lovely,” she mused, humming under her breath, arms and hands tucked along her basket, imagining what it would be like to alter and change her appearance to an animal – living, breathing carnivores hastening and hunting down her prey, rampaging, when no one could ever doubt who the bigger, badder monster was (demons in her blood, fiends in her soul). Even though she was without those pleasant invocations or enchantments, for anything really, the youth had still managed to live and survive. She summoned the depths of her own power. She summoned her strength, her conviction, her rebellion. Maybe one day that’d be enough. “That sounds good!” She assured the bard, nodding at the addition to sitting outside, so she was neither trespassing nor indulging in something she should not. Water would be absolutely divine, especially now, when the sun’s rays pushed and persisted, gilded more than just her eyes, her skin sporting a healthier, if somewhat redder, glow. But it was her god too, now more than ever (since none of the ones here seemed to respond, to see her, to know her), so she had no problem lifting her face to its intricate rays and absorbing its heat, its power, its constancy. The girl was about to shake her head at any indication for food, but then her stomach rumbled, disagreeing entirely with her intention to refuse, and Fangorn snarled and sneered in approval. “Perhaps…apparently the insects weren’t very filling.” She looked down and arched her brow at the little beast, who managed to prosper a menacing grin in return. She followed, Jigano seeming to know the way quite well, and she presumed that he and Rory were great, grand friends, capable of lending wares and sanctums whenever necessary. Perhaps that was why he’d guarded it so diligently – afraid the farmer’s threshold would come to ruin on the touches and fringes of fire. She settled her basket in the shade, and then persevered towards the water pump, taking hold of the proffered mug and waiting for the precious liquid to start flowing, utterly parched from their earlier chase and rendezvous. Jigano’s affable nature continued, and the girl settled into silence, listening for a spell instead of roaming further into curiosity, dismay, or any other intricate emotion scorching its way through her blood and bone. “Nice to meet you too.” Her smile was generous and uplifting, innocent in its luminescence when underneath she was anything but. His request was intriguing, and she lifted her brows, then furrowed them down, pondering why he would want any tale of hers – the girl who endured and lived when others did not. “My story?” She paused, puzzling which contortion to spin. “What would you like to know?” How she’d survived? Where she’d come from? What brought her here? What nightmares still unraveled her? There were a thousand things she could have lifted and pulled, but not without some direction, some clarity, some rhyme or reason. Her tales were precious, but if she never let anyone else hear them, then the beatific tapestries and canvases of her mother, of her sister, of the Dragon’s Throat, of the Sun God, would eventually die with her. M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe

"It has its charm," he agreed with a wry smile. He glanced at his cohort of crows and then briefly to the sky, considering how he had once cared little for flying when it was under the power of another's magic. Now that he had his own wings... well. It still wasn't as good as four paws and ears that could hear the sound of a mouse moving beneath two feet of crisp snow, but it was pretty damn good. "I have heard..." he began hesitantly, then paused, wondering if the girl was human or a mage, and not wanting to be so gauche as to ask outright. "Well. I know someone who prayed to the old gods for their blessing, and was granted the ability to transform into an animal." He shrugged lightly, lips quirking back towards a fond smile as he thought of his heartsister and the softness - and fierceness - of her snow leopard form.

He chuckled at the faint rumble of the young woman's stomach, though his own appetite was too soured from the metallic taste still lingering in his mouth. "What does he - er, she? They? - eat?" he hazarded, not wanting to be rude to someone else's companion, however strange it was. He had only intended to scatter some corn for the crows and get the humans water, but Melita's obvious hunger had him rethinking what he could borrow from Rory's cupboard for her. There were some early apples and there was always goat jerky to be had on the farm, so maybe a bit of that, just enough for a snack... He'd let his friend know what had happened when the hunter returned, and offer to help restock the stores from town himself, he decided, as water finally began to flow and splash down, clear and cool, into Melita's mug.

He filled his own as well, then indulged himself by splashing some of the water over his own face and hair while his crows stole drinks from the horse trough nearby. A bleating of grumpy goats had him chuckling, and he paused at the fence to scratch a few heads. "I want to know... everything!" he told Melita with a laugh and a wink. "But let me think what to ask about you, specifically. Give me just a minute--" He ducked into the barn to steal a scoop of corn and two apples from a barrel that would grow fuller as the season wore on. The corn was tossed to the crows, who descended on it with approving caws and a bit of tousling amongst themselves, while the apples were brought to a rough-hewn bench in the shade of the barn, where the bard settled and patted the wood beside him for Melita to join him, as close or far as she felt comfortable.

"Will you tell me where you're from?" he asked then, tilting his head with a wry smile. "It's the usual place to start here, I think, if you're not Caido-born. Was your world very different from here?"

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

Melita had always been an eager, ardent listener; whether they were her mother’s stories, passed down by word of mouth, legends and intrigue, ghosts of the past, or simply tales woven by fey, she was cast into an enraptured legion. Even if Jigano shrugged off the notion of gods and their bestowals, the girl’s eyes lifted to the skies, to the heavens, where her favored god had once lived, beneath the dance and days of a different world, a different time, a different place. Something in the intonation stung – maybe because none of the ones here ever seemed to see her, to know her, and blessings had never been forthcoming upon her; only the notions and convictions she implored upon herself. “Interesting,” she hummed under her breath, for it was, that she couldn’t deny. “Sometimes our gods granted magic. Or items. I was never lucky enough.” Here she laughed, as if to pass it off as something else, closing her eyes against the sudden torment of blazes, of infernos, of cinders, ash, and darkness. At the very least, the bard’s attention was diverted elsewhere, before she slipped even further into melancholy for things she couldn’t have – ever again – gaze shifting to Fangorn. “Well, he seems to prefer meat.” She shrugged there, the wisps of a foolish smile entangling themselves along her mouth; she’d never offered anything else to the gourd – it seemed like a sacrilege to even think of granting him vegetables, and the flesh of an animal in her pockets had been the reason he’d been coaxed to go along with her in the first place. She didn’t bother to mull over it any longer as the water filled and splashed along her mug, lifting it to her lips and gulping half of it down in one satisfying slurp, feeling it pool its way down her throat and into her stomach. Refreshing. Uplifting. More than she deserved. “Thank you,” the youth hastened thereafter, beatific smile warm and grand again. Wanting to know everything might’ve made her shy away, some distinctive aspects were overwhelming and reverberated in her soul, kept under lock and key until they were a necessity, until they were more than a blurred picture in her mind, an echo, a fragment, of yesteryear. While he disappeared, her gaze roamed, settling on her beloved gourd as he ducked around her ankles, as she wondered how she’d gotten to this moment. The last time she’d spilled anything, it had been disastrous and in anger, a riot of vexation churned directly at Kiada, the wounds still too fresh, too raw, too poignant and haunting, worlds gone in the blink of an eye, families broken, mothers and sisters dead and gone – the gaping, blackened hole of her heart, the desolation and despair threatening to tear her asunder if left to her own devices for too long. But then he returned, proffering the bench, the apples, and with the mug in her hands, she drifted down upon the rough wood, fingers wrapping around the resin as a stronghold for her heart. “I’m from Helovia,” she started, stare fixating on fence lines, posts, and beams, on blackened feathers of furtive crows, before sliding back to him, a grin enlightened on her face while she could consider the better parts of her early days. “I was born in the Dragon’s Throat: a kingdom renowned for its Sun God, deserts, cliffs, and oasis. It was always warm, always bright.” M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe

"Here they can be fickle, too," he agreed wryly. "Usually they don't answer at all. Sometimes they do, to offer a bit of advice or just to tease you... sometimes they seem to grant rewards. Other times, curses. It's probably wisest to only pray when you're certain you have something worth saying - asking, or giving thanks. And knowing who to pray to, as well!" He still wasn't sure why Ludo had initially taken an interest in him, and perhaps it was as simple as sheer boredom on the god's part, nothing more flattering than that. But it was a relief that it hadn't been Frey who had answered his early prayers, and he had come to be glad and grateful for the way things had worked out.

A vampire gourd preferring meat? Well, he had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed had him smiling ruefully. "I hope he likes goat jerky, then!" Rory always seemed to have some of that around, and the bard had some in his pack near the door, easy enough to retrieve as he moved about, seeing to the comfort of animals and humans alike. "You're quite welcome. And thank you again for your help with the flinthoppers!"

Water and food procured, they were able to retire to the shade to enjoy their water and apples, and he gingerly tossed some jerky to Fangorn as he asked his questions. He waited, patient and glad of the rest as she gathered her thoughts, and when Melita spoke he listened, mouth curving into a wry grin. "So many sun gods," he murmured ruefully, thinking of Caiside and Killian both. And damn, but he needed to get those two introduced at some point. It would either be fast friends or sparks flying... "Helovia, though... what a lovely name. And a place that is always warm and bright sounds wonderful!" For a man from a northern country, who had walked the forests, steppes, and tundra in all seasons - most of them chilly, if not bitterly cold - the idea of constant warmth was appealing, even as sweat trickled down his hairline and between his shoulder blades from their labors in the fields.

"What were your favorite games to play there, as a child?" he asked, curiosity both idle and genuine as he tilted his head back to rest it against the wood of the barn, enjoying the sense of a job well-done and pleasant company to enjoy it with.

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

The Gods were an interesting precipice and interval: high and mighty, glorious and powerful, barely deigning to consort or contort with mortals. What made some worthy, and others not? She’d often wondered, pondered over the theories – considered herself undeserving, as none of them batted their eyes at her, centered their gaze on her, thought anything of her; the child of sand and dirt, of heat and sun, of nothing and everything. She must’ve been a speck of soil, a puff, a whisper, to them, ineffectual, not a weight or soul signifying importance – even while she scraped against the bottom of the barrel and strived to remain. Maybe one day they’d see her, the honeybee child laden with such an overbearing strength that they’d have to look, have to listen, to have to do something other than ignore her existence. “Which ones have you seen?” What had Jigano experienced that she had not? What had he learned that she’d never be able to grasp and comprehend on her own? Her heart hurt in that instance, strained and despondent, to always know she’d never quite be enough for anyone or anything; a blistering portion and contortion to the earth. As for Fangorn, the vampire pumpkin was more than content to relish on the goat jerky, leaping up to catch Jigano’s extended toss, gnawing happily on the dried, cured meat, growling and hissing all the while. “He thanks you too,” she laughed, eyeing her companion for a moment before returning back to the matters at hand, fingers splayed then playing on the resin of her mug. “It was. There were some other lands too. We were in the south.” Her mind focused on maps and outlines, of worlds she never got to trace, never got to see, never got to traverse along, but heard from legends. “The Aurora Basin was in the north, white-capped mountains and summits. Then there was the World’s Edge to the west, on the coast, surrounded by mist and fog. The East held the Hidden Falls, and everywhere else was laden with wonder in between.” The nostalgia came flooding back over her – the fields riddled with thistle and wildflowers, the bloom of the ocean’s enduring fathoms, the roll of the tides, the crash and burn of adventure – she blinked the tears beckoning at the back of her eyelids away, away, away, so he couldn’t see how much she missed. Her mother’s gentle songs called her home, her sister’s endless harmonies called her to sonnets and stanzas, the gaping unknown challenged and seared against her. She couldn’t have it. None of it. Not anymore. He mentioned games though, and she sobered up, sniffled, took a drink to hide the melancholy. “My friends, sister, and I used to run down the ocean. The Moon Goddess had made a glass chasm there, where one could tunnel into the depths and see everything.” Her nose had once been pressed against its sanction, staring into coral reefs, blinded by the sights, the sounds, the colors, the fish, the nuances of beauty and power. “Sometimes I’d clamber into the oasis and pretend to be a monster.” She shrugged and laughed, forgoing mentioning the time other children had rampaged at her demonic howls and roars, had splashed and devastated long before she had a chance to ponder what it meant to be monstrous. “What about you? Have you lived here your entire life?” M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe