MORGAN
And oh, poor Atlas
The world's a beast of a burden
The world's a beast of a burden
"..Ah." Morgan had never been skilled in those kinds of arts: music, painting, dance; the complexities of them seemed foreign to her, distant in a way the pommel of a sword had never been. Still, she admired those that could wrangle tunes out of thin air and make them into songs, almost as if it were an arcane art. "Would you say you were good, at your music? It may be a very necessary skill in the coming months, here. Our people will need a way to have their spirits lifted."
As for the 'brood', she was indeed familiar. A couple of the siblings had been regular minor offenders in their teenage years; the name was one of the ones she came across frequently in records and notes. "Hester." She repeated, making sure she had gotten it right, then looked around the grounds they stood on. "Are you not cold, out here? Would you like to come into the barracks? ...What is left of it, anyway."
As for the 'brood', she was indeed familiar. A couple of the siblings had been regular minor offenders in their teenage years; the name was one of the ones she came across frequently in records and notes. "Hester." She repeated, making sure she had gotten it right, then looked around the grounds they stood on. "Are you not cold, out here? Would you like to come into the barracks? ...What is left of it, anyway."
And the ships are left to rust
That's what the water gave us
That's what the water gave us
