marigolds on the bank

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

And so Stormbreak had risen.

And then maybe fallen. Lena couldn’t be certain, in the way leadership altered and changed rapidly, with Ronin disappearing and Anju taking his place, desperate to find some foothold in the ever-shifting world. But even that could be temporary, and then what would they be left with?

With no predilections towards such a feat, and yearning only for the comfort of the Celestine, things she knew, things she craved, the Caretaker spent much of her time amidst the animals. But then more and more showed up that were foreign to her entirely – causing her brows to furrow. Had Frey, or Rae, been creating more? In the wake of so much loss and devastation, ruin and alterations?

Rumors had spread about some birds, and she traipsed her way down towards the hot springs, careful, still mindful, of the way the waters seemed to hold glass at the bottom of its dwelling – seeing down, down, down into the abyss and city below. Basket in hand, toes light along rocks, she began peering closer towards a nestling of trees, intending to see if any nests were about; likely a picture similar to a peeking child amidst wrapped gifts.

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

A child peered back at the stranger from among the trees. Dark, unblinking eyes stared straight forward, weighing and studying the woman. The child held a doll against her chest, it's porcelain face also staring right at the woman. The doll's eyes were a perfect match for the girl's, twin gazes staring forth, until it was almost hard to tell which eyes were alive and which were made of glass.

Trinket hopped down from her perch in the trees, landing on dirty, bare feet. She wore a stained gray dress, which matched the doll's simple clothing. She stood silently, unmoving for a long, long moment, so still she could have been a doll herself.

But it was the doll, not the girl, that moved first. Its head turned, its glass eyes peering up into the tree towards a bird perched on a branch. A moment later, almost as an afterthought, the girl turned her head as well, looking up at the bird.

She looked back to the stranger, putting a single finger to her lips. The doll's porcelain hand rose to mimick the gesture, putting a finger to its delicately painted but unmoving mouth.

"Shhhh," the girl whispered.

She stood still, unmoving, unblinking, waiting.

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

Unfortunately, either due to the stillness and quiet, Lena’s distracted musings, she hadn’t noticed the girl, nor her doll, until it was far too late. The gesture for silence scarcely mattered on her sharp intake of air and minor scream, even as she placed her hand over her mouth to placate the noise. Heart jumping to her throat, and pounding rapidly, all that lingered thereafter were the blustery notions of feathers departing – a drumming of plumage as they scattered overhead.

“Sorry,” the Caretaker murmured, for perhaps she should’ve been more cautious of her surroundings, but she hadn’t expected either bizarre spectacle to take place. Glancing back to the sky once more, disappointed the bird she sought had taken off, she hastened to scramble off the stump she’d been standing upon.

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

The child took a few steps forward, her bare feet brushing the damp grass that covered the ground. She studied the woman, tilting her head to the side. A curious reaction.

Perhaps she could spark another reaction as well.

"Why are you sorry?" she said, her voice soft. Her glassy eyes continued staring straight into the stranger's eyes. The doll matched the stare, its gaze never wavering from the woman's face.

Meanwhile, Trinket sent out a small, simple command. One of the feathers drifting down from the sky responded to her command, twisting in the breeze as it glided down. It twirled through the air behind the woman, drifting closer to her as it fell, until its course was altered enough that it was right behind the woman. It landed on the back of her shoulder. Then, under Trinket's command, it twisted and reared up much like a snake, then began brushing the tip of the feather against the back of the woman's neck, the feathery touch much like the unexpected touch of a spider.

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

Apologies were always swift along Lena’s tongue; strict households, rigorous jobs, and a recent years of never-ending danger had lent to weaknesses and misgivings. Though this was merely a strange occurrence, and she hadn’t been the one lurking with a weird doll and startling strangers, something still felt at a loss, and she reached for her basket, fingers playing with the strap. “For screaming. I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

Though she didn’t stare back, because it was rude, the Caretaker’s gaze swept along the sky again, searching for the bird.

Giving no thought to other movements or motions – she started her own again, ignoring the wayward feather. It might have drifted down her back for all she knew, gliding to the ground, as she began investigating the boughs and limbs for any other clues.

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

Trinket watched quietly as the stranger searched the skies. The woman's words still confused her.

"Why would you apologize for screaming?" she asked. "Usually, people apologize for making someone scream."

She wondered if she could make the woman scream again. She wondered if this would lead to another apology.

She walked past the woman, looking around. As she moved, the doll's head continued to turn towards the stranger, its glassy eyes never leaving her gaze, no matter where she moved. The light filtering through the trees reflected off the glass eyes, tinging them a deep shade of red.

Finding nothing nearby of interest, Trinket's own gaze drifted to the woman's basket. She was curious what might be inside. She had never seen a woman carrying a basket through the woods.

"Why do you have a basket?" she asked.

At the same time, she reached out a command to the basket, commanding it to unravel, to take itself apart that the contents within might be revealed.

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

Her eyes narrowed briefly; head tilting slightly. “Then where is your apology?” For making her scream – for meandering through the woods and thicket and jumping strangers for no clear indication.

Ignoring the rest of the behavior, she continued in pursuit of the bird, hoping to catch a distinct clue or feather angling from the branches and brambles. The inquiry paid her no mind, though it was bizarre, because she figured any child would be able to reason that out on her own. “For carrying things – like medicine, bandages, and the like. I’m the Caretaker in the Celestine. Its habit, I suppose.” To try and tend to anyone, or anything, needing to be soothed.

She skipped away, seemingly out of range of whatever powers were striving to reveal contents, believing she spotted the particular flier, and snagged at her notebook layered within the aforementioned; the charcoal flying upon the paper.

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

Trinket watched the woman, considering her apparent lack of concern. It was curious. Most people had stronger reactions. This woman seemed...unworried. Curious.

She followed along, purely out of intrigue, watching the woman's behavior. Her words were unexpected. An apology was, perhaps, appropriate for the moment. Such a thing would, she considered, be polite.

Politeness was boring.

She watched the woman, then the bird, considering both. The woman seemed unexpectedly interested in such a mundane thing as a bird. It continued to draw Trinket's attention. So many unanswered questions.

"Why are you watching the bird?" she asked.

Trinket's dark eyes studied the bird without expression, while her doll's glass eyes continued to watch the stranger, weighing every moment that passed.

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

She took a few more moments to watch the creature, studying the angles of its wings, the hues of its plumage, before rummaging for more pencils and charcoal. Settling upon the nearest stump, quiet and unassuming, Lena bowed her head over the parchment, her eyes going back and forth for an instant, before attention bordered upon both the bird and the paper.

When she found the appropriate colors, she used them to blend into the outline of the picture, rubbing a few of the bolder hues into one another so they mimicked the live animal. A little hum began under her breath, also habitual and unconcerned, not bothering with watching the doll’s eyes or the child’s. “I care for the animals in the Celestine. I need to know how they behave, how they act, in order to best tend to their needs.”

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

Trinket stepped closer to observe what the woman was doing. Drawing. Trinket knew of drawing, but she had never done it herself. She didn't know how.

For a moment, she wondered why she hadn't been made with such ability. She had knowledge, but knowledge was not ability. Perhaps another question to ask, when the time came.

She stood in silence for a long while, letting the woman work, content simply to observe the process. It looked rather complex. Complex was interesting.

Eventually, she crouched down beside the woman, looking into the basket and its contents. A wide variety of colors, all jumbled up. Disorganized. There were many pieces to observe. Many colors to consider.

Considering the woman's words, she asked, "Why do you care for the animals?"

Then she reached into the basket to take a pencil, the young girl not stopping to consider whether or not she was allowed to do so.

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

Continuing to hum under her breath, she sketched another outline of the bird, this time in flight, careful to study the way it unfurled its wings, the way it carried itself, the patterns of movements and motions. Though difficult to replicate on paper, she made several notes off to the sides, with neat little labels and scrawls – eyes only occasionally watching the youth from the corner of her eye. “Animals deserve to have second chances too. They get hurt or sick out in the wild. Frey sends them to the Celestine.” And then she tended to their needs.

Lena swiftly moved the basket back into her own range as she saw the girl’s hand going for her pencils – not quite trusting the potential outcome, given the circumstances from before.

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

Trinket drew her hand back, watching as the basket was drawn out of her reach. She looked up at the woman, then down at the basket. She considered for a moment the possibilities. However, this woman seemed of a different mind than most. Perhaps, Trinket thought, she would continue to not get the expected reactions.

She studied the woman's face in silence. The woman seemed quite preoccupied with the bird. It was strange. The bird, while interesting enough, would not have held Trinket's attention for this long. The woman, however, did, if only for curiosity of what would hold the woman's attention as strongly as the bird did.

"You know Frey," she said as she studied the woman. "Frey sends the animals to you. But why to you?" Trinket eyed the woman up and down. Curious. There were simply things that did not make sense. "Why are you the one who cares for this place, rather than another?"

She sat and held her doll in her lap, waiting patiently. Her attention was drawn to the swift movements of the woman's hands as she drew. Skillful strokes, each made with deliberate precision. The movements would be hard to replicate. The difficulty of such an act held her curiosity, though she knew not how to proceed.

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

“I do,” she echoed, sketching out another form of the bird on the same page, from opposing sides, in case there was anything different from the other. As for the why, Lena didn’t have a clear, decisive answer or deeper meanings – and wouldn’t be arrogant enough to believe herself the only one worthy of tending to such a world. She had a great many helpers too, as they all tended to the wake of creatures who required care and soothing alms.

So it had been with great faith, dedication, and adherence that the Caretaker had accepted such a role – eventually turning her features back to the youth, unaware of the child’s role in the scheme of things. “Frey asked me to.”

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

The ever so slightest of frowns touched Trinket's lips. She did not have understanding. And, it seemed, there were not the right questions to ask in order to gain the understanding she sought.

"You should ask Frey why they chose you," she said with a tiny nod. "Then when I ask you next time, you can tell me." This made sense to her. Surely Frey would be able to answer such a simple question. Though what she knew of the gods--which was little--told her that nothing was ever simple when dealing with them. She would have to learn why.

"I'm going to talk to Ludo," she continued. "I'm going to ask him why he made me. Because he didn't give me that knowledge." She had been created with the knowledge of all the things in the world. Animals, objects, places, words. But knowledge wasn't enough. Many of the things she knew did not make sense. Her mind was like a jumbled basket, filled with millions of bits of knowledge, but no way of understanding how to connect the pieces all together. It was chaos. And while chaos was interesting, she needed something more.