Wimble was carefully looking through her thing within the Bower, flittering about til she found what she was looking for, carefully picking up an old and worn book, taking a moment to regard it with reverence, smoothing a wing over the cover. As she returns to Pudd’s side, getting a loser look, she finds she cannot discern the language written across its front, it looked as though it was just a jumble of delicate scratches in a line. Wimble takes a seat next to her Wormbeard, resting the old book in her lap as she opens it, thumbing through the pages with a delicate touch, it’s pages all in the same chicken scratch language, depicting illustrations of harpy trolls of all shapes and sizes doing various things, as she signs with her free wing/hand.
“Matchi tell me what he can remember, but even his memories are limited.. There is so much I do not remember, so much that has been lost to time…”
Wimble pauses her signing, looking towards one of the many small bone chimes hanging around her Bower, following the harpy trolls line of sight, the particular chime she was looking at was actually familiar to Pudd, as it was one the wormbeard had seen many times in Wimbles original Bower, distinguishable by the black feathers speckled with white spots woven alongside the small bones handing from it. Weech.. Wimble didn’t talk about her often, and Pudd hadn’t really known her all that well, knowing only that she and Wimble had joined the gummgumms together, and were incredibly close before her death during the battle of Killahead. She slowly begins to sign again, but does not tear her gaze away from Weech’s bone chime, as if looking for answers from it.
“Sometimes I wish.. She was still here, to remind me of all these little things I have forgotten. She always had the better memory of the two of us, she’d alway have to help me memorize my patrols in the beginning, else I’d get hopeless lost every time.”
Wimble briefly huffs a laugh, squinting her eyes with mirth for a moment.
“It feels more and more like those times, these days.. That I am hopelessly lost, forgetting everything..”
She shakes her head with a huff, as if to shake herself from her melancholy.
“It is why I was so excited to get this book from Jellen. It is one of our books, my peoples books! It is our teachings, our rituals, our magics! I could hardly believe I could still even read it.”
She flips to a page that seemed to depict the act of a Harpy troll using the same trickery magic to grow feathers on a much smaller troll, likely a cub, covering it in new feathers, before it is surrounded by a whole flock of harpy trolls, everyone looking happy holding the newly feathered cub close. It looks to be some sort of weird adopting ritual.
