Happy WBW! What are pilgrimages in your world like? What holy or "holy" sites are people visiting?
Hey, thanks for being consistent with sending these out even when I am nowhere near as consistent, rly appreciate that :)
But! Unfortunately! wait haha nvm I have exactly One I can talk about here and buckle up bc this is like. the first novel I wrote for nano uhhhh fifteen? years ago?
Welcome to my "I'm beginning to have Feelings about religion" story lmao
So H'tera is very much a. Theocracy built around their understanding of the Speroya that were plentiful In The Beginning and have since largely faded to the outskirts. Their three were Faectern, Shaertz, and Etraen (Creation/Destruction/Change), and the first big temples were built on the cliffs where Olsea returned with the shifting ability for her people (stole it from the mages) (that's a different story). (This is why Etraen's is in the middle, even though it has fallen out of favour Big Time in the years since)
Etraen's is where the shifters are trained, while the other two are still v much working temples that are visited throughout the year by visitors from across H'tera
Anyway yeah they're big dramatic buildings on the edges of the cliffs, and by the time of this story they're p old (and by the time of the next story they have relevance to, they are but crumbling ruins). People love 'em.
Or maybe they're just trying to catch a sight of the shifters at work, who knows
Happy WBW! What kinds of songs and dance exist in your world? Or, what is your OC's favorite dance?
Happy WBW/TH!
I was going to talk Llinos/Kaua for this one but I've been working on the Leritheyar maps with Jas for the past couple days and so
Hello Elfionn, titular dancer of Pirate's Dancer, I think this question is for you!
With the revamping we're doing, the archipelago is far more polynesian-inspired, so Elfionn's dancing is more fan dancing (building up to fire dancing actually)
She's using it as a way to travel from her home island (illegal) to get out to Sayin and. join? one of their dance troups? I think was her goal.
Only she unlocks magic along the way because that's all about movement and intention, which, y'know, lines up real well with dancing aha
Happy (belated) WBW! Have you given any of your WIP worlds historical context? Are there historical events and/or civilisations that affect the current world?
you 🤝 me never quite doing things on time lmao
(but I have been vaguely thinking about this all week so)
ok oh boy so I am. bad? at giving anything like a standard time period for more than aesthetics (this is something I am beginning to work on but I am Bad at research and pinning myself down to things)
but I went ham on history and timelines when I was in Uni and while we largely Do Not Mention the early stuff because it needs some fucking work, I put a lot into what was happening after the events of stories that I wrote in uni
Less so civilisations, although there should be some fun stuff what with the islands coming back to Leritheyar because that's a piece of perfectly preserved pirate monarchy without the pirates (and not really the piracy part but a whole way of life that was lost and now gets to be looked at as if it was just yesterday)
But the effect that Leiri/The Alisier had on everything? Magic disappearing from the world for a solid couple of generations and then coming back?
Leiri herself is forgotten - after all, she was just a traveler with an inn and a band of misfit dancers/musicians/messengers/search-and-rescue - but the Alisier is still the bogeyman to children and adults alike, a thief and monster and murderer in one. It's responsible - if it's to be believed - for the disappearance of magic. The Queen Sacrifice is said to have vanquished it before she, too, disappeared in the act
just gets really fucken awkward when Kaithr turns up in the North and is dragged back into society knowing way too many first hand accounts of the Queen Sacrifice and then magic starts reappearing because dammit, that's all just myth n stories n doesn't have a place in the here and now
In which Calia sees a means to escape and maybe paint herself as a hero but mostly. escape by any means necessary
(bleeds into Pirate's Dancer as a bit of set up)
~~~
Calia doubted that she has ever known what peace was like. She’s never been in a battle, never used her sword for anything more than practice, never heard the roar of cannons across the sea. There weren’t any true battles, not like the ones she’s been taught of, or hears when a ship came back into port with its crew worse for wear.
But she’s never known peace, and she’s not sure if she can blame Elfionn or her sister for it this time.
Her father’s roar ripped through the fortress. Calia tumbled from her perch and grabbed up her sword, heart rate rising as she whirled about.
There were birds squawking about the outside of the tower, startled out of their rest as much as she had been.
There was no one else in the room with her, which – on the one hand, was finally time to herself. On the other, it meant that she didn’t know where Myrtle was, which meant that she’s possibly in danger.
Calia ran from the room, sword held before her to clear the way.
The servants have emptied out of the corridors, as they always do when her father roared. There was no one between her and the stairs, her and the door.
There was someone between her and the courtyard.
Sayr caught her with his spear haft as she barrelled through and she almost dropped her sword. “Sorry, Calia. It’s not – wise, right now. He received a letter.”
There were very few letters that could do this to her father; he was pacing back and forth, one hand clenched around his sword and one tightened into a fist. His normally dark face was even darker, thunder clouds drawing across a restless sea.
“Is someone contesting his rule?” she asked.
Sayr hesitated. “Yes,” he said eventually. “But it should not come to war.”
Calia nodded. “Have you seen Myrtle?”
Sayr frowned. “She is not with you?”
“No,” she replied, tightening her hand on the hilt of her sword. “I will find her.” She flicked a glance to her father. “Don’t let him know.”
Sayr nodded.
Calia turned away, already thinking through the many places on the island that Myrtle was likely to be.
“Calia.” Her father’s rumbling voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Yes, father.” She turned back towards him.
Sayr still stood partially between them, and didn’t seem willing to move.
Her father beckoned her forward with his sword. “Leave us.” His tone didn’t leave any space for an argument.
Sayr dipped his head. “Captain,” he murmured. He shot Calia a warning look as he passed her.
Calia took a steadying breath, shifted her grip on her sword, and walked forward to meet her father.
“These upstarts presume too much,” he said. “My mother was too lenient with them.”
It was the Nightgales then, Calia knew. She should have known in any case, when there were no other signs of a raid; they were the only thing guaranteed to send her father into this much of a rage.
“What are they asking?” Calia asked, when her father said nothing else.
“They wish–” he scoffed and thrust a crumpled scroll at her.
Calia fumbled the letter and had to slide her sword into her belt to smooth it out with both hands so she could read it.
The writing was spidery, slanted and thin and spiky. It took her a moment to be able to read it, and then she skimmed through it.
“They want – they want to be left?” Calia’s voice rose, understanding in a beat why her father was so incensed. “Not even to pay tribute, to acknowledge you? Even with their link to Magicen, they presume much.”
“My mother should have shot that upstart as she was ordered.”
“She was ordered to shoot the Nightgale captain?” Calia asked. Her father rarely spoke of their history.
“By her father, when he was king.” He nodded grimly. “He knew that she would only cause trouble for us from the moment she appeared. And now look – she has swallowed a clan and seeks to put herself above all.” He glared at the letter so hard that Calia feared it might catch fire.
“What – what would you like to do?” Calia asked carefully. “They must be brought to heel.”
“I would scour them from the sea,” her father spat. “I would wipe them out, if it wouldn’t cause another war.”
“There is no telling that it would.” Calia was thinking, tapping her fingers against the letter. “What if – she has grandchildren? Or someone in her line of my age?”
“Two grandsons, two granddaughters.” Her father watched her. “I doubt they will turn on her.”
Calia didn’t think of how he’d turned on his own mother, how he’d all but imprisoned her to one island. She didn’t think of her mother, gone who knew where. “No. But if you were to propose an alliance – to help legitimise them in the eyes of the rest of the sea – and grandmother might approve.” She frowned. “If one of them is unattached.”
“They wouldn’t dare refuse.” Her father bristled. “Not knowing what I will do otherwise. And that would bring them under heel.”
“And should their captain meet with an accident – so much can happen at sea.” Calia was proud of how smooth she kept her voice.
A slow smile curled across her father’s face as he grasped what she was saying, a sight so foreign that Calia couldn’t help but stare.
He clapped her shoulder and let out a laugh. “That’s my daughter! You’ll do me proud yet.”
“You’ll propose it?” Calia tried not to flinch under her father’s hand. She passed back the letter.
“Where’s Sayr? He will help me prepare and word this.” He turned away, roaring Sayr’s name.
Sayr stepped through the archway. “My king?”
“Come, come, Calia has given us an excellent plan to put in motion.” He squeezed her shoulder.
Calia gave Sayr a smile she hoped was reassuring. “I will leave you to finalise the details.” She didn’t phrase it as a question, but couldn’t help the edge of her request break into her voice.
Her father nodded.
Calia fled the courtyard at a steady walk, breaking into a run when she was out of sight.
It was to keep the peace. It was to stop a war. But she would finally leave the island, finally escape her father–
“Calia!” Myrtle slammed into her. “Where have you been? We heard father roar.”
“With father. He received a letter.”
“Is grandmother alright?”
“Are you alright?” Elfionn asked, following Myrtle.
“Yes. Yes, I’m… we have a plan to deal with the Nightgales. I’ve got a part in it.”
“What do you mean?” Elfionn frowned. “You’ve – are they coming here?”
“No – well, I suppose they ought, but better. I’m getting onto their ship.”
“You–”
“You’re leaving me?” Myrtle asked.
“Yes, but I have to, it’s to make sure the peace is kept. Father is counting on me.”
“But we had a plan.” Myrtle drew back.
“I’m sure your sister knows what she’s doing,” Elfionn said, her voice carefully level.
“Yes,” Calia said. “I do.”
Myrtle pulled herself free and fled the corridor.
“Wait, Myrtle–” Calia reached for her, but she was out of reach. “It’s to keep the peace.”
“Of course,” Elfionn said. “That’s important.”
“Yes.” Calia frowned, not quite liking Elfionn’s tone. “You’ll look after her?”
“Of course. Just – make sure you come back for her.”
In which Sevre - who's the antagonist of Sacrifice - plays mindgames with several people
~~~
It was all just mind games. A careful whisper here, a strategically overheard conversation there, and Sevre had them eating out of his hand. When Queron died – and it would be soon, he was beginning to get frail in his old age – it wouldn’t take much at all for Sevre to take his place a Chancellor.
It was almost all disappointingly easy. He was going to have to find a new game to tide him over until then. Once he was Chancellor, there would not be time for such distractions.
“Sir?”
Sevre turned to see the young mage – Valour, his name was – standing just inside the arch that opened onto the balcony. “Yes?” Sevre didn’t beckon him closer.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Do you know why?”
The boy didn’t tremble. He was standing smartly, hands behind his back. Not a threat; even if his magic worked for him, he’d never be quick off the mark with his gestures. “No, sir.”
“Well. I suppose I had better enlighten you.” Sevre turned his back on the city to face the boy. “An opening has appeared in Naker that I think would benefit you greatly.”
Valour frowned and then seemed to catch himself as he smoothed his expression clear.
Sevre kept his smile to himself. “I trust this is acceptable? You may have a few days to let your family know and gather yourself for travelling.”
“Thank you,” Valour said. “I will not squander this opportunity.”
“See that you don’t. They may be able to help you, should your duties not prove too onerous.” Sevre did smile this time; carefully concerned and magnanimous.
Valour did not manage to conceal his wince fast enough. “Thank you for your concern, sir.”
“Of course. I want to see every young mage reach their full potential.”
“That’s very kind, sir.”
“After all,” Sevre said, walking towards where Valour stood under the arch, “it all reflects back onto the chancellor, not to mention how the people see us. How can we as a whole protect them from the savagery of the wild Sacrifices if some of the links in our chain are not at their full potential?” He rested a heavy hand on Valour’s shoulder. “With the right guidance, we can all achieve our pinnacle of strength.”
“Yes, sir.” Valour tensed under his hand and then fought to relax, not entirely successfully.
Sevre released him. “You had better prepare yourself. I will alert your tutors.”
Valour stepped back. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He left at a smart pace.
Sevre didn’t laugh, because the boy no doubt had sharp ears, but it really was too easy.
“Sevre.”
“Chryses.” Sevre turned to see the man round the other corner, looking harried. “Has your teaching itinerary gone astray?”
“It has not, just as it never did the first time.” Chryses drew himself to a halt, straightening up.
“So you say,” Sevre said, his tone carefully neutral.
“That isn’t what I am here about.” Chryses shook his head. “I am worried about Queron. There have been – things said that suggest he might be at risk.”
“Oh?”
“It is nothing – set in stone, you understand. It could just be baseless gossip amongst the students, but…”
“It wouldn’t do to dismiss it out of hand only for it then to be acted upon. I understand. Please, tell me what you have heard.” Sevre brought him over to the table with its two chairs, carefully piling his own work out of the way but taking care to leave his rotation of Queron’s aids on the top for ease of prying eyes.
Chryses sat at Sevre’s urging. “There is a faction that want Queron out of power sooner rather than later. I believe they mean him harm.” When Sevre stayed silent, Chryses leant forward. “The chancellor’s life is in danger, Sevre. I think they’ll kill him.”
“Not a threat to take idly indeed. What would you suggest? Setting guards on his person and his quarters?”
“At the very least. Though we must have some way of knowing we can trust them.”
“Who did you hear this from? We can start there and work out through any friends and allies they might have.”
Chryses hesitated. “You understand that this wasn’t told to me direct, that I only heard others–”
“Eavesdropping isn’t a crime, Chryses, but murder is.”
“Right, you’re right, of course.” He nodded. “It was Shyra and Aren that I overheard, but they – they have always been such staunch supporters of Queron.”
“Perhaps they have simply been playing the long game,” Sevre replied. “Content to follow in his footsteps until they feel they can’t go any further.”
“I suppose you may be right on that. Ambition can override even the oldest of loyalties.” Chryses sighed as if to condemn the sentiment.
“Indeed.”
Chryses looked up and caught sight of the rota that Sevre had left out. “This is – may I?”
“Of course.” Sevre nodded. “They all volunteered to help Queron, or were appointed in by him.”
“Shyra and Aren are both here. This must be their friend group? Or at least they all know each other.” Chryses looked it over. “They could all be involved…” He looked up. “We must change this rota. For Queron’s sake.”
“Of course,” Sevre repeated. “We must keep him safe from everything we can.”
“Don’t give me that tone, Sevre. He deserves a quiet and respectful end to his tenure, not whatever these – these miscreants have planned.”
Sevre gave Chryses an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, I didn’t think. Please, make your amendments. I’ll see to it that they are implemented as soon as possible.”
Chryses nodded, trying not to look startled, and turned his attention to the list.
Sevre tuned out his quiet mutterings and poured himself a drink, standing up to take it to the balcony to look over the city.
His city, in all but name, and the pieces were slowly stitching themselves together. After this – after Queron – there was but one more step.
Sevre drank, to fill in the gap where his thoughts trailed. The last step had to be careful. The last step required control and mastery of a beast that was older and more savage than anything else living.
There would be a way, of course. Sevre could always find a way, by brute force if he had to. He’d far prefer guile, smoke and mirrors, but this last had to be seen to be on him alone.
Perhaps at the funeral. To be seen as honouring Queron and showing his mastery in one fell swoop… it would be his greatest trick yet.
“There,” said Chryses. “Here are the names I trust.”
Sevre turned towards him and plucked the proffered paper from his hand. “I’ll see this changed.” He scanned the names, not taking them in. That was immaterial. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
“Of course, Sevre.” Chryses rose. “Please, if there is anything more I can do.”
“You have done more than enough.” Sevre smiled. “And Queron shall know it too.”
Chryses nodded. “Thank you, Sevre. For everything you do for us.”
“Of course.”
Chryses left.
Sevre set his cup down again and studied the rota with more intent. Another piece fallen into place.
In which the gates of the Mist being solidified has Repercussions on a world that doesn't want to lose its dragons, and the events of WereCreature Chronicles are set in motion
~~
To say Tsierre was worried was putting it lightly. He had felt the reverberations ricochet through the Mist and hit something. He had heard the dragons roar.
Something had gone horribly, terribly wrong.
“We have to do something.”
Tsierre pulled his attention back to the gathering of nomesach before him.
“It is not ours to intervene.” That was Hotre, resettling his wings against his back.
“It ought to be. How long before we are threatened? Already the Bone Dragon is restless.” Keyahir blinked.
“They do not always appreciate our help,” Tsierre said, breaking his silence. “It would be best to wait, perhaps, and be vigilant.”
“Every year the plain grows smaller, and you want us to wait?” Keyahir snarled.
“The NightGale–” started a quiet voice, overshadowed by Keyahir.
“Something has happened beyond the Mist, we might be all that is left, and you want us to wait?” Keyahir scoffed.
“The NightGale–”
“We will go extinct waiting. We must do something.”
“What would you suggest, Keyahir?” Hotre sounded tired. “Travel beyond the Mist is tricky, even for us. Even were we to go to Magicen and risk it all–”
Hotre cut off as someone yowled, caterwauling into a shriek. A young nomesach – bright, kestrel barred wings, spotted back, heavy rudder of a tail that was fletched with feathers – stalked into the centre of the circle.
Tsierre relaxed his tensed muscles, attempting to smooth his ruffled fur without being too obvious. “why do you interrupt now?”
“Because the NightGale sent me with a suggestion, Nomesach Tsierre.” Now that she had everyone’s attention, her manners were impeccable. She sat, tail spread behind her and wings folded in, and dipped her head to him. “If you will hear it.”
Keyahir scoffed at the slight hint of judgement in the nomesach’s voice.
Hotre shot her a warning look. “Speak, then, Nomesach…?”
“Nomesach Krinos. The NightGale suggests that we look for the Three.”
“The Three!” Keyahir scoffed. “That is merely an old story.”
“Given to us by the One Who Sings.” Krinos held herself more calmly than Tsierre would expect anyone of her age to. “I think it is time to listen.”
“A story is still a story, no matter who tells it.” Keyahir stalked forward as if she sought to intimidate Krinos.
“A story still has threads of truth, no matter who disbelieves it,” Krinos replied, and Tsierre almost laughed.
Keyahir bristled and opened her mouth to snarl.
“This infighting solves nothing.” Hotre cut across her. “Nomesach Krinos. Were we to search them out, travel still poses a problem.”
Krinos inclined her head. “There are still aspects to work out, I admit. The NightGale suggested that the Three might be pulled in alone, and we only need to look within our own domain.”
“And if they are not?” Tsierre asked. “Who would you ask to sacrifice themself?”
“No one without volunteering myself.” Krinos tilted her chin up.
A familiar gesture. One Tsierre had seen elsewhere.
“Brave,” remarked Hotre.
“Foolhardy,” spat Keyahir. “Still. Your keeper will remember you, if no one else does.”
“She will remember you, too.”
“Find one, and the others may follow,” Tsierre said, before Keyahir could descend into more squabbling.
Krinos met his gaze and nodded.
Tsierre watched her and knew where he recognised her motions from. She had told him, hadn’t she? And he had forgotten, because that was how it worked.
He stepped down from his perch and raised his wings in an invitation.
Krinos followed. They left the circle of nomesach behind. Hotre raised his voice to focus the discussion.
Beyond the circle it was dark. Tsierre’s wings glowed, reflecting the moonlight back.
“If you do this, the chances for your return are slim.”
“Everything changes, Tsierre. Even us.”
Tsierre dipped his head. “Even so.”
“I would rather one than all.” Krinos tipped her head back. “Even if that one is me.”
“It is not you that will suffer.”
“No,” Krinos said, and smiled. “But as Nomesach Keyahir said, only the NightGale will remember.”
“And you choose this, willingly?”
“I will not let the world dissolve because I was a coward. It starts already.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “Magicen already breaks.”
“No one has brought that news.” Tsierre blinked.
“I think they try to fight it.” Krinos sat, her voice soft. “They are very brave.”
Tsierre turned back to face her, sitting back on his haunches. “You are, too.” He looked at her – so young, so small, so steady – and his heart almost broke. “How many did you have to out argue for the – honour?”
“None.” Krinos tilted one wing in a shrug. “The NightGale knows her name.”
“Her?”
“The first of the Three.”
Tsierre dipped his head, let that sink in. “You and she?”
“Leiri,” Krinos answered.
Tsierre flicked his tail through the grass.
“We are two sides, of a sort. So I know I will find her.” Krinos met Tsierre’s gaze. “I will not let us go extinct.”
“Sister,” Tsierre said, unbidden. It fell out, instead of what he meant to say.
Krinos blinked at him.
“I was also the NightGale’s, once.”
“And now you are Polinnedite’s.” She tilted her head. “Or Rhutren’s, perhaps.” The words had a teasing lilt to them.
Tsierre shot her a narrow eyed stare for that.
Krinos laughed and started to groom her wing.
“As you will be Leiri’s,” he said eventually, half a breath too late to be a decent retort. He has had little practice at being an older brother, but he wanted.
Krinos laughed at him.
“How will you travel?”
“The mage nest has already reached out with dire portents.” Krinos rolled her eyes. “As if they are the only ones aware.”
“You debt yourself to them?” Tsierre frowned.
“Oh, no.” Krinos gave him a wicked smile. “They debt themselves to we. Since they begged.”
“Be careful how you play them,” Tsierre replied. “They are proud.”
“Of course.” Krinos tilted her head, and there was that teasing light dancing around her eyes again. “Brother.”
Tsierre couldn’t help himself; he barked with laughter and reached out to bat a paw against Krinos’ head.
She pulled back out of the way and snapped at his paw in a playful manner, inviting him to follow.
He was the nomesach of Polinnedite, who kept all knowledge. He ought to be amongst the nomesach, discussing the threat to the world, discussing what they might do to keep themselves alive in the face of it.
Tsierre leapt after Krinos. They would not fall in one night There was time yet, and then his youngest sister would help to save them all.
dangit I opened the internet and lost the thread of the thing I was writing but uh hey that's on me
Have some Absolute Vibes that I have not edited for a story that I haven't thought about in uhhhhh Several Years at this point?
idk man I just - Run by Lucy Spraggan came on when we were driving back and just. yes. Verity Vibes.
Do I know how accurate this will be the the eventual draft? No, I can't even remember what pov I was writing it in lmao but hell if it wasn't fun.
~~~~
Verity laughed and scrambled to her feet, and chased Melody out of the shade of the overhang and into the dappled forest.
Melody shrieked and darted sideways, swinging around a tree and shifting in the space of a blink. She was a deer of some kind, then a fox, then some kind of monkey that leapt up into the trees and swung through the branches.
Verity followed on foot, mostly keeping pace along the uneven ground. She leapt tangled roots and danced around bushes, the path well known to her.
Melody didn’t look back, shifting again to a squirrel, getting lost in the higher branches, but this was no longer about catching her.
This was just about running, about living.
Verity burst out of the forest and into bright sunlight that was so much warmer now after the rain that had kept them inside for so long. She almost stopped, almost turned to face the sun, almost just basked.
But Melody had leapt, had shifted again, was some kind of bird and back to a deer, leaping nimbly along the cracks of the road and towards the ruins of the temples.
Verity ran, faster and faster and faster. Faster than she’d ever been before, in the city, in her mask. Faster than Valour, even, when he’d left to learn magic, when he’d come back to save her.
Verity ran and the track fell away beneath her feet and she could feel it, the thread of her magic, buried under her fear for so long.
Verity ran, and she forgot about chasing Melody – had lost sight of Melody, who was somewhere alongside her, matching stride for stride – and she just ran.
Past the temples of their shared history, a life that would never be theirs. Along the jagged cracks where the tunnels below had fallen in, where people looked up as they passed by.
Verity leapt one and almost felt like she was flying, but she landed as a human all the same.
Melody shot beyond again and shifted to some kind of big cat, turning as if to halt Verity, but she was too slow and Verity was running she wasn’t going to stop, she was going to reach the end and find
Verity’s foot hit the edge of the cliff and she did not stop. She pushed off, lunged forward, and the ground fell away and Verity tumbled, weightless into the sky.
No fear no future no fight no freeze no nothing but the sky all around.
Verity shrieked for the sake of the noise and twisted she shifted and her form unravelled and came back together in feathers and talons.
She folded in her wings and hit the water below, crashing into the well of her magic.
Verity changed again, wings for flippers, talons for tail. She arced back around and up, winged and feathered as she exploded in a spray of water towards the sky, and she shrieked.
There was something below the feathers, something deeper that she didn’t dare reach for yet but for now – for now there were wings and the sky was endless and there were more of her people shifting forms to join her and there was Valour, standing on the cliffs below.
Verity dived to meet him, shifting forms before she hit the ground, becoming a ribbon of a snake of a stoat of a cat of a wolf that tumbled across to land upright and magnificent in the sunlight and the wind, raising her face to the sun.
Some old deer died so I got the day off work so I finally typed up everything in my notebook from like the last month which means I have nine (9) documents open right now which means it's tag filling time
@zmwrites hi hello you're about to get a lot of these <3 thanks ilu
“We never came here,” Kaithr says, joining them. “This was H’tera.” They pointed back along the coast. “Only came up as far as the temples.”
Fin nods and grins. “Well, that explains it.” He wraps an arm around Kestrel, nudging her. “Show me around?”
“Sure.” She glances at Kaithr.
“You know where to find me when you’re done.” Kaithr shrugs.
Kestrel and Fin, asking totally-not-a-parent permission to go roaming. They didn't ask for pocket money, so that's dumb
tagging @winterandwords, @stuffaboutwriting, @amapofyourstars if y'all feel like it?
