The Great Forest is a place with trees that dwarf even the colossi, standing miles high into the air and spanning hundreds of feet across in some cases. The fertile lands of the forest allow the trees to live for thousands of years and grow so lush as to blot out the sun. It is said that in the deepest parts of the forest, ancient beasts exist exactly as they were in times before even the drakyks took their first steps on two legs.
In more hospitable parts of the forest -if anywhere in the world can be described so- reside a tribe of fairies whose wishes have already been used, either by cruel captors, treacherous former comrades, or even, desperate fairies. These wishless fairies, referring to themselves as Zaereens to distinguish themselves from their magical counterparts who abandoned them once their wish was used, are a strangely friendly tribe with a fairly welcoming nature. They’ve adopted into their tribe the lost and abandoned of all kinds and sizes; from disenfranchised tech pirates to orphan southerners and lost human and drakyk wanderers. They have a strong bond with the forest and with life, but also possess a strange cultural trait.
For centuries, the tribe has held a rite of passage known as the ‘Rite of the Goddess Moon’. This ceremony is a sort of sacrifice and challenge for worthy warriors of the tribe. The goal was to stand before the deity-like being known as the Neekimuugorr and be judged in battle. If the warrior can defeat the Neekimuugorr, that warrior would be worthy of attempting the trial of the thousand nights.
To Murtoa of Lakia, the unorthodox human knight legendary for slaying colossi, this creature is known as a coratodra, a reptilian hydra with an immobile body and which regrows two heads for any that are severed in battle.
And, in usual fashion for the warrior, in spite of any handicaps provided by the tribe expecting him to battle with an unfamiliar blade, Murtoa of Lakia rallied those at his disposal with his experience, and together, they defeated the coratodra.
Schieranna, the spirit of the wind and currently inhabiting Lykha’s body, provided the magical power necessary, while Coco, the teenage techromancer provided support from cover, and Maerin, in spite of being captive for most of the fight, brought Mury the sword gifted to him by a mutual friend, and which was lighter than the ‘sacred’ sword of the tribe.
Now, the chieftain of the Zaereen tribe is standing at the door of the hut where the group is gathered, in the wake of Maerin being recovered to their group from the tribe, and the death of their cult-like deity.
The group consists of an ancient spirit of chaos, a teen, and a rather-intoxicated wishless fairy with minimal combat experience, and so they all look to Murtoa for a cue of how to behave. He stands calmly, and his hand never moves towards any of his weapons. Maerin, though, slides herself down into Coco’s bag to hide.
The standoff ends when the chieftain murmurs, “It’s… dead…”
Mury says nothing. The four who killed it know it’s dead, and it’s unclear what she’s getting at.
“I-... It was… Th-... That was… the whole creature?”
Murtoa nods.
“S-So… w-we kill… offspring?”
“No. Only one of its heads ever emerged. Each time one was killed, two more grew back. Sometimes, it probably cannibalized excess heads.”
“B-... But… th-that would mean...”
The chieftain’s ceremonial spear flops to the ground, and she drops to her knees. She sheds the mask from her face desperately, and she buries her face in her hands to weep. She is revealed to be an adult fairy somewhere between Lykha’s and Maerin’s ages, though obviously with her wish spent like any other Zaereen. She sinks to the dirt floor of the hut, sobbing as she hits her fist against the ground in futility.
Murtoa kneels down before her, which puts him nowhere near her level this time. But, he says quietly and sincerely, “What you did was misinformed and ultimately foolish, but it’s the only reason your tribe has survived.”
She screams in pain as the weight of her tribe’s deeds bear down on her. Schieranna hovers down to stand on the ground near her. She kneels and pets the Zaereen chieftain’s back gently. “You didn’t know. But, if that creature had awoken before we came… Your tribe would be gone. Survivors would have scattered to the wind… They would be prey for other, worse creatures…”
Still the chieftain cries, but she deserves to. She needs to.
The group respectfully wait for her to calm down some, with Schieranna comforting her.
“s-s-sorry…” whimpers the chieftain. “I-I-I’m s-s-s-soo sorry…”
The three women in Mury’s party look at him, and they look at the chieftain. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Don’t be ridiculous.
Even Lykha thought it at the same time, making Schieranna smile even bigger. The chieftain stares at them with watering eyes, confused and still distraught.
Mury states, “What they said.”
Maerin grumbles drunkenly, “I ain’t hurt. I’s-I won’t hold nothin’. Gurges. Grudges. That one! Grudges. Ma’e me feel kinda sexy again.”
Coco adds triumphantly, “An’, we somethin’ of monsty slayas, as it be.” She puts her hands on her hips, adding warmly, “I’m Boss Machen, o’course.”
Pfft, she wishes… grumbles Lykha’s voice in Schieranna’s head.
Murtoa adds, “We can’t heal your tribe’s state. If we could, we would heal Maerin. But, the monster is dead. You can endeavor to make the most out of what should hopefully be a better situation now.”
The chieftain nods solemnly. She murmurs, still hurt from the realization of what her tribe has always done, “Thank you…”
Her eyes suddenly widen, though, and she states, “Murtoa of Lakia…”
With an almost instant response, Mury himself asks, “What about him?”
The small chieftain looks up at him, staring at his helmet. She murmurs distantly, “It’s you, isn’t it?”
Mury hesitates. It’s clear he’s concocting something to say to try to deflect without outright lying.
He’s such a goofball. No one in their right mind would deny being Murtoa. If someone accused me of being Mury, I’d probably allow it.
Schieranna smiles. She states plainly, “He is. He just doesn’t like to admit it because he’s dealt with imposters before.”
The chieftain looks at Schieranna, and then at Mury with the same wide, disbelieving-yet-believing eyes. She drops low again, “I am so sorry for how we treated you.”
Schieranna teases, “Anyone else notice how she’s talking normal? Just me?”
The chieftain admits softly, “It’s… it’s coming back…” She adds to Mury, “You have saved my tribe and my village. I will forever be-...”
“No.”
She halts, startled. Murtoa rises to his feet, saying something he’s probably said a thousand times before, and making the warm feeling coming from Lykha almost feel hot; “If you can spare a meal and some water, we’ll eat. If you can’t, we’ll be on our way.”
She stares at him, dumbfounded, and he adds, “Regardless, first we have to check on our fifth colleague. Excuse us.”
Mury steps past her, and the others follow. Those tribe members waiting outside -which very well may be the entire tribe- instantly drop to their knees and bow. However, Mury ignores them. He walks calmly and stoically the way they came.
Coco, doing her best to imitate him, follows with her head held high, glancing only briefly at some of the bystanders. Maerin hides in Coco’s bag, likely drinking in peace. And, Schieranna hovers near Mury’s shoulder. She smiles at the crowd, but more importantly, at Mury and his friends. She takes a rear-facing seat on his shoulder and waves at the crowd watching them leave, surprised that he’s not basking in his hero worship.
As they approach the location where the trunk winder was, however, Mury draws his sword, and Coco draws one of her gadgets.
Littering the forest floor are insectoid creatures of some kind, and the trunk winder is suspended in the air by metal winches, the two rear winches fired upwards at trees, and the two forward winches fired at roots near the ground.
A sudden explosion of sand from the quicksand pit causes the three to flinch, and a shrill creature squeals, thrashing violently before sinking back into the sand.
A figure drops from the trunk winder with a thud, but rises to full height shortly after. It’s Gyrryth, and he has with him one of the metal canisters of some kind of chemical agent Maerin purchased. The lizardman looks about as rough as Murtoa and Schieranna, specifically, with wounds currently bleeding and his hat and clothes torn. The lizardman is in a state none of them have seen him; enraged fury, and he storms towards the quicksand with the chemical. The three currently active relax a little, approaching the lizardman as he snarls in a scary tone, “A shame your flesh will be wasted, vermin.”
Just as the chemical is flowing down towards the struggling monster -which is humongous- his head whips around, glaring at them. Again, they halt, but his gaze softens. “Oh. Greetings. I was just addressing one last interloper. Please excuse my tone.”
Murtoa peers over the edge of the pit cautiously, saying, “Nothing to excuse. You okay?”
“I shall be.” When the canister is empty, Gyrryth tosses it into the pit, and the thrashing colossus barely notices it, still struggling to fight in futility against the quicksand.
The lizardman draws one of his flame pistols, all but snarling the incantation, and he fires it coldly into the pit. Unrelenting flames ignite, burning viciously and causing the creature to scream in an insect-like screech. The flames, clearly supported entirely by the chemical, continue to burn even under the sand, billowing smoke from the pit as bubbles roil out of the semi-liquid sand.
The creature's flails become less violent, and the four watch as it roasts. Maerin finally pokes her head out of Coco’s bag, clearly at the border of consciousness, and she hiccups. She states somewhat humorously, “Two in *hic* one day? We bes’ be rollin’ shine.”
Murtoa and Gyrryth look at each other, and then Coco, and the three start laughing. Schieranna smiles. She’s sure it’s funny because of their line of business, as well as the fact that no one hired them to slay either of these monsters.
In fact, thinking about it, she giggles as well.
Coco asks seemingly-seriously, however. “Now, how we ‘spose’d to get me runna down from ‘at, ey?”
Gyrryth replies as he nurses the gash over his eye, “I apologize, Fiery One. The beast attempted to carry the trunk winder away. I was forced to improvise, and I fear I am not quite so proficient as Sir Murtoa.”
Mury pats the drakyk spellshot on the shoulder, “You did well. I’m sorry we weren’t here to help.”
“Worry not, my friend. I sense I would not envy the time you spent.”
“Still, a Paestokker alone? I’ve never killed one.”
The creature is either at the bottom of the pit or found grip with its legs or buoyancy, as its head is just peeking out of the sand, and it still groans.
Gyrryth jokes, “It seems I have not yet, either.”
Maerin suddenly perks up, asking, “Wai! Was’at my trewble!?”
“Your ‘what’?” asks Murtoa.
She points at Gyrryth fearsomely, snarling herself, “Tha’ was my bes’ brew! Been bubblin’ it for since the s-sorga-... booger thing!”
“Apologies. It smelled flammable.”
“AYE! But, it didn’t mean you blast it on some… that!” She points in the hole, but she weakens when her consciousness nearly slips away and she becomes dizzy. She growls, “You buyin’ me. You buyin’ me a WHOLE barrel if’n’we find us a people village.”
Gyrryth nods, “Happily. It found victory this day.”
Murtoa looks at Schieranna, saying gently, “I apologize that your day was spent doing that.”
She recoils in surprise. “Are you kidding!?” She darts to his visor, kissing the darkened and cracked viewing window. She grins with rosy cheeks. “This was the best day I’ve had in centuries!" She swirls in a giddy circle, dancing idly with herself as she absorbs what she just aided in accomplishing. "I've never fought a monster with friends before!" She pauses, softening her expression. "A-acquaintances, I guess…"
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Everyone looks at Maerin first, who was put into trouble by the spirit.
Maerin hiccups. She growls, but in a soft tone, "Ya came to my rescue… Ne'er been friends with a spirit." She toasts her drink, saying more warmly, "Than's for savin' me, Schie-Schier… Shee."
The spirit blushes, and Coco says arrogantly, "As 'Bando's first and only wife, I approve o'friendin' trickspittas'o'monsty-slayin'." She adds deviously, "Tricksie fallin' behind 'Bando's attention."
Mury adds, "You were a big help. Thank you."
Gyrryth smiles. "That is indeed high praise, Great Spirit. Though I am undoubtedly least worthy, I would be honored to serve you as a friend and atone for my ignorance."
Schieranna sniffles. "Thank you, my… friends." She smiles, holding her hands at her heart.
Why are you acting like you're saying goodbye? We agreed to a time. I'll be here. Just, no more teasing me. Oh, and tell Coco… nevermind.
The spirit is surprised. "A-are you sure? I-it was kinda stressful… Everyone is pretty beat up."
Murtoa, realizing who she's talking to, states, "We'll be fine. The winches do all of the work."
He's far from fine…, grumbles Lykha's voice, and Schieranna laughs. Once she has a moment of enjoyment, she says tenderly, "My darling sister Gruicelle; would you lend us your power?"
Schieranna can hear Gruicelle murmur in a sort of teasing grumble, My turn better be next.
Um… I-I think that's fair. The young fairy is undoubtedly waiting for feedback from the others. In the meantime, Gruicelle's pure magic, often referred to as light magic, channels into Schieranna, and she performs the much more powerful restorative spell over the group, healing all injuries. In fact, she exerts enough energy that Coco's natural horns grow to full length, curling cutely like croissants or similar coiled pastries.
The teen reacts, squeaking, "Oi! Not me, ya trickspittin' Bogglesly!"
Tell her they're cute, like little biscuits on her head.
"Lykha says they're cute. Like little biscuits." The others chuckle.
Coco's cheeks turn pink, and she shouts, "Well, I'm defini'ly shavin'em back to no!"
Without warning or hesitation, Murtoa of Lakia adds as he carefully checks his magically healed arm, "Lykha's right."
Coco doesn't often blush to begin with, so when her entire face turns pink, it's especially surprising. She instantly rallies out as she marches towards the trunk winder, "Ey! We nee'ta get this chaseuh down NOW! I need me bunk!"
They all laugh together as Coco directs the effort, though it's Murtoa's and Gyrryth's experience that drives the recovery of their vehicle. Though they're healed, the two experienced fighters are still weary, and the healing takes energy to complete.
Fortunately, they can rest once the trunk winder is down, and the five each make their preparations to do just that.
************************************
Before he met Lykha, Murtoa of Lakia traveled the world alone. He ate alone, he slept alone, and he battled colossi alone. The strangest part is imagining fully how he did the latter-most for so long.
Of course, the human warrior is never unaware of his limits, and he's not actively seeking death. So, during that time alone, he almost certainly accomplished less, requiring more time to heal. He doesn't remember how long ago the first monster he killed was after the holgamoor. In fact, he can't remember how long ago that was. He wandered, he heard about a monster, he killed it.
Now, just traversing a path with a known destination has kept him busier than ever before, and surviving only by the graces of his new friends.
Lykha and Coco are almost always the first asleep, and Gyrryth and Mury alternate keeping watch. As primary combatants, they can respond defensively while alerting the others, where Coco and Lykha's greatest strengths lie in intelligence and sharp minds. And, Maerin, of course, acts of her own accord entirely, which was the promise Mury made her.
Mury is still highly sensitive to sound, having needed to sleep when he was alone. A tiny tapping alerts him, but he makes an even more surprising discovery; two fairies, one currently occupied by one of the ancient spirits and the other having long ago spent her wish, are peacefully asleep against his chest. Schieranna is a variable in all of their lives, and she has very close to nothing to lose. Maerin, likewise, has little to lose and often has low inhibitions to begin with.
Murtoa of Lakia is a warrior first, but he hesitates in a strange moment of concession to the two.
The tapping comes again, and he resolves to do what must be done. He carefully removes each of the two fairies with minimal disturbance -a feat, given Schieranna is gripping his shirt-. And, in spite of such delicate efforts, her eyes drift open.
The human warrior whispers, "Just checking something. Rest."
Maerin growls grumpily, her eyes still closed, "Mrrrr… Thirty silvs for wakin' us up…"
He chuckles, "Sorry…"
"Not you… Them. Fairy knock if I ever heard one."
Murtoa heads back to the back segment, tapping on the rear hatch. He waits a moment before opening it.
Sure enough, a small army of fairies, led by the chieftain without her mask, is gathered around the opening of the trunk winder.
Mury doesn't say anything. He knows what they want, and it's completely unnecessary to him.
Before the chieftain can summon the words, Maerin approaches on foot, stepping around Mury's leg. She sees the villagers and instantly whirls back around. "Nope. I ain't goin', I ain't interested. No fertility goddess here."
Schieranna giggles from near his head, hovering. She does lower to the ground though, standing equal with the Zaereens.
The chieftain finally bows, saying apologetically, "I am so sorry to all of you. I… I was a fool."
Murtoa looks to Maerin, and she growls, "I already accepted your apology. Drop it. Please."
Murtoa nods, "Agreed. No hard feelings."
Schieranna offers gently, "Sorry we killed your god."
"No." The chieftain waves over some of her tribe members, and the small wishless fairies approach carrying a simple iron longsword with a sharpening charm on it. "Murtoa of Lakia should have the blade that ended our village stupor." She joins the others to hold the blade as high as they can.
Murtoa kneels, explaining softly, "I have a sword. If you give me this one, you may never see it again."
"So be it. Please, let this sword's story end in the hands of the hero who fulfilled its duty."
It's a situation Mury is clearly familiar with. He gingerly takes the heavy blade, replying, "Thank you." He holds it aside for a moment and draws one of his daggers from his belt. He presents it to the chieftain, saying sincerely, "Please accept this blade in return, as your village begins a new story."
The fairy delicately accepts the dagger, murmuring, "I… I cannot accept this. I'm not worthy."
"It has a protection charm on it. If a fairy wields it, all under her protection will be safe from monsters."
"I-... Is that true?"
He nods without hesitation. "Why do you think it's just a knife to me? Either way, I'm giving it to you. Protect them."
The chieftain's eyes water, and she reluctantly accepts the dagger. "I-it's… s-so light…"
He nods. "I lie regularly if it's necessary. That blade IS meant for a fairy." The human warrior takes Zaermaa as he stands up. "I never named it, but it served me well. Please choose a worthy name when it serves you."
The chieftain sniffles, "I-I will."
"Good. Farewell. Please ensure your companions are clear of the vehicle. We'll be leaving shortly."
She nods. Just as he turns to head back inside, the chieftain's voice asks, "Murtoa?"
He looks at her out of instinct, though he doesn't necessarily regret it. Regardless, she smiles. "You've… given me hope… A new life… I will not fail you."
"I wouldn't have accepted this blade otherwise."
She smiles and nods, and the villagers cheer as the five monster slayers prepare the vehicle for departure. Maidens sing praises to Maerin, others wish 'Lykha' well, and many of them beg Mury to stay for the ‘Trial of 1000 nights’. He refuses, sealing up the trunk winder once the boiler is lit. The vehicle rolls away, leaving the Zaereen village behind to start a new journey of their own.
************************************
Schieranna hovers in front of Murtoa as he takes a seat in one of the passenger seats following his shower. She asks in a huff, “How come, if that dagger was magic, you didn’t give it to me or Maerin?”
He looks at her briefly, and then Maerin when the mature fairy adds, “Aye! A lot of good it did holdin’ your belt down.”
Gyrryth replies in Murtoa’s defense, “Magic charms are tricky. Especially powerful ones. Certain conditions must be met, and can seem to fail when they are most relied upon.”
Schieranna retorts, “Probably didn’t even have any magic on it. I couldn’t detect anything.”
“It wasn’t active,” states Murtoa as he sits back. “See for yourself. We are not under Lykha’s or Maerin’s protection. We’re companions, always relying on each other.”
Schieranna turns her gaze backwards skeptically, looking idly towards the back of the car. She’s surprised to find a strong aura that she can detect, where not moments ago, there was none. She looks at Murtoa, and he crosses his arms as he lays his head back to rest. He finishes, “That village relies on the chieftain. And, so long as they do, their symbiosis will keep them all alive. The dagger will help.”
Schieranna hesitates, and she hovers down to sit on his lap. She asks, looking up at his chin, “So, you traded an extremely powerful magic dagger for a relatively common sword that never dulls?”
“I traded a knife for a sword with a name.”
Lykha murmurs in Schieranna’s mind, He claimed he had no idea what fairies even were when we met.
“If you didn’t know what fairies were before Lykha, how did you know that dagger worked?”
“It was given to me much like both of these swords. I trust the gifter. But, as you can guess, there aren’t many fairies looking to buy a dagger useful only to fairies.”
So he waited to give it to someone who needed it most…
The young fairy’s voice is tender and adoring, and Schieranna can’t help but smile. Coco adds, “‘S why ‘Bando ‘ceptable to be my ‘Bando. A heart as big as the monsties he slay.”
Schieranna teases, “I think if Lykha were here, she’d have a few choice words to say about that.”
HEY! I told you to stop teasing me!
The wind spirit snickers as Coco retorts, “‘Bando likes his machens a little taller, clearly.”
Alright. Lay into her. Make her rue the day she picked on my height.
Schieranna laughs, and she says, “You all are treasures.” She looks at Mury again, asking, “Murmur?”
He seems to have been close to unconsciousness, and he grunts, “Hmm?”
She gingerly touches his chest plate, asking softly, “Are we still in danger?”
He cocks his head, but he doesn’t respond right away. He eventually replies, “It’s… difficult to explain without sounding like I trust none of you and am making excuses.”
Fingers snapping from the floor near his shins draws his attention. Maerin is snapping her fingers, as if summoning him. He sighs and leans over carefully to lift her onto his lap, and she takes a seat, sipping her drink before stating, “Lay it on us, then. If you do trust us.”
Murtoa hesitates a moment longer. “A long time ago, a friend told me a story. In it, the demon hunting its enemy knew he was coming, but had no way of finding him. So, it created a spell to peer through the eyes of everyone around the enemy and locate him that way.”
“You believe a monster is hunting you?” asks Schieranna cautiously.
“Not actively. But if it discovers me, I may never reach it.”
Coco asks, confused, “How’s it ‘sposed to do that? Ain’t nobody peeping through me peepers, ‘cept me.”
Mury replies, “I mentioned… it’s difficult to explain…”
“What are you after that has you concerned, Murmur?” asks Maerin.
He’s silent for a long time. He replies quietly, “I still don’t know what it is, but it was there… that day.”
Lykha’s voice murmurs softly in Schieranna’s head, The end of the war… the day he killed the holgamoor…
Schieranna gingerly touches his chest again, and he relaxes back into his resting position. He states with a somewhat deflective tone, “If it recognizes me as Murtoa of Lakia, it will know he is real, and that I am a threat… long before I am.”
Schieranna hesitates, but she suddenly makes a connection that only she can make for once. She looks directly up at his visor, and she can feel her gaze lock with his. He shakes his head subtly, and she widens her eyes.
He grunts in a more normal tone, “Coco, keep heading east. We don’t need to go fast. A paestokker has a large territory, and it likely already killed the torpesinect that pursued Schieranna and Maerin. If you find a decent place to park in cover, do so, and we can perform repairs and full reloads of the winches.”
Coco confirms, “Aye Love!” She asks sheepishly, “Um… Love?”
He grunts, “Hmm?”
“Is there a way to peep… sandy-holes and longoons?”
Murtoa replies sincerely, “Take caution when the ground ahead seems especially flat. River, obviously, is usually lower than the ground to begin with, even by a little, and a quicksand pit will simply be flat or have distinct ripples.”
Gyrryth adds, “If you notice mud around us or splashing noises, it is a good time to slow down and use caution. The tree roots make channels that the water descends in, but their massive weight drives the water back up. It is a strange irony.”
Coco nods, absorbing the wisdom. Schieranna asks softly, “Murmur?”
“What is it?”
“I’ll be cheering for you. Always.”
He tilts his head slightly, and he replies gently. “Thank you.”
She smiles, saying to everyone, “Thank you all so much for such a wonderful day. I hope I’ll get to see you again someday.”
Coco retorts, “Aye, I won’ stop doggin’ Tricksie till then, Bogglesly, don’t you worry.”
Schieranna retorts playfully, “I don’t know whether to be insulted or touched to have a nickname…”
Maerin adds, “Wasn’t my best day, but thanks again for comin’ for me.”
Gyrryth smiles at the spirit, “I will endeavor to be worthy of your friendship, Great Spirit.”
She smiles and nods. The spirit looks at Mury last, and he replies, “You helped us when we could have meant nothing to you. Thank you. Continue to treat Lykha well.”
She scoffs, retorting gently, “I should be saying that to you.” She points sternly at Mury, growling, “Don’t break her little heart when she finally confesses her love for you. You’ll have the full wrath of all six of us to deal with.”
Mury chuckles. “I won’t. Take care, Schieranna.”
She smiles, whispering, “I love you all.”
Her gaze goes blank for a moment, just as with Nieolsynnys, and her body sits idly. After a few moments, the glow returns to Lykha’s eyes, and she shakes her head. Her first motion is to cry out, “Uh-OOOOWWWWWW! UGH! WHAT DID SHE DO TO MY BODY!?” She falls onto her back on Mury’s lap, and the others chuckle. She whimpers, “I feel like I’ve been run over by the trunk winder!”
Maerin pets her head gently, saying, “There, there. You’re still alive.”
“BARELY! I’m going to sleep good tonight… Mury has the right idea!”
Coco retorts, “Ye have enough juice to gab a mighty gab, Tricksie.” The teen smiles over her shoulder.
Lykha tries to sit up, saying, “YOU-AH! Ah… You, I’ll deal with later… ugh…” She flops back down, saying, “Mury… What… What she said…”
He doesn’t respond, and his head seems to almost go limp against the headrest of his seat. Maerin remarks, “He… must be dozin’ already…”
She looks at Maerin, “Maerin… A-about… all this…”
Maerin smiles. “I know you were helping, sweetie. I’m grateful. And, Murmur knows, too. I wasn’t worried for one minute.” She shakes her flask, adding, “‘Cept maybe when I was out of thinkin’ juice.”
Gyrryth jokes softly, “That is the opposite of ‘thinking juice’, Mature One.”
“Did I mix up again?” She shrugs and smiles, finishing off what’s left in her flask.
The three others chuckle, and Lykha smiles as she rests her sore body on Mury’s thigh. She looks up at his helmet, wondering quietly if he’s actually asleep or if he’s faking it.
In any case, she feels just as sleepy very quickly, and lets herself drift away peacefully in one of the safest places she knows.
*******************************