Snippets and Stories: (BP) The Darkest Night

Nyx's Gate. Lunaris's one cycle of absence, when the doors opened and the Stygian Seas flooded the Heavens as to blot out the celestial bodies themselves.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Beneath the Storm (Pt. 1)

Zeal had at first believed it to provide some modicum of warmth in this harsh climate, but the severed Shol proved to be perfectly adapted to the icy terrain and the cold ineffectual, hindering them little, if at all it did.

Shols did not deem it necessary to garb themselves in cloth, for such modesty was all but absent, and the intricate weaves they did craft formed tapestries and comforts to line the den or carry water. Such things as modesty were were hardly a concern to the floral children, pertaining little to either their lifestyle or culture.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Furzé

The children of the Verdance were simple creatures.

They relished in the warmth of the Solar Warden, and marveled at the twinkling dust that followed in the wake of Lady Lunaris.

Dancing and frolicking under their light did they flourish, for it was by the light of the Celestial Wardens that they found the nourishment they need partake of.

Jovial in their exuberance yet shy, playful and nippy, and harboring an innocuous penchant for mischief and delight.

By nature did their powers manifest, slowly but surely. Just as a seed no bigger than a river pebble would one day become a towering sentinel of the ravine, watching over all that lay beneath thestarry dwelling of the Celestial Lovers.

They did not seek power, nor did they desire it. With great power came great responsibility. A needless one. And few sought to facilitate such growth.

Besides, what need was there for power? Such things they left to Father Time. A gradual development scripted by Nature.

Which is why it came as a surprise to the Gorse Ring when there arose a Bramblewine Shol of such imposing and unprecedented might.

The Gorse Ring was taken wholely unprepared as the characteristic briar barrier short forth, twisting thorned serpents that pierced the very Heavens.

An impenetrable cocoon of gnarled vines that even the Shols could not breach grew in a tangled mess in the Heart of the Ring, and in its very center, twined so dense as to budge not.

From within emanated aetheric concentrations of unforeseen density, barely contained and shielded by the tendrils.

And slowly, did the vines part to reveal a Bramblewine Shol.

Furzé, they oft referred to them by for the subtle, yet intimidating thorns that adorned them, took to the Arts of Manipulation with frightening ease.

Even for a child of the Verdance, to whom such was as breathing, Furzé was a step above.

So vast were their aetheric stores, and so saturated were they, that to protect the Bramblewine and others of and outside the Ring from being swept away, the current Pillar instructed the Coty in creating a staff borne of their own fibers. Yet even with the Shepherd's Crook granting them greater control, it was barely enough to contain the deluge and sweeping current of their Aether that threatened to drag others into its pull.

Formidable not just in might but in mind.

The Bramblewine would prove to be very much unlike their brethren. Uninterested in their shenanigans, finding little amusement in the participation of such antics, and sharing little in way of merry. Furzé would take to the patches of shade and filtered sunbeams, content to observe the others at a distance.

Sagely and with much foresight, they were soon taken under the wing of the Pillar, who kept them in close confidence. A thoughtful individual, prudent, wise, and cautious. A Shol that was able to make the decisions a leader need must consider. 

Different, aye, but to the floral children, differences were just that--different. And the Shols of the Gorse Ring took it in with nary a blink. Different wasn't bad, different was just different.

Besides, it was a relief for the current Pillar of the Gorse Ring to have a successor, that they may return to their predecessor. Someday Furzé could succeed them, there was none better to take their place.

Would've, had Furzé not left to start their own Ring.

Though disappointed, they were nonetheless cheerful when the Bramblewine left. The Circle bid their dear kin farewell, dressing them with flowers meticulously wrapped packs laden with a generous helping of that season's harvest, that it may expedite the establishment of a new Circle.

And thus did the Bramblewine Shol depart.

Furzé wandered through the valley, their journey taking them all across the world. At Times they ventured close to the settlements of deathly silence and stone, where the Aether flowed thin and sparse.

Within the barrier a high density of creatures lived. The Sanctums, or so the creatures oft called it. They spoke much of it, and other things too, but pragmatic as they were Furzé sought their own answers. For they were creatures that spoke, but whose words meant nothing. Creatures who relished in deceit, much like the Shols, yet there was nothing playful in their banter. Instead there lay something far more sinister and akin to malice. They were greedy, and made little sense in their controversy.

Furzé did not like these strange creatures or their cold fortresses of stone.

They did, however, like the Archives that they kept, oft sneaking through the barriers and pilfering the odd collective. It took much observation before they were able to understand the flowy black script penned into the books.

After partaking of the Archives to their Heart's content, Furzé would once again take to the road.

Time and Time again they would encounter these Sanctums, and sometimes in returning to familiar grounds, find that the stone walls had encroached deeper and deeper into the Verdance. Where they went, so too did the Verdance wither.

At last they came upon a small valley, shrouded by mists and rain. The turbulent weather dissuaded many, and the Bramblewine relented. The Sanctums would not quick infringe upon this land.

They lay down roots, and hollowed out the grotto, to accommodate for the new Ring. From dampened Earth there arose briar strong, that did slowly but surely, take root just the same.

The beginnings of what would one day become the Bræmbel Ring.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Worlds Apart (Pt. 1)

"Syras, come back."

He turned to see a familiar face calling to him. Yet try as he might, never before could he recall having met another of such striking likeness.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Perspective Shift

It was difficult to discern depth, having lost the vision of his right eye.

An odd world it was. Despite the visible spectrum and the possession of a perfectly functional eye, everything seemed muted.

Dull and lifeless despite what should've been a vibrant colorful world.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Gelid's Passing (2 of ?)

Vye shook his head. He was being silly.

Outside, the snow kept coming, drifting flakes of snow that blanketed the world in white.

... Were they safe and warm? He hoped so.

---

Elsewhere, Zeal hooked an arm through the reins, pulling a simple wooden sleigh along. 

It had taken quite a bit of traveling to get all the preparations done, but they were complete at last.

Well. Almost.

On occasion, Zeal would spot things on the way back and barter. Highly unusual as the Seeker was not known to be such a spendthrift. The man kept a iron grip to his satchel, and if anything was rather stingy in even the most common of indulgences, which of course made this whole fiasco all the more entertaining for the Bluepine.

Lockes chuckled when Zeal stopped in his tracks, staring at a vendor's wares before abruptly trudging off, making a beeline for the stall. It was a simple task, following the Reaper through the crowd with their eyes. He was a head taller than a majority of the townspeople.

They watched the brief exchange as the Seeker pointed out some goods and the vendor wrung him up.

And once again Lockes tossed a knowing look his way, grinning wide as they did so.

"... It's Sea Hazel. Vye loves them." Came the gruff rumble of the Seeker's voice, by way of explanation.

"As is the veritable mountain of goods we now have to lug back?" They gestured to the makeshift sleigh the Bluepine had warped to carry the load, "One would think us merchants, or Gelid's Saints."

"... Aye." Zeal grabbed the reigns and trudged off, pulling the sleigh, packages and all, behind him with little effort, if at all, "You needn't trouble yourself. I've not asked for your assistance."

Too much was it to be carried back in their packs, and even with the numerous fronds at the Northern Blue's disposal it was a questionable venture.

yet even then the stubborn man refused the notion of borrowing any beasts of burden

"I've no need for that which I can do myself." 

He'd stated when Lockes insisted that they alleviate the burden whilst on the road.

Lockes was practically glowing with mirth, and though he'd not acknowledge it, the Reaper was tinged far too red for it to merely be the cold alone.

They fell into pace as they left the settlement, following the road back to the inn where Vye was doubtlessly waiting up. 

The silence was comfortable and there was a good sense of camaraderie between the two of them. Which was why it came as such a surprised when it was Zeal who broke silence.

The Reaper grumbled, almost hesitant, "Vye's... a child, isn't he."

A statement, Lockes duly noted. Completely rhetorical, for they both knew. A mere ruse to start a conversation. The severed Shol hummed, a jovial note that carried into the melodic lilt of their voice, "A coty, yes. A juvenile quick approaching adolescence."

"If possible, it'd be nice for him to experience the festivities, as a child."

"I'm sure he has with his Circle." Lockes spoke, a serene and fond smile settled on their face, their eyes seeing not the present, but Times past, " Especially being of the lowlands, the wintry winds brought much more drastic change. It is of great importance to those who hale from the moors."

But Zeal rumbled on, pulling them from their thoughts, "I'm aware of the significance of Sholian festivals celebrating Gelid's passing. But I speak of the present. Just for a moment, I would have him go without worrying about all of... this." 

They had long since left the town gates and evening had fallen upon them, the city behind them mere speckles of light flickering in the encroaching dark.

Too dark to see the smile on the Bluepine's features, "I'm certain with you, he's felt more peace than he ever hoped this world could give." 

Such compliment helped to assuage the Seeker's worries, and in their place, set a warmth in his chest. 

At least, until the severed Shol spoke again, "But you know, more than any of this, I think Vye would be happiest with being close to the ones he holds dear. After all, isn't that the most important allegory of Gelid's Passing? One of few similarities between our kind, a tradition of togetherness with which both Solaris's brood and the Verdance honor."

"Aye." The Reaper seemed to be contemplating this. Not that he doubted it any, but rather it gave him much to think. Shols formed Fairy Rings, Circles of strong lasting bonds. In choosing one or the other, sustenance and shelter they would readily relinquish if it meant being with their Circle. For them, the desire for kinship oft came above all else. 

And Vye, bereft of his beloved Bræmbel kin, sought out Zeal. Perhaps not intentionally so, but nonetheless the vale Shol oft turned to the Reaper, seeking the comforts of the companionship of past.

Vye would be pleased with their presence alone. But Zeal wanted to give him more.

Lockes listened to his ramblings in silence, before shrugging. How often those of Solaris's brood looked elsewhere for answers. Complex creatures they were. "... 'ware that you may be denying that which he desires most."

Zeal grimaced and made to speak, but stopped.

"... Lets hurry back."

Lockes smiled and nodded.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Gelid's Passing (1 of ?)

Vye stared at the evergreen that Zeal had convinced him to grow. This particular variety, though exuding a pleasing fragrance, served more ornamental purposes than anything else, and it seemed odd then that the Seeker had been so insistent that his companion nurture one while they were away.

That alone wasn't what bothered him though.

As of late, they wouldn't tell Vye a thing. Yes, they. Both of them were in on this little secret.

There was a lot about this world he didn't understand, and certainly he would not deny them their fun out of some fit of jealous rage. The two were getting along splendidly, considering their history, and he was elated for it. And so the Bræmbel Shol had shrugged it off. 

But that was more than a week ago. 

And before they so abruptly left him by his lonesome.

"We'll be back soon."

But how soon was soon? 

For the entirety of the past week Lockes had been giggling to themselves, muttering a low "oh my" on occasion in an almost teasing fashion, shaking their head, and tutting at Zeal. Yet despite this seemingly disapproving tone, the Blupine was always bright eyed, a secretive smile never far from their lips as they watched the Seeker with rapt attention. Zeal himself seemed rather abashed by all of this even as he busied himself with various odd tasks and divulging little with Vye. 

This in itself wasn't unusual, Zeal wasn't much of a talker and oft informed the young Shol as circumstances arose, or when questioned. But what exactly was this? What was going on? Zeal rarely got worked up for anything. And even after asking, the man brushed him off! Worse still, Zeal would outright ignore him and pretend not to hear, dodging around his questions, or to suddenly be busy with something or another. If anything the more he prodded at the Seeker, the more the other avoided him. 

The Seeker wouldn't even listen when Vye went over the route he had planned and their next destination! Even Lockes had only been half listening, distracted as they were with--with whatever this is.

Vye huffed, folding his arms under his as he leaned on the window sill, giving the snow blanketed city below a sour look without really seeing anything. He glowered at everything, and nothing. 

That's just mean. Zeal was being mean. And Lockes was just plain unhelpful.

It left Vye feeling rather put out by the whole thing.

There was something the two were in on, something that he wasn't only not a part of, but altogether intentionally and purposefully excluded from.

"All in good Time! You'll see!" Lockes had waved him off, with a chuckle, refusing to divulge more before pulling their hood lower and ducking out of the inn room with Zeal close behind. They turned around to encircle Vye in a warm hug, "We'll try not to be long but this might take a bit. Don't wait up, okay?"

Vye had given a nod, reluctant to let Lockes go from their hug. 

"We'll be back soon." they reassured him. Giving the young Coty a last ruffle of his foliage, the Alpione Shol disappeared, leaving Vye craning his neck to see the two of them even as the door fell shut with a sharp click, the bolt slid in place. 

That was 3 nights ago.

Zeal hadn't even spared him a second glance, in far too much of a rush for whatever it was that occupied his two comrades so.

He leapt off the sill, clambering onto the table and coiling up in the center of the nostalgic belongings strewn across its surface.

Insides jokes were fine and all, but it had been nigh constant, yet despite being so blatantly obvious, the two were so hush-hush about the whole ordeal, going mum whenever Vye pointed out their odd behavior. Or in Lockes's case, amused snickering and secretive, knowing, glances.

The Bræmbel Shol stared at a small but hefty pouch containing several precious metal coinage and a handful of metal chips of lower denomination. Zeal had left it there should he need anything from the inn while the two were out.

It was immature, perhaps, and downright petty, but he swiped at the coin purse anyway, knocking the bag to the floor and glaring as it landed with a merry jingle. 

He grumped to himself, hissing and fluffing up, plumes ruffled as he knocked a couple of other knickknacks off the table. A couple of Zeal's freshly folded articles, a water skin, a strange wooden charm Lockes told him to keep close by, a couple of rolls of paper, ribbon, and sticky strips that the Seeker had bought and hauled in the morning of their departure.

Okay, so maybe it was more than just a couple of knickknacks.

Spent, the Bræmbel Shol coiled the sheets and curled in the center of his makeshift nest.

Frankly though, it wasn't altogether unexpected.

Realistically, keeping him alive was of far greater priority. And in their travels, he posed a great liability, one that would be better left behind in safety.

He was just a Coty and likely the sole Shol still fully intact. If anything it was folly for him to travel with them, every moment out there was putting the future of the Verdance on the line. Furthermore, what reason could there be to call for his presence, when Lockes could do so much better, and then some. 

Even severed as they were from the Verdance, the dark Shol and former Pillar of the Alpione Ring was far more capable in their communion. Even fallen, they were able to raise the Prismatic Arc, they had more than earned their place as a child of the Verdance. 

A capable and reliable individual, the extent of whose abilities were never truly realized.

If anyone could reach the Briar Patch, it would be them.

What need did either of them have of some helpless whelp, still quite literally, green around the ears? A Coty who, with the exception of his tentative similarities to that of the Yggdrasill, was without even the most basic of the Verdance's gift, who had to not only receive a graft, but have yet to truly harness the Verdance and grow into his abilities?

And he knew, with Lockes's guidance, it was the wiser, smarter decision for him to remain. To stay behind where he could be kept safe. He was an asset, one that would serve better use and less hindrance away from perils.

But surely--surely they wouldn't play such a cruel joke as to leave him alone, and in the coldest Time of the Orbital cycle no less. 

Vye shook his head. He was being silly.

Outside, the snow kept coming, drifting flakes of snow that blanketed the world in white.

... Were they safe and warm? He hoped so.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) The Elixir of Life

They were passing through a village. One that like many in the quaint countryside had once seen better days.

When the rot was still amongst them, many fled beyond the stone walls of the 16 Sanctums to these quaint towns.

And for some Time it did seem that the wilderness and fresh country air healed.

Until the rot was passed to them as well.

Village populations were decimated, entire towns lost and the once cobbled roads since fallen to ruin.

The dilapidated ruins they had thought abandoned.

Until they chanced upon a scant few left. Scarred by the rot, for it passed through the flesh, and though the few remaining denizens survived, they decayed.

Sour pus oozed from open sores. Some had lost their eyes, and all that remained were festering sockets with their hollowed, empty stare.

They had stopped for a rest. The town wared them at first, but when Zeal dealt with them as they would any other, they welcomed the travelers tentatively.

Merchants were scarce and they were in desperate need of materials.

Materials that they carried.

It was part of their guise, after all. Sometimes they entertained, other Times like now, commerce was their trade. Either way, it was an easier and less suspicious means of blending in with denizens of any kind despite how utterly foreign they were, and a means of paying for expenses. 

Thieves and their ilk were little concern. Zeal dispatched of them easily enough, and the presence of a Seeker and acting mercenary in their midst all the more believable. It played well into both, giving credibility to their front.

Especially for those who have supped deep upon the meager scraps of desperation and drunk deep of the same chalice.

Traveling merchants were scarce in these parts. Oft avoiding places of heavy infestation, and shying away from those who suffered still. Those that did brave such ravaged lands were disdainful, treating the inhabitants as lesser being.

It was scarce. Scarce, but not unheard of.

And for their tiny caravan, they would be the latter.

A clever ploy, and they had the young Bræmbel Shol to thank for it.

"Clever little Coty." Lockes had murmured as Vye explained his plan. Perhaps this was why Furzé chose the young Shol to succeed them.

It was simple and resourceful, an easily sustainable means of keeping their image. Merchants were free to travel without rousing much suspicion. It was, after all, their trade.

And so they traded.

And Zeal, ever the vigilant guard, ensured no goods were passed without the proper coinage or equivalent.

But such dedication needn't be so.

Though the concept of currency seemed foolish and foreign to Vye, he was not a fool himself.

Currency is the lifeblood of the sanctums. Worth in something that in itself is worthless. A notion that oft puzzled Vye.

The moorland Shol was quite shrewd and knew how to drive a bargain. Months of watching Zeal's exchanges and observing the din of marketplace bartering had been enough for him to pick up on it, and what he didn't yet know, he learned.

And he didn't just do it as well as the usual vendors.

He did it better.

Vye drove a hard bargain, easing up when the crowd found him without purchase, and unyielding when hands were played, as any mechant worth half their salt knew to be. But he played like a veteran. His youthful appearance he played to his trade, feigning ignorance.

Many had more to offer, but only fools played their trumps in the first hand.

And so it went on, the back and forth draws as he lured them in and feigned interest back. Just a little, but not too much.

A difficult feat, especially where the claws of sickness gouged deep, leaving gaping wounds that bled still.

But they were merchants. And so Vye wheedled them out of coin like a goldlusting miser or overzealous dragon, then feigned astonishment as some "antique" or useless garbage caught his attention. Thinking they'd found a chink in his armor, a lucky break, they took bit the tossed bait. It was odd then for Vye, having shown interest and feigning a lack of, to subtly offer a pretty penny for the junk item. And the crowd never noticed it was just enough, for them to have made back the excess profit they would have given to the travellers.

When Zeal asked why Vye went through such a hassle for the ruse, the answer was simple.

"It's more believable. And--" Vye peered at the slowly gathering crowd, "--no one wants to be a charity case. Like this they can keep their pride, and feel no remorse in our exchange. To them I'll be the money loving merchant with some eccentric and questionable tastes, and they'll be the poor that I sup upon but whom catch a lucky break to get even. A perfect storytale classic, wouldn't you say?"

And so they bartered, and bartered, and bartered.

Lockes managed inventory as Vye took center stage, with Zeal as his burly guard.

At intervals the Bluepine would slip out for a status report, and information exchange, or to appraise. 

Here, their extensive database proved most beneficial.

All in all, it left everyone content.

Zeal didn't have to interact with anyone, Vye handled sales and got to observe the world, Lockes got to stay far away from the world they had decidedly had their fill of, an aversion neither of the other two would so much as think to fault the Bluepine for it.

Everything was going well, until one denizen came closer to the stall. He had nothing to exchange, but the threads on his back, and being a cold Spring day that it was, he could but stared longingly from a distance at the Apples Vye had grown just a week ago. Fresh, plump, and juicy.

And hard to come by in these parts. The soil was jnsuitabke for their cultivation.

At first Vye ignored him, though both the Shol and his guard had their peripheral alert for any sticky fingers. It wouldn't be the first nor last attempt, and especially being of the Verdance, nothing taken would escape Vye. He could sense the Life in each apple.

So during intermission, the Shol made his way over, and to the man's surprise, took his seat beside him.

"Share with me your story, stranger. I've a penchant for tales."

And so the man talked, and Vye listened.

And at the end of it, offered up cloth bindle for the man to fill with the stock he pleased, so thoroughly had he enjoyed the tale. An exchange both found satisfying.

"You're going to lose us coin." Zeal grimaced.

"On the contrary, I'm making us more." Vye smiled up at him, "This town is very close knit and love one another dearly or so I've gathered. They'll not forego necessities for pride so I'll not likely offend and, I've shown them that I'm not all fire and brimstone with this generosity. See, I'm just doing m' trade."

And here Vye nodded to the town, "I've made myself more loveable. They will welcome me now, I am closer to them and they will more readily trade with me, and offer up more as well."

And they did.

Some did try to exchange a tale as the man before, and the Shol would contemplate then agree though only if the amount was under his discretion. Each story being a different tale after all, and he was picky with his cup of tea, or so he told. Still he appreciated the sincerity and would offer up what he could.

Such traits made him more genuine, and lovable.

And by the end of the night they were offered a seat around the bonfire.

"... T'wont be comfy as a bundle but I warrant it twice 's warm an' no wolves t' deal with." An elderly man smiled down at Vye, and Vye nodded his agreement and happy with such hospitality.

It was with warmth that they met the few remaining survivors of the MireBrook Boughs.

A bandage on the man's arm had come loose, and Vye reached out to fix it.

This the elderly man observed and smiled,"You've a soul born kind. May the North Star ever light your path." He sighed, "Many are repulsed by our rotten flesh, and the Death that clings to us in stench and flesh."

"... Perhaps what you need is Spring."

"Come again, young 'un?"

Not again.

Zeal made to stop him with a hand on his shoulder but Vye slowly reached up and grasped it. Squeezing it once softly, he removed it and smiled up at Zeal.

But his eyes sent a very different message in their glower.

Don't interrupt me.

"Legends speak that water from a well drawn from a pure fount will cleanse the sickness."

"... Is that so? I've ne'er heard such a tale before." the elder spoke with great hesitation. Many a tale they have believed in desperation, only for hope to only ever be a merry chase. He dared not do so again.

"Aye. But it must be drawn from a pure source. Tainted water brings only pestilence. Know you of any?"

There was a break in the conversation. And at length, the old man nodded, "I'll take ya. Ye wont find it on 'ny maps. ...'s what keeps it pure I s'pose."

And so they excused themselves and were led out into the moorland.

"This 's it."

It was a pitiful well. Covered with a splintered wooden round, and obviously fallen into disuse, for the stonework was crumbling and altogether missing at intervals, the rope in tatters and its future potential in splinters. But Zeal pried the cover off as per Vye's silent command, and the Bræmbel Shol bade their guide leave.

The old man was wary, and rightfully so, but did as Vye bade.

Certain their guide had left, Vye removed a sizable vial from the inner pocket of his cloak, the soft brilliance of a scintillating golden light flickered within, emanating a faint warmth. Not that felt in the flesh, but in the Heart.

A soft sweet scent drifted through the clearing as Vye broke the wax seal.

Uncorking this, the scent grew stronger. Vye held it close--and then unceremoniously upturned the contents, the glittering drops of sunbeam pouring into the well. Such pretty flecks, twinkling softly like stardust in their descent, their glow lighting down the depths of the well.

They had not too far to fall, and plopped into the water below.

"That should do it."

Zeal scowled, "You can't keep doing this."

"... They shouldn't have to suffer."

This was going too far, "And neither should it be at your expense. These are the same people who would kill you, need I remind you?"

A touch on his wrist, on the bone circlets, was enough to hush him. Enough to remind him that he was once no different. 

...And no less worthy of scorn.

"Do you know why humor is hard to understand, but tragedy universal?" Vye didn't wait for a response, nor did he want one. It had been rhetorical. "Because suffering is the same, no matter who or what you are. We all know what it's like to hurt. To be hurt. And... No one deserves to suffer. Even if it's arguably karmic retribution."

Zeal grimaced, so blatantly plain was the indignant fury that brimmed, just beneath that steady calm voice. And yet here they were.

Noticing this, the Bræmbel Shol heaved a sigh, "I'm not indifferent, and I'm not pretending to be." He looked up at Zeal, "I'm angry. And this anger I acknowledge, but it's not just about what we think or feel, it's what we do. I wont act upon. Vengeance wont accomplish anything." 

Suffering, there is plenty of. Vye bit back another sigh, "Let's go, it's getting cold and I didn't get to finish the porridge they gave me."

And so they passed the night in relative comfort, and bid farewell a couple days later.

In that Time the village, as per Vye's instruction, drew the pure water from the well. Drank it, bathed in it, and already their open sores had started mending, their skin pink and raw, but unbroken. No longer did they hurt, or their rotting flesh spread. Their bodies healed quickly, with the vigor of youth. A miracle, the denizens cried, an elixir of Life itself!

And thus did the legend of the fountain of youth slowly spread.

Whispers that would eventually lead to more foot traffic to frequent this part, as it had and would for many others.

The lowland Shol smiled. Slowly but surely, they were healing. With Time, the land and Life would thrive again, and Prismatic Arc raised once more. Vye would ensure it.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Different

Zeal wasn't one easily drunk under the table, and had an unusually high tolerance for hitting the bottle.

While most found the trait of unmatched alcohol tolerance to be enviable and coveted it greatly, Zeal felt nothing for it.

Though it proved useful when collecting information--for he could easily drink away the night with mind intact while loosening the tongue and memories of fellow patrons--it made matters difficult to dispose of when he desired nothing more than the comfort found in the bottom of a glass, for the sheer quantity and necessary for him to feel the utterly delightful pull of drunken disregard was all but inconvenient. Inconvenient and expensive, for he had a penchant for only the choice glass, and preferred a drink of quality rather than quantity.

Which was why it came as a pleasant surprise when the familiar warmth washed over him after throwing back a mere shot. One of many that he would partake of that night.

The Bluepine had, warned him with a click of their tongue, "Ah-ah, not too much, Reaper. This is a potent brew."

To which Zeal brushed off after taking a tentative sip. He'd heard the same boasts of many a spirit, and thus far the strength of Sholian concoctions didn't prove an anomaly, nor did they seem to fall beyond the normal range. This drink too, didn't seem particularly strong, and the sweetness like mead made it go down easily.

Yet Shols seemed full of surprises as they were wont to do.

Another few glasses and the intoxication had him firmly in its sweet grasp, a feeling he all but surrendered to, for there was a distinctive sense of complacency and contentment in doing what he did best--not giving a damn.

It was unusual for him to become involved and for so long. Having a hefty personal investment in Vye's merry chase had been more than wearisome, and for the first Time in far too long, he slept well. 

Unusual, for his occupation scarce afforded such luxuries.

"... Frankly, it's impressive that he wasn't downed after two. This is our most potent brew and Fleshlings, despite their larger size, rarely tolerate such spirits as well as a Shol. That he can hold his cup so well..." the Bluepine chuckled, "Your guardian is full of surprises."

Vye nodded dumbly as he watched the gentle rise and fall of Zeal's chest as he snored softly against the Bluepine's lap. The severed Shol had taken it upon themselves to take care of his intoxicated guardian and the inevitable hangover that would follow the next morning.

For now though, lending their lap would be enough. The Bluepine smiled, cradling Zeal's head on their folded legs. An idle hand daintily coiled a lock of hair before stray fingers found their way into the tangled mess of hair, working at the knots.

There was a Time when they had similarly done the same for another. But that Time had passed.

"Lockes?"

The Shol glanced up at their name, humming an acknowledgement nonchalantly.

"How did you... Get away from the Reapers?" Maybe... Maybe he could learn. And--Lockes was so talented and proficient in the arts. Arts he never knew could be honed so.

Vye stared at the hearth where the fire burned merrily. Things he didn't know his kind could do.

There was much he didn't know. Thought he'd known.

Truth be told, until they ran into the Bluepine, he'd thought himself, at the very least, competent. Certainly, in the company of his Ring his abilities had been sufficient, for they did little more than nourish the Earth, partake of the Verdance's bounty, and bask in the light of the Solar Warden, reveling in it's warmth. There was little need to do otherwise, and lesser still the incentive. The Bræmbel Ring had provided but a simple Life, where they went through the walks of life but at their own pace. 

But in the wake of the fight, it was doubtless that what he'd known was but a pond.

Lockes was right, in the face of the Bluepine's mastery, he was but a seedling who knew nothing of his own kind. Who had yet to realize that the lush green that adorned him was but the seed leaves and believed the grass around him a forest. Having seen the ocean in the horizon of the puddle he knew, there was but a long and difficult road ahead. And the only path forward.

With a start, he realized Lockes hadn't answered and he raised his head only to see a similar pair studying him closely.

The scrutiny was unbearably uncomfortable, and the young Shol averted his gaze. Unseen was the smile and quiet scoff as the other huffed,

Vye was still far too young, so easily unnerved.

Yet here he was, embarking on a journey that could only be arduous as only Life could be.

Lockes chuckled. There were many who were better equipped and suited for such--and yet.

They gave the Coty a sidelong glance, "It's a long story. Too long to be spun before Lun descends and Sol follows, ever 'n pursuit." The smile the severed Shol gives him, though unchanging in their warmth, held no invitation for further conversation.

They sat in silence, Lockes still smiling and combing Zeal's hair. Vye took the break in conversation with a lot less grace, fidgeting with his sleeve and fretting over nothing.

Despite the serene smile that betrayed nothing, Vye had an inkling that not all was well.

But he could think of nothing to say, and it left him with too many needless thoughts. Lockes was an amazing storyteller, but though they spun much in their performance, few pertained to the severed Shol themselves. Though they asked many a question and story of their own misadventures, the Bluepine supplied none of the same.

Vye wanted to know more about the Circles. About his kith and kin. About Lockes.

But just as he'd reconsidered his approach and dredged up the courage to ask again, he heard his own name.

Not from the Bluepine, but from his guardian.

Zeal stirred, blinking blearily up at him, "Could ask the same of you."

He was taken back, "Ask what?"

"How come you survived? How did you get away, and stay hidden, for so many years after the Harvest Moon, when everyone was hunting for... your kind." a frown crossed the mercenary's face and he grumbled tiredly under his breath, eyes slipping shut and brow furrowed in his perplexity. And perhaps speaking from personal experience now, "There were so many others... Adversaries who were far stronger... who were far more worthy game... and made better sport. It doesn't make sense."

It was the alcohol talking. This Vye knew, but it did little to blunt the hurt.  

Zeal muttered and rolled onto his other side, "How are you alive? There's nothing special about you that would've made a difference. If anything... Your very nature makes you... more susceptible."

Nothing special.

His condition had certainly afforded him no advantage.

The Heartseed within twisted painfully and almost instinctively, Vye drew his knees to his chest. Unintentional though the insult may have been, it was one nonetheless.

At the crestfallen expression, Lockes decided now was a good a Time as any.

There was a subtle shift in the severed Shol's posture. They were themselves curious as to the circumstances pertaining to the seedling's survival and in want of answers--but not with the Reaper listening.

"Close your eyes Zeal. Sleep now." they whispered as soft motes wafted from their needles, a sight that stole the breath from the young Shol. The Reaper grunted and did as the dark Shol bade. Within moments sleep had overtaken them, for his eyes did slip shut and his breath even.

"It's fine to breath now." Lockes smiled, musing aloud as they turned to Vye, "Did you know what those were? Or have you perchance seen them before? Not many Shols can produce this miasma, after all."

Slit eyes turned their curious gaze to him. The Bluepine's voice changed. Still with the melodic lilt, but it was much more serious now, "But--"

It was Time to see if the Coty himself was familiar with the tale, and whether they understood the extent of the sacrifices made on his behalf.

They heard Vye's breath hitch, tensing in apprehension and anticipation for the coming questiin.

"I second that. How did you evade the Reapers?"

And yet more importantly, for Lockes had a fair understanding of the circumstantial "how"s, did little Vye know why he survived? Truly, it wasn't a question of how that was important, for the Bluepine could paint a fair picture of understanding, but the question of why that was most crucial in Vye's quest.

From the brief, but inexplicable and unadulterated terror that flashed across his face, yes he did know.

The Crescent moon rose silently in the night sky.

Perhaps it was too soon to dredge up the nightmares, but isolated though they were, too far caught up in this false sense of peace, there would be nothing but hardship on the road Vye would tread.

Truthfully Lockes had their hesitations as it was. 

The Harvest Moon which was once their most cherished of festivals was now far removed. Too deeply stained in blood for the silver crescent ramekin of Luna to be anything more than the cold indifference of a Reaper's scythe.

A weight nudged at his back and he shied away, staring at the vine. It pushed him beside Lockes and the other brought an arm around him in a loose hug.

A gesture he returned, albeit apprehensively.

"It's not a memory one would desire, and I loath to make you relive it. But I need to know how much you understand of the circumstances by which you were spared." Lockes bumped their nose against his, and a tendril slid out from somewhere beneath their foliage.

Vye hesitated, and for a moment realized just how small he was when confronted with what he was up against.

A diminutive creature struggling to survive, alive only by the good graces of those he'd met.

Once they left the hollows of the Alpione Circle, he would be plunged back into the cold indifference of the apathetic reality of his situation.

A thin vine extended to twine with that of the severed Shol's, and when they next opened his eyes, it was to smoke and fire.

Lockes didn't need to see much, and the vision was broken. They shuddered, the lingering touch of the memory they had briefly lived just as daunting as it had been then. Daunting not to themselves as Lockes, but to Vye.

The vision was more than just a theatrical, as one would perhaps choose to entertain by, nor was it a story to be told.

It was a life lived, not as oneself, but as another. To feel their fears, their faults, their hopes, and their pain. To the depth of the individual not your own. Privy to their every thought not as a bystander, but as the one thinking them.

"So you're aware."

Vye nodded solemnly, legs curling up to his chest and he huddled in the nest, "They told me."

Not that they needed to. Life did not come evenly to all creatures, and though Shols were all equals in partaking of the Verdance's gift, not all were bestowed with the same blessings. 

Lockes themselves for instance could not bloom as many Shols did when sharing nectar. Such a process was much more elaborate for the dark Shol.

Meanwhile Vye's condition came as both a blessing and a curse. The floral menagerie--or lack thereof--and nigh universal compatibility.

"And it is of your desire alone to continue in this quest?"

A nod.

"Then you know what must be done."

Another nod.

Lockes sighed, a smile that didn't quite reach their eyes lingering, "Coty, our lives are freely pledged to the Verdance before our very conception, we follow the first Yggdrasill and walk in their footsteps--not by obligation, but because we desire it. And yet, if that is not what you desire, none would fault you. You are no lesser for it."

"It's--it's not that. I--" the Coty buried his head into his knees, "I don't hate the Verdance, and I really do want to do this! It's just--" Vye struggled to find the words to convey the contrasting desires that were his alone to contest.

So caught up was Vye, they noticed not that the Bluepine had sidled beside them, never rushing, never hurrying. 

For the seeds of conflict had been sown deep, and Lockes would wait however long it may be until Vye was ready.

Frustrated tears blurred his vision as unbidden memorues surfaced. Memories of tender warmth yet whose existence but brought him endless torment and suffering.

At last the young Shol broke off into a wail, "I don't want to be alone!"

Bereft of his Bræmbel kin, Vye cried, the loss cutting deeper than ever. And the Bluepine let him.

They moved only to embrace him, brushing the foliage soothingly and tucking their face into the crook of their neck.

"There is nothing wrong with wishing to stay. None would fault you for it."

It was cruel of them, this the Bluepine knew.

Vye's mind was made, he would continue on this merry chase down a path that would be nothing but full of suffering. And to walk this arduous path, such conviction was but necessary.

Dangling this haven before them, where things so closely resembled his own Circle was a hurt that cut deeper than perhaps even the loss itself, for it was the warmth of home the young Shol's Heart desired above all else, and yet staying meant abandoning all that was sacrificed for him to be here now. Already the guilt of surviving tormented him. Yet by staying it would be a constant reminder, to consume his Heart more than it already had.

And yet Lockes would not have it any other way. Doubtlessly Vye desired an escape from his torment, and the Bluepine would be the one to offer it, to ensure that he had the choice, that the young Shol wouldn't be trapped by the weight that had been shackled to him.

It had to be Vye's choice to trudge on.

Reliving the memory Vye had entrusted them with, they knew that it was the selfsame desire of their valley borne brethren. The Shols of the Bræmbel Ring did not wish to shackle Vye with the obligation, but above all else it was their desire that he survive, for only he could do what they could not. 

What happened after would be of Vye's own choice, but at the very least they wanted to ensure there to be hope. Hope that the dawn may yet rise on their darkest hour.

But this the Coty knew as well. And yet he would walk this path still.

Lockes sighed. Everything would have been made simple had Vye given up this impossible undertaking. 

A pursuit with no end in sight.

Not that the severed Shol desired an endless night, but to raise the light of dawn was near impossible, and for one in such tender years to have chosen so adamantly to walk the troubled path.

Vye cried until there were no tears left to shed. Exhausted he lay snug against the Bluepine, worn by the weight he carried. The wails died down, and eventually the stifled hiccups and sniffles would too.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Regression

Somehow, Vye had grown weaker.

Not in the sense that his health had taken a turn for the worse, but rather his psychiatric state seemed to have drastically regressed.

His speech had developed a certain brevity, and he spoke little and less as.

As the days passed the young Shol seemed to forget his independence. In place of the fierce determination was a meek puppy that followed every step of Lockes's heel at their every beck and call, constantly seeking the severed Shol's approval.

The only change and likewise explanation for this behavioral change, would be their prolonged stay at the den. 

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Seer's Fog

They awoke not to the solar light and warmth, but to a cold darkness that pierced deep into their body.

The visions they had seen in slumber lurked in the corner of their mind. So hauntingly vivid and far too real.

It nagged at them. Just as one knew there was something of importance to remember, yet could not recall.

But whatever grasp they had, was already fading.

The Briar Patch (BP): Ch. 8 - Sleeping Arrangements

"G' night." Lockes curled up on their vines.

One last grooming of Vye's plumes, the Shols curled up together, one lump of fluff pressed against the other.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Tough Love

Working with Silas wasn't just difficult.

The man was cold, not for animosity, for to say so would mean he felt.

Strange Place: The Dead End

Speak not of this stop, the final destination. This stop here whom most pass by, for unwise is the one to linger at Death's Door. The place only tread upon, at the very end.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) The Blind Baker

Few were privy to such a sensitive matter.

And that suited him just fine. The fewer the better, in his humble opinion.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Deceptive

Preposterous as it was, Shols were not quite so harmless as their large, curious, and wonder-filled, bright eyes and adorably diminutive, rotund forms, may suggest.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Stewing

It was a bloody pain dealing with hygiene on the road, and it was a bigger pain still, dealing with Shols.

Never mind the both of them. That was just torture.

His normal upkeep while on the move were insubstantial for the growing Shol, whose maintenance was downright grueling.

In sanctuaries, the public bathhouses were out of the question, lest they be recognized, and Vye's appearance was anything but inconspicuous.

This meant that in town Zeal had to cough up extra for a private bath. Never mind the preparations for the water itself. 

With the exception of the high altitudes, Vye turned his nose up at most every bathing opportunity they came across.

"It's running water, and clear besides. It's safe." 

But the Shol would give a tentative whiff and refuse.

Most any water was far too polluted by the Shol's absurd standards.

How had his kind ever survived?

They didn't, that's how.

The Seeker kept that last bit to himself.

Zeal had since taken to carrying filtration cores. Marbles harboring dense aetherical reservoirs capable of thoroughly filtering water.

Thankfully Lockes had taken over that duty.

Using the provided tinderbox, the warden lit the pitch black stones beneath the bath.

While that heated, Zeal helped Vye out of the multitude of layers, ruffling and fluffing up the plumes as he went.

Removing and folding his own garments, he set that on the rack and dipped a hand into the water. It had heated considerably. Satisfied, the mercenary was the first to step in, testing the waters to ensure they wouldn't scorch his charge.

The warmth of the water was a blessing for his travel worn body, the heat pleasant and soothing. Such pleasures wrought a content sigh from him. Though he could do with or without many of the conveniences and comforts of civilization, but he did admittedly miss the luxury of a heated bath.

Zeal lay back to rest his head on the edge, relishing in the all encompassing warmth and buoyant lightness of his body.

Before realizing it was blissfully quiet. Too quiet.

The mercenary pried an eye open to peer over the edge.

Vye's hands rested on top of the stone surface, staring expectantly up at him.

Zeal bit back a groan and pushed himself up so that he was sitting.

Without a word he reached over and plucked the young Shol up, settling him into the warmth of the tub and his lap. The bath was deep, and Zeal still didn't know if his charge could swim, nor was he in any mood to find out. Given that Vye was less than keen on crossing any body of water, shallow or not, Zeal had his doubts and didn't fancy tempting fate. 

The small Shol just sat there unmoving, still waiting expectantly.

Spoiled thing.

There wasn't much room with the Shol in there with him, but he managed to swipe the husk from the shelf.

Zeal combed his hands through Vye's plumes, scrubbing away at him.

The first Time they had been at a bath, it was after a trying first week of travel where the Shol refused any water as they were all deemed polluted.

"It's cleaner than you are, just get in."

And still Vye had refused.

At his wits end, and having yet to procure a means of aetherical purification at the Time, the mercenary had dragged Vye up a mountainous hike where a bath house had set up shop at the peak, fed by the pure waters of the spring.

It irked him that the Shol thought such excessive expenditure to be merely "passable" in quality.

Once in their room, he'd pushed Vye through the door and told him to clean up.

Only to walk in nearly half an hour later to find Vye sitting on the ground and nipping at his plumes.

Explaining how the bath worked helped little but to erode patience.

Vye had eyed the steaming spring suspiciously, startling when Zeal--who had deemed the whole exchange futile, grasped him in the auxiliary of the arms, and dumped the Shol into the hot water. Thinking that perhaps this was some extravagant means of preparation, the Shol froze.

Zeal had been forced to scrub Vye clean himself and dry him off.

Since then the Shol had taken to sitting limp and waiting for his guardian to bath him.

If there was one benefit to bathing the Shol, the oils Vye exuded would turn the bath water fragrant.

Normally, whatever property a Shol carried also transfers into the derived oils, and whatever Vye's subspecies was, it had a lightly floral and woody scent. Rosy, but with a residue of the same slimy viscosity of aloe. A bit unpleasant in texture, really, but at the very least it didn't seem harmful.

Thankfully Vye wasn't of a toxic subtype. That would have been disastrous.

Vye gave him an odd look when he'd mentioned it offhand, and he decided better against enlightening his charge to what had once been common uses of Shol oils in various remedies, or the medicinal properties believed to come such infusions. The extraction process, by which Shol derived oils were procured during Harvest moon, was one both gruesome and doubtlessly perturbing.

When Lockes had conceded to travel with them, Zeal had braced himself for yet more unnecessarily troublesome burdens to shoulder on the road. But contrary to his belief, things were admittedly much more convenient now that the Bluepine was with them.

For one, Vye semed more incline to use whatever stream the Bluepine deemed suitable. The Bræmbel Shol was accustomed to the deep spring water the Circles oft tapped into.

For another, Lockes was one of the few Shols to have honed their innate magic in wielding natural affinities so. Whereas most grew into it, Lockes went out of their way to pursue perfection in their Art.

Even before the rise of the Harvest Moon, the Bluepine had been a force to be reckoned with. Masterful in manipulation, proficient in the Arcane, and a seemingly inborn deftness and grace not oft seen. Even when they had first been severed and deprived of any aetherical bonds, Lockes could do more than simply hold their ground in close combat.

Now though, as a seasoned Shol that survived culling, their innate prowess had but grown. Hardened by sacrifice and loss, forced to clash with forces far greater than their own, they but improved in leaps and bounds. Because for the Bluepine, there was but one path.

The path forward. And it was on that path that they would take a step forth.

Truly, Hemlockes was a marvel.

The Seeker balked, startled by the sheer depth of the admiration and respect he held for their newest companion, and the warmth that accompanied it. Their stay at Whitedew must have affected him more deeply than he'd let on.

Zeal frowned. He blamed the brews they had partook of with nonexistent reservation.

Such strong potations softened those who imbibed upon them, nurturing a sense of camaraderie. Even more irksome was how he found genuine interest and fondness for their conversations, particularly those that stretched into the wee hours of dawn. Mayhaps it had been due to his recovery and the utter boredom he suffered while his wounds mended that helped him warm to the Bluepine, desperate for any stimulation to break the redundancy of being forcibly restrained and confined until such a Time that he was considered well again.

Vye churred lightly in his lap at the ministrations, the vibrations reverberating through the both of them and pulling the Seeker from his reminiscing. Zeal had brushed the husk firmly between the midline of the small Shol's back where it was most difficult to reach the plumy quill-esque foliage, and eliciting the contented noise. It had been frustrating and near impossible, trying to reach that spot between his shoulders on his own.

Staring down at him, Zeal again thanked the Stars that Lockes was with them now. After their ordeal, the dark Shol had continued a rigorous training to bring out the full potential of their kind's innate magick, and the aetherical artes had only grown stronger. Having grown greater control over the aether, and well versed with the needs of the road, they had taken it upon themselves to filter the waters they consumed and bathed in.

Streams and private baths were now accessible for the ragtag band.

A knock on the door had them both craning their necks. Hemlockes waltzed in, wrapped in a towel that despite being thoroughly wound around them as one would a shawl--an incredibly fluffy shawl--still dragged on the ground like an overly long cape.

Shols though they both were, they were quite different as individuals. Whereas Vye tended to scuffle with the ground as he padded over, Lockes's steps were light and almost dainty in their grace. Would be, as Zeal deemed, had he not seen the Shol in combat.

Grace it may be, but Lockes was no delicate bloom to be trifled with.

"Scootch, scootch, make room!" they called to the two already soaking, making as if to scale the side.

Only to be stopped by a hand, "No, I refuse to bath in hemlock."

"How rude." they huffed, "The family name isn't just a reference for the Apiaceaes, I'll have you know."

"There isn't enough room anyhow."

Zeal regretted it the moment those words left his lips.

The mischievious glint in Hemlockes's eyes were disconcerting.

"Challenge accepted."

Technically speaking, Lockes did manage to squirm their way into the tub. Technically they did all fit in the tub.

Technically speaking was the worst bloody kind of speaking in Zeal's not so humble opinion.

"If it puts you at ease, Shols can regulate their toxins if they so choose."

That made nothing better.

"You both need to lose weight."

There were simultaneous cries of discontent while Zeal sat stiffly, feeling more than uncomfortable with both pairs of eyes glued to him.

It wasn't that he was modest, modesty had nothing to do with this. He simply respected personal space, preferring it very much undisturbed.

Right now it was nonexistent, and there was, not one, but two, fluffy, plumed blobs sitting on his belly and legs.

"Do I get a backrub too?" Lockes flashed him a grin stretching nonexistent ear to nonexistent ear.

"No."

The tub was positively cramped now, and he was all but certain that it was more Shol than water that he was bathing in.

A matter that was, only after the fact, made hilarious as it was considered the highest of opulence for the nobility to bathe in Shol infused water.

On the bright side his skin had never felt better. Pampered soft, and with an almost radiant sheen.

Zeal was still not pleased to cough up the extra fee for having flooded the entire room.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Chocolate Kisses

"Catch you all later!" Neiro waved before ducking out of the door and disappearing into the hall.

"Don't tarry." Silas barely glanced up from his screen. This particular case was a study venturing into generating Time anomalies.

He entwined his hands, eyes darting across the text of the screen.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) A Joke

This happened relatively early in their journey.

Shortly after he realized what Vye was, Zeal had with all due haste, smuggled the Shol out of the sanctuary and past the wandering eyes of hunters and unsavory civilians alike.

At first the other was understandably cautious, yet nonetheless far too naive, placing far more trust in a completer and utter stranger than any of sound mind should. Tentative though it may be, and in what many would find an endearing manner.

Such was as Zeal noted on their very first night, having escaped the boundaries of the sanctuary and delving deep into the wilderness beyond.

Far enough out, he let the young Shol out of his knapsack, to continue on foot. The terrain was difficult to navigate.

And when his newly acquainted companion fatigued, Zeal forced him back into the knapsack that they may continue.

Zeal dared not break for rest, lest they be discovered.

Deep into the woods they went, afoot and on nonexistent paths long past the apex of the moon's journey, and even after the sentinel of the night had long since slipped beyond the horizon, retiring before them.

It was only by the next dusk when her pallor again greeted them, that Zeal finally permitted them to rest.

Such feats of endurance were not uncommon for the mercenary, but for the Shol it had been a trying first day, holed up in a cramped and stuffy bag, jostled and bumped.

So when they settled in for the night and Zeal assumed first watch that his charge may rest, it wasn't truly expected. Sleep was oftentimes when one was most vulnerable and helpless besides. And there was little reason to trust him.

So when the Shol bid him rest, and soon fell asleep, he was astounded.

They swapped off at the highest point of the moon's ascent, but Zeal himself held no such sense of trust, and but lay still. His breathing he slowed, and made shallow, feigning sleep. Not that the Shol noticed.

Too naive, he didn't even consider that there may be any ulterior motive.

Zeal allowed himself a light sleep, for no sleep made for poor judgement, and lacking attentiveness. Something his charge could not afford.

And had awoken that morning to find himself adorned with a garland of daisies, the sigil of friendship and faith.

Another Time, as he was making his rounds scouting out the area around camp, Zeal had opened his bag to find a braided twine of rosemary and white heather. While not well known, such plants afforded their keeper a small measure of protection, ward off malice and misfortune.

But he himself held his reservations, needless attachments were nothing but a burden. As Vye himself would discover, he was sure.

And so he remained aloof, cautious of the small curiosity that had so taken to him.

And then one evening as they sat around the campfire with Vye's incessant chatter rattling on his ears as was the norm, the Shol suddenly stopped. Zeal was ignoring him again.

He studied him carefully and then burst out laughing.

He thought his companion mad until the Shol stared him dead in the eye, lips quirked in a small smile, "You're a joke."

His first thought was nothing as what Vye said sunk in. But mostly for him to differentiate it as anything different than the usual droning chatter.

A joke.

His second, to backhand him for his stupidity.

Zeal didn't, although he did raise a brow at that. He would humor him, and because his curiosity was sufficiently piqued, "A joke."

Considering how much the Shol depended upon him, he was a fool to insult the only one keeping him from the reapers.

Had it been anyone else he would've been collared and thrown in ice. Vye would need to learn to watch his tongue if he wanted to survive. Mouthing off to the wrong person would mean death.

The Shol nodded, "Cowards hate, and bite. Pitiful things, for they can only pretend to have strength. They flaunt themselves with apathy, hatred, aggression, because they can do no better. All to protect themselves, because the truth is that they're weaker and more afraid than anyone else of being hurt. That's why they're always trying to prove that they're better and stronger. It's much harder to love, than it is to hate. "

Where was this coming from. Zeal grimaced.

"It isn't falling that makes you weak, it's never taking the leap. The strong just climb back up." Vye sang at him, "You're weak. G' night Zeal."

Speechless and in shock, he watched Vye clamber into the fine downy fibers of the bol he'd conjured.

Zeal stayed up late into the night on first watch, staring at the warm glow of the embers.

He was a joke.

He snorted. What utter nonsense.

The Shol was talking bloody nonsense.

He wasn't afraid of warmth, it simply wasn't on his mind. There were other things that took precedence, and there just wasn't the Time to devote himself to the consideration of something as time-staking and fanciful as Family.

But as the night wore on, his thoughts couldn't help but turn to the small gestures, and the small hand that was constantly reaching for his.

This must be what it was like to raise a Family. To have a child of his own.

And, he mused, it wasn't so bad.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Mistletoe

Esti wasn't sure what it was that drew her to him.

He was not kind by any measure, nor was he attractive, be it on the superficial level or beneath.

But lately it rose in the most inconvenient of moments.

Ever a candid speaker it had simply made for rather awkward encounters.

Silas raised a brow when he answered the door to find the redhead once more at his doorstep. She had been frequenting as of late. Not that she hadn't before, but from the slight tint of color on her cheeks and aversive eyes, Esti was all but sure that it told all what she kept mum, and made the visits all the more painfully conspicuous.

"... He's in his room." Silas gave a small nod of his head to indicate the all too familiar path.

She nodded, mumbling a quick thanks, and ducked around the tall man, darting straight for Neiro's room.

The Invalid watched her go. The two spent much Time together as of late. Still, he wouldn't begrudge Neiro the company of someone likely more relatable and uplifting than his own dour self.

Someone of the same age and the epithet of one full of youth and vigor. One who could do all the things he could not. And they shared similar interest besides. Be it a simple matter of crossing fields of interest, or something of a more emotional matter, it was only natural that the two were so drawn to one another.

Well. He wouldn't deny Neiro.

He pulled out his chair and settled in his corner, sipping away at a warm mug, the rapid fluctuation of his keys filling the quiet once more.

At the sound of the door, the albino whirled around with a grin, "Esti!"

A tight hug and he pulled away, holding her at arm's length, "How'd it go?"

It was too quiet and hasty for him to catch, and he blinked, "Come again?"

"I didn't ask." She muttered, shrugging helplessly and clearly uncomfortable. "This isn't really my thing."

It was odd to see her so shy. Rarely did she skirt around things and yet. And yet.

"Well, we can fallback to our original plan. The winter party will be next week. Maybe then?"

A nod. It was worth a shot.

It was been a perfect set up. Silas, as Neiro predicted, left the lively, but somewhat stifling main room to catch a breath of fresh air.

Frosty and nippy, but refreshing. It breathed new life into the man or so he claimed.

As he stood outside alone, breath coming in white puffs, she hesitated.

He seemed content to simply be.

And--she didn't want to ruin that.

Things were fine as they were now, right?

But a nudge from behind, and Neiro shot her a conspiring, yet encouraging smile she couldn't help but grin at. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and ignored the melodramatic puppy eyes of disappointment when she didn't.

Esti waves him off with a shake of her head, though unable to truly wipe the smile from her face.

Well. Being frank was just what she did best.

Except for perhaps being Esti.

She snorted at the cheesy joke, shaking her head again and stepping out.

Silas remained staring at the mesmerizing radiance of the starry sky, but he turned his head at her entrance. Not enough to face her, nor pull away from the expansive night before him.

He's sharp, as always. Though his body language went unchecked.

Good. It meant he was comfortable, not his usual unreadable mask and aloofness.

"How have the field assignments been?"

"Courtesy call, or interest?" She calls back before she could stop herself.

A low chuckle, "Courtesy."

Figures. She smiles, taking a place leaning on the rails beside him, staring at the snowcapped forest below them.

It wouldn't be Silas otherwise.

"... And interest."

Oh.

She tilts her head to peek up at him, cheeks warming when their eyes meet.

"I... I'm enjoying it. It's been amazing fun seeing all these sights and the tech we use." She turned away.

An understatement really. It was fascinating. Absolutely amazing to experience and witness firsthand. The awe of what their intricate technology could do--the scientific advancements--and the Earth so much more vast.

To be able to explore the far reaches of their world and beyond, and to simply not just be there, but be a part of it all.

She owed this man a debt she had no means of repaying.

Whereas he had given her the world, there was nothing he himself wanted that she could give.

"That's good. I worried that perhaps the work wouldn't be to your liking." A pause, "The tasks assigned are suitable and not a merry chase?" He gives a wry smile before falling back into the serene lull of watching the sky.

It was perhaps the most peaceful she had ever seen the gaunt man. Other than that one Time he had fallen asleep on the chaise on the veranda where they were now.

He turns to peer down at her in that moment and she realizes she had been staring too long, lost as she was in her thoughts.

"It's been nothing I couldn't manage. Although sometimes I wonder if one of these days it'll be more than I can handle."

"... I'm sure you'll make it work somehow. You're resourceful. Would that I could say the same of the fools you deem your colleagues. It's about Time they learned to see past pettiness and utilize the best in each individual. Too often we judge one by our own standards." He scowled, "... and in so doing, become our greatest adversary. There is nothing more frail than a lacking diversity."

That's right. They each had their own role to play. All of them.

"I... Thank you. For giving me a place here." She lowered her head to him.

"I didn't give you anything you didn't deserve. You earned it, and had you not, you would not be standing here now."

He studied her carefully, was it the cold that painted her with such a deep rosy blush? Her hand wound tight on her other arm. Esti had proven herself more than resilient. A little nip from Winter never bothered her before.

... Or perhaps Lokius had indeed spiked the punch bowl.

Knowing the eccentric scientist, it was probably the latter.

That man was a menace.

Still, he removed the long shawl from his neck, wrapping it around her.

The trembling of her hand as she reached up to touch the soft warmth of the fabric only reaffirming his belief that it be the cold that bothered her.

If she had intended to tell him before, she couldn't now. Not with him, dubiously stated, the happiest she had seen him.

Not after he had taken her under his wing in his own apathetic way. She couldn't trouble him so.

Silas was happy as is.

It took her a moment to realize he was saying something and she snapped to at the expectant silence.

"A-ah, sorry, I didn't catch that." She winced. Silas loathed wasted words. Particularly those of import that beared repeating.

A quirked brow, but he obliged, "It's not every day that we celebrate Christmas. Come, enjoy it while we can."

He extended a hand to her, and stricken by an inexplicable shyness, found herself without her voice. Gently her fingers brushed his palm before resting in the outstretched hand.

The hesitation was unlike the passionate and headstrong girl he knew, but if Silas was curious, he didn't ask.

Curiosity or not, it wasn't his business to pry. Moreover he had little doubt that Esti would not appreciate the gesture, good intentions or not. She was a very much independent individual, and didn't appreciate others prying.

He led her carefully around the ice coated planks, towards the warm glow of the evening festivities.

He paused suddenly, and she walked into him, stumbling back with a stuttered apology.

Esti groaned to herself. How clumsy.

What an exemplary display of her observation. A great show of her attentiveness and skills as a veteran advanced field researcher indeed.

But the stillness in him had her looking up. She followed his amused gaze up to a sharp green and prickly cluster of foliage with vivid red berries. The small ornament hung innocently by a dainty ribbon.

Oh.

Her eyes met his and he smiled, "Traditions are what they are."

And then he was too close, too sudden, and she felt a gentle pressure against her forehead.

Silas pulled away, still smiling, "We better rejoin the festivities, lest Neiro ponder our whereabouts and come searching."

"Y-yeah." Face still aflame when he guided her by the shoulders back into the warmth of the room.

And then he disappeared into the din, already making himself scarce.

Huh. Guess he'd had enough of socializing for one evening.

She stood there staring after him.

Until eager hands clasped both of her own. Neiro was practically glowing. "I didn't think he actually would!"

She blinked, opening her mouth wordlessly before catching herself. "Then why did you put it there? Don't think I don't know you did. It wasn't there when I went out."

"Because he wouldn't have left if he'd seen it. Besides, it seemed like a good 'scuse so I snuck it on."

Her face exploded with warmth and she coughed, "Thank you."

Neiro laughed and pulled her into the throng of the party and cheering.

She was lucky to have someone like Neiro, and she found herself caught up in his upbeat pace, laughing and smiling as they enjoyed the food and company.