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02-10-2015, 09:46 AM
Midas A moments rest is all that's allowed. I catch a few hours of stone-like sleep, before we sail off to another portion of Helovia. One of my favorite places to come for meditation and prayer. Gliding to the ground, our eyes take notice of a Basin lass and her dusty colored comrade. Yon woman is familiar to me, I'd come to know her as Lena...A soft spoken northerner. (Who'd been kind enough to forgive the slights of an ignorant fool.) Africa returns to her -normal- self; a gentle and encouraging smile lures us forward. She lingers at the rear, standing close to my thigh. Likely pressed with memories of a time when those Northern scents came as a wash of agony and terror. Without drawing attention, I comfortably lean her way; using the only measure of aid currently honed...offering a solid presence of physical comfort, protection. Gaze drifts to the bay passively, wearily. They already knew, yar, word sure did travel quickly... "We will fly the far corner of yon mountain and send others who might be unaware to," I looked South and smile loosely, "the ship ." They turn from us with tight smiles and few words. Drifting off to spread the word. My attention otherwise occupied it wasn't at first noticed that a certain grey lady had fled the scene. I glanced back to find Africa gone, her lithe frame among the sparse timber with our companions. A beckoning gesture with angled crown would hopefully return the lass...  Some legends are told Some turn to dust or to gold |
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