#Minas basin

[zarawest]

The Minas Basin Ecology

The Minas Basin, setting for the Tide Harbor Suspense series, is a body of water located on the northwestern side of Nova Scotia. It is one of the richest areas of marine life in the world. The basin serves as the breeding ground for numerous species. An offshoot of the Bay of Fundy, the highest tides in the world occur in the basin, averaging 13 to 16 meters and reaching 21.5 meters during…

[skeletonmunroe]

single krill on the Minas Basin shore

[lionfloss]

Minas Basin; North Medford, Nova Scotia, Canada

[roselightfairy]

I know it’s been a million and a half years since there was any modverse collab content, but in honor of the WIP prompt reminding me that this existed - and our own sweet friends at home - have some modverse kitty content from me and @deheerkonijn to you!

(elf cats live a long time shhh)

...

The furniture in the parlor was . . . stiff.

Not hard, exactly – the sofa where Gimli sat was cushioned enough that no one could have complained, and even if that had been the problem, there were enough throw pillows (lying scattered across the floor where Legolas had tossed them) to remedy them. It was just that it was almost . . . a little too upright to be quite comfortable, as though made for someone with better posture than he had – even if Legolas, lounging horizontally with his legs across Gimli’s lap, seemed to belie that thought. It was like everything in this manor so far: ornately-carved taps and deep-basined sinks; vast archways and tall, narrow windows with fastenings too high to comfortably open. Beautiful architecture: a building made to be looked at, not lived in.

And yet live in it they did – Legolas, who had navigated this place as easily as he did his apartment at home, knowing exactly which staircase to tug Gimli up to dump their luggage unceremoniously on the bed, rummaging unself-consciously through a tall liquor cabinet to help himself (and Gimli, too) to wine that would have come with an absolutely forbidding price tag in Minas Tirith. Thranduil, who had walked in on Legolas doing this in the kitchen and made no comment but a droll, “More excited to see the wine than your own father, then?”

He sat perfectly upright across the room in his own armchair now, nodding along as Legolas spun an epic narrative of their train journey here. Gimli sat quietly and watched him – watched them, father and son, the ways they took up space in this sitting room. Thranduil’s posture made the space into a council table, the armchair into its head; he sat as though holding court – but Legolas was the one who ran it, whose conversation held the room in rapture, both of them rotating into the captivating orbit of his presence. Gimli wasn’t sure how he felt yet about the Prime Minister of Eryn Lasgalen, but this at least he could admire – that he had made this place, stiff and upright as it was, a home for Legolas.

“– and then he was like, ‘Who do you think you’re visiting, the PM?’ and Gimli just said, ‘Yes,’” Legolas was giggling now, nudging Gimli’s thigh with a heel. “Completely straight-faced! I couldn’t stop laughing. Tell him the rest, meleth.”

Gimli laughed, despite himself – and was this a skill that Legolas had inherited from his father, then? He could feel the effort to put him at ease, to spread Legolas’s own comfort into Gimli – and it was working, softening the room around him like the furniture at his back.

He closed a hand fondly around Legolas’s ankle, trying not to track Thranduil’s eyes tracking the motion. “There’s not much more to say,” he said. “Or, at least, he didn’t seem to think so. Shut up for the rest of the train ride. Not a peep.”

“It was great,” Legolas interjected. “You would have loved it, Dad.”

“I’m sure I would.” Was that smile indulgent or tolerant? Either one was more than Gimli had dared to expect. “Well, I am glad you made it here, at any rate.”

“Me too.” Legolas twisted to aim his most endearing hopeful smile right into Gimli’s face. “I’m glad to show Gimli this place finally.”

“I had hoped you would manage it before your wedding,” said Thranduil. “Some other fathers might have hard words to say about that.” This with an arched eyebrow to match the wryness of his voice. “But, ah well, at least you came eventually. Oh – hello, Smudge.”

Gimli blinked, the non sequitur soaring directly over his head. Had he missed something? – but then, even as he opened his mouth to speak, a patter-clacking interjected in the silence and he turned towards the sound to see a slender tortoiseshell cat slinking its way through the gap in the half-ajar door. It moved very slowly, one dainty paw in front of the other, pale eyes narrowed as it took them all in.

“Smudge?” Gimli said.

“Smudge!” Legolas exclaimed with delight at the same time. “My best friend! Oh, Gimli, she’s been around forever. How is she doing, Dad?”

“See for yourself.” The cat – Smudge – made her way slowly across the room, pausing in front of the couch where they sat even as Legolas dropped a hand to the floor. She sniffed delicately at his fingers, nosing up and down his hand before stretching her head forward until his fingers parted around her ears – but just as his hand contracted to scratch her head, she turned deliberately away, letting his fingers drag along the full length of her body before leaving him to hop up onto the arm of Thranduil’s chair.

“Oh,” Legolas laughed. “Is someone mad at me for being away?” His voice turned into a croon at those last words, the tone he used when mock-scolding Athelas and Simbelmyne. “Were you so, so lonely without me?”

“You might have come back to visit earlier for her sake, if not for your father’s.” Thranduil’s long-suffering tone was spoiled by the twitch of a smile at the corners of his lips – and, to Gimli’s amazement, by the way the cat shoved her head into his hand, his fingers curling around the top of her head to scratch vigorously behind her ears. It might have looked regal, a monarch with his cat, except for the loud purring of the cat and the speed of his scratching fingers – not halfhearted at all, whatever he might claim.

“How are the kittens?” Legolas said. “I haven’t seen a picture in weeks – they must be so big!”

“Big enough to cause trouble.” Thranduil waved his unoccupied hand dismissively. “They’re around somewhere – they always turn up just when you don’t want them. Just like her.”

Did his voice – was that a shade of Legolas’s own croon in his voice?

“Smudge,” Gimli repeated, looking at the cat with a new respect. His first day in the home of Lasgalen’s Prime Minister and he had somehow already seen him soften!

“Smudge,” said Legolas, so fondly Gimli could practically see the hearts in his eyes. “She’s been around since I was a little kid; she’s like the mascot of this place. Cats live a long time here,” he added, at Gimli’s questioning look. “Must be the air.”

The air, or maybe the elves themselves – something about them that kept everything around them just a little younger than it should have been, just a little more sturdy. “How old is she then?”

“Late twenties now?” Thranduil mused. “She was only a kitten when she moved in” – moved in, Gimli noted, as if it had been a business negotiation – “but we didn’t know how old exactly.”

“But I was only a few years old,” said Legolas. “So yeah, must be late twenties. She was my best friend when I was little, Gimli. But she’s got a good few years left in her. Don’t you, Smudge? Come here!” He clicked his tongue.

Apparently, the cat’s ire was no more serious than Thranduil’s, for she hopped down from his chair and pattered her way across the floor back to Legolas’s beckoning fingers. When she reached them, though, he swept a hand under her and scooped her tiny body into the air as she squawked in displeasure. But Legolas only laughed, holding her up above his head as her paws flailed in the air.

“Ohh, you’re such a sweet girl, aren’t you,” he cooed, and lowered her onto his chest. “Come here, yes, that’s it.” In the same motion she had applied to Thranduil, Smudge drove her head into Legolas’s face, their noses colliding as Legolas giggled again. “Do you forgive me for leaving? Yes, I missed you, too. Oh, yes” – He laughed helplessly as the cat nuzzled his face, his neck, her paws now kneading at his chest. “Come here, I have someone for you to meet.” And without further ado he scooped her up again, sliding his whole body upright in the same motion, to present her to Gimli.

“Be careful,” Thranduil warned. “She doesn’t always take to strangers.”

“It’ll be okay,” said Legolas. “Just give her your hand to sniff.”

Gimli extended it cautiously. He’d never been much of a cat person – had never really understood how they ticked. But if this cat loved Legolas, surely they had at least that in common, right?

Her whiskers tickled his fingers, her nose cold and wet and velvety as it brushed just against his fingertips: once, twice. She withdrew, as if thinking – and then, cautiously, she nuzzled up against him just as she had with Legolas and Thranduil.

Gimli glanced to Legolas, and at his encouraging nod, he dared to scratch her behind the ears, too.

“She likes you,” said Legolas, grinning. “See, I told you she would!” He rested a hand on Gimli’s shoulder, warm and reassuring and meaningful. “Everybody does.”

In that moment, Gimli wasn’t sure Legolas was talking about the cat.

He flicked his eyes across the room to where Thranduil still sat, watching them – still with that tiny, almost soft smile, as though at the sight of his son, all of his dryness couldn’t help but fall away.

At least they had that in common. And Gimli felt, all of a sudden, a rush of fondness for Thranduil – for his father-in-law – for the home he had made for Legolas here, for the love he felt for his son and his cat. For sharing his fancy furniture and his expensive wine with Gimli, for welcoming him here, for the sake of the person they both loved.

And as an irrepressible smile began to bloom on his face in turn, as he relaxed back into his seat, Gimli thought that the sofa might have become just a touch more comfortable than it was.

[mudandmire]

Changes

Azris Week - Day 6: Changes

~~~ Little heavy for @azrisweek day 6, but I've had this scene in my head for days now and wanted to do it justice. I hope I did! Thank you all for reading, hope you enjoy!! :D ~~~

Fixing it

The salve Azriel uses for his hands now has to be restocked in the washroom cabinet every week. A supply that once lasted him two, sometimes three weeks, is running out faster than before.

Azriel will never complain—never whine or groan about how quickly he runs out of salve. Because all of it is going to Eris, and there is not a more worthy cause to use up all the burn salve in the world than him.

Sunlight slants through the window, golden and liquid where it pools on the wood floor and in the wash basin. Azriel brushes his hand on Eris’s right shoulder, gentle and searching, down to his arm. Eris startles slightly—he always does these days, but Azriel knows not to take it personally.

“Mina’s down for her nap,” he says softly, his other arm wrapping around his waist, “we should change your bandages, sweetheart.”

Azriel knows a time when Eris would have turned to him, a smirk tugging at his pink lips that Azriel would kiss at just to make them bloom into a smile.

He now knows a time when Mina isn’t crying, or fussing, or sick, Eris is quiet. Pensive. He leans more to his right, turns to his right, his right hand following Azriel whenever he falls to his left side.

He presses gentle kisses to fabric on his shoulder, waits patiently for Eris to say something. Or nothing, they’ve cultivated a comforting silence like their own secret garden over the years—it’s come in handy. This is one of those times.

“Are her wings doing better today?” Eris’s voice is quiet, raspy from how little he talks.

Azriel’s eyes fall shut, melting into the line of Eris, chest to back, pulse to pulse. He’s near dead on his feet with exhaustion. Taking care of an infant, an Illyrian infant when neither of them had very good childhoods was certainly a learning curve. Unfortunately for both of them; the curve seemed to be carving out most—if not all—of their sleep.

“They are, yeah. A little sore by the tendons, but Mumiah took a look today and said it’s most likely growing pains.” He mumbles into the warm skin of his neck, eyes still closed.

“That’s good.” Eris whispers. His own hands, spurred on my the littlest of good news, the best news when it comes to them, find Azriel’s and lock around them.

“C’mon,” Azriel says, stepping away from the heat of his body and leading him to the washroom, “we need to change the bandages before she wakes up.”

“We don’t need to do anything, Azriel.”

Azriel pauses in the doorway of the washroom, spinning on his heel and fixing Eris with the sternest look he can possibly conjure when he’s one second away from either bursting into tears, falling asleep, or kissing Eris so hard both of them forget the past month. Past year, past whole of their lives. Until they’re nothing but warmth and starlight and forever.

“I’m saying this once: It’s not a chore, Eris. You changed my bandages for months, was it ever an obligation for you?”

“Azriel—no, that’s not what I meant.”

“Sweetheart,” his fingers ghost along the cotton gauze of the edge of the bandage. “I know what this is like, intimately. I know what you’re thinking so I need you to understand this isn’t a chore, or a job, or whatever else you think it is. I do this because I want to, because I love you, because I want to do everything with you.” He holds Eris by his chin, waiting for the love his life to meet his gaze.

Eris swallows hard, a glossy sheen over his eyes. “I love you.” He whispers back.

He pecks his lips gently, “love you, besheirt. Will you let me change your bandages, now?”

“If you must.” He grumbles, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

Azriel brings him further into the washroom, settling him at the counter near the basin. “I must.”

He runs his hand under the water, Eris handing him the little bar of soap. “Is the new milk working better for her?”

Azriel shrugs, patting his palms dry with the towel. “Depends—I think we can do as much as we can, but as long as she doesn’t have a mother…” A pinch appears between his brows, and he shakes his head.

“It kills me we can’t be what she needs.” Eris whispers, softer than intended.

Azriel watches him carefully, paying close attention to the bandaged left side of his face and neck, down to his shoulder. The same sentiment had been running through his head, too. How no matter how gentle and loving, no matter how they gave her a soft bed with all the furs and blankets she could want or sourced different milks from all over Prythian—they couldn’t be what she most needed, at this stage.

“We’ll get there.” He’s reassuring both of them, but it comes out uncertain.

“I want to be good enough, Azriel. I need to be good enough for her.”

Azriel nearly breaks his concentration from where he’s cautiously peeling away the bandage from Eris’s skin. He knows it’s painful, knows how many nerves are sparking and screaming. But Eris bears through it, nothing but the tight clench of his jaw and his hands curled into fists on his lap revealing otherwise.

“You are good enough, Eris.”

“No, I’m not, I’m—” he cuts off, one hand gesturing widely to his face, the piece of mangled, scarred skin revealed by the peeled off bandage.

Azriel bites down hard on his lip. No, this past month and a half hasn’t been easy. But one of the hardest things has to have been watching Eris—lit up from the inside with his copper hair and his trickster grin and that caring, daring heart—fall into a shell. A safe cocoon of vacancy and indifference.

It kills him, that he can’t be what either of them needs. Can’t stretch himself far enough, can’t give parts of himself away like bandages or the right milk to fix whatever’s broken. He can stitch by hand, mend by touch; but give nothing of what the two loves of his life actually need.

He swallows past the knot in his throat, letting it bob along the rising tide of despair that swells till it reaches the back of his tongue.

Azriel lets the silence be for now as he works away the rest of the bandage around Eris’s left ear, the one that stretches down to his neck. Soft apologies slip from his lips with every hidden wince, every caught whimper that Eris keeps behind his teeth.

When it comes away, fully, Azriel discards it and looks at him. There used to be a time where Eris relished being the center of Azriel’s unwavering attention—the star that kept his gaze. It’s just another thing Azriel has had to adjust to: like touching Eris on his right shoulder before greeting him, changing his bandages at odd hours when Mina finally cries herself to sleep, and keeping his gaze light. Easy. Not a search light or heavy, shared secret—but simple.

Azriel does so what is silently asked of him when Eris curls in on himself. His eyes skate around the ridges of his scars, the angry, raw sheen of it and the tight, whitened edges.

“It’s healing at the ends, so that’s good.” He says quietly, a damp, soaped cloth in his hand he begins to blot gently over the burn.

“Mm.” Is all he says, amber eyes cast down to where his fingernails pick at his cuticles until small drops of blood bead.

Azriel cups his fingers in his. “It is good. It means this isn’t forever.” His voice is stronger, head ducking down to meet Eris’s gaze. “And,” he starts, “even if it was—this doesn’t mean you’re not good enough, Eris.”

“Then what does it mean, Azriel. Because from where I’m standing—sitting—it means I completely failed.”

“Gach’lilit, failed what? The only one who’s a culprit here is ten feet underground in a pile of ash. Your father is the one who failed you, failed your family but most of all you.”

“How am I supposed to—” his voice breaks, “how am I supposed to care for her, raise her and love her when I struggle to do that for myself most days? Azriel, this isn’t—”

“That’s why I’m here. That’s why you’re here. So when we fall short—because stars, Eris, we will constantly fall short—we have one another to pick up the slack. To pick each other up, dust us off, and send us on our way with a kiss.”

He laughs wetly. “Where did you learn all this wisdom, my love?”

“Zebedee.” He says simply. “He wasn’t my father, not by blood, but he was the father I needed.”

Eris nods with quiet contemplation. “And we’ll be the fathers Mina needs. Not ‘cause we’re blood, but because she’s ours—and we’re hers.”

“Exactly, gach’lilit.” He’s patting the burn salve on gently against the burn, his touch so light, it would be a whisper.

Eris’s hands circle his wrists when he pulls away. “I never meant to insinuate scars mean you’re unworthy, my love. I’m sorry.” He brings them up to his lips, pressing gentle, open mouthed kisses to each place he knows twinges with a dull ache now and then. The palm of his hands, the knobby knuckles of his fingers, the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrists.

Azriel sighs softly, wings shuddering, letting Eris’s lips take the path they want and basking in the warmth they emanate.

“Do you remember,” he says, and Eris glances up through the fan of his copper eyelashes, “the first week or two we had Mina and how she would just cry every time I held her?”

Eris frowns, his lips turning down where they’re pressed against Azriel’s hand. He nods.

“How she cried, and wiggled, and tried to get out of my arms—but every time you held her she would settle down enough to fall asleep.” Azriel casts back his memory to those first few dark weeks—Eris having just come back from his father, scarred and shattered, now deciding to raise a little Illyrian girl with no home, no parents, no living relatives to speak of.

Azriel gives Eris a grimace. “I thought she hated my hands, the feel of them. I thought I’d never be able to hold our daughter because of these.” He gestures to them with his head, fingers twitching in Eris’s grip.

“But,” he whispers, “you told me otherwise. And you didn’t just tell me, you helped find a solution.” He wings flutter gently, rustling the still afternoon air, and Eris’s eyes dip down to his tunic.

A smile quirks his lips. “Who knew infants had such specific fashion tastes.”

“Who knew—you did.” Azriel scoffs a laugh, his head thrown back.

“Well, I didn’t know, it was a guess. I just wanted to fix it.”

“Mhm,” he hums, “so, guess what I’m doing?” He says, holding up the clean bandages with raised brows.

Eris sighs, but he’s smiling and Azriel will count it as a win. Sunshine’s come back, at least for now, and when the clouds come back—because they will—he’ll sit with him then, too.

“Fixing it?” Eris guesses for show, but his soft eyes tell Azriel the truth.

“Yep.” He says, beginning to wrap the cotton gauze around the burn, now shining with ointment. “Because that’s what we do.”

“I fix it when it turns out you need to wear softer clothes, not Illyrian leathers, when holding Mina.” Eris finishes.

“And I fix it when you need your bandages changed—or if you need to sleep on the other side of the bed to be closer to her, to hear her better.” His careful, steady hands press the edges of the bandage down, keen eyes watching Eris for any flicker of pain or discomfort.

“How’s that, too tight?”

Eris leans forward, pressing his lips to his with a sigh Azriel catches and keeps. His arms circling around to rest on Eris’s waist.

“You always do it perfect, love, you know that.”

Azriel’s features twist. “Not always, I remember the first couple times I botched it because I was used to putting bandages on me, not on someone else.”

Eris’s hands run up the length of his arms to his shoulders, hanging loosely around his neck as the tip of his nose nudges against his cheek. “Yes, but you never hurt me.”

“Mm, never.” Azriel says against his mouth. Quiet, a declaration. Not to Eris, because he knows, but after a life of abuse from someone who was supposed to have made that same promise, Azriel didn’t mind vowing it out loud now and then.

It’s easy to bask in each other—the golden sunlight filling the room, warming their sides and arms, making them glow like some ancient, lovely carving of devotion. Eris keeps their foreheads pressed together, and Azril makes sure he’s nowhere near the bandage. Their eyes have fallen closed; whether from exhaustion or contentment, neither know. It remains easy, sitting in silence like this; their cultivated garden, their familiar cluster of stars.

A sharp cry echoes from the bedroom. Loud and wailing, heavy for being the product of such little lungs.

Eris laughs, and his breath brushes against Azriel’s mouth—who can’t help but press forward slightly to kiss him. Eris slips off the counter, a light in his eyes rekindled and Azriel smiles at him warmly.

“C’mon,” Eris says, “we have a little terror to feed.”

Azriel throws his head back in a laugh. Exhausted, drained, completely and utterly dead on his feet; he’s slightly afraid that if he even sees a bed he’ll fall asleep—but there is absolutely no grander part of his life than this. Nothing more luxurious than helping Eris change his bandages. Nothing more simple, but lovely, than watching as the first love of his life coos a soft greeting, and picks up the second to cradle her small body against his chest.

Golden sunlight pools around them, stars of a different kind, and Azriel walks forward to join them.

~~///~~///~~///~~

Alright yay cool they don't make me want to bang my head against a wall at a l l. I know nothing about changing burn bandages please don't come at meeee. The editing for this is rushed because I'm trying to get it out before work lol so I'll fix mistakes when I get back.

I can't believe azris week is almost over???? That's crazy this has been so so fun I'm gonna miss it so much :((

[wherethefireliliesgrow]

(12) 79 days: burnt sepia

Myoui Mina x reader

Part of the series: Palette

Previous chapter: (11) 191 days: burgundy

79 days.

The misty mirror hid your face, revealing only your eyes as you leaned over the sink, your fingers gripping the cool, smooth marble edge with such force that your knuckles turned white. You met your own eyes, fatigue evident in the irises, as the blood dripped continuously down. The crimson lines that flowed from the corners of your eyes and nose converged at the top of your chin before spilling onto the pristine white marble floor.

Drip, drip, drip. Tick, tick, tick.

Symptoms worsened with each passing day. You knew that at this rate, would fade away before time ran out. The rate and severity of deterioration varied, and it was usually gradual and painless. However, those unfortunate enough to fall in love experienced a deeper pain.

Perhaps the physical agony was exacerbated by the heartache, and the venom of the curse coursed faster through the veins.

"Unnie?" A gentle rap echoed from behind the bathroom door—Haerin's voice. "Are you okay? You've been in there for quite a while."

Broken out of your trance, you swiftly twisted the faucet handle, erasing all traces of blood from both your face and the basin. With a deep breath, accompanied by a fake smile, you silently pleaded that the bleeding had ceased before opening the door. Allowing Haerin to see you in that situation seemed unfair; she had already been terrified by seeing Karina pass out the first time.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Rinnie.” you reassured, leaning against the door for support. 

However, Haerin's sharp eyes quickly picked up on the pain that went unspoken. She was always aware that something was wrong and chose to act unaware for your sake.

But she had enough today.

"You need to see a doctor," she insisted, her lips twisting into a worried frown.

"And you need to get ready for school," you deflected, attempting to steer the conversation away.

Extending your hand, you tenderly smoothed the unruly strands sprouting from Haerin's head, your affectionate gesture showing your anxiety gnawing at you. She was one of the reasons why you were worried about fading - wondering what would happen to her in your absence was unbearable.  

"Please, Unnie," Haerin begged, her gaze locking onto yours.

Were her eyes always this gray?  You could’ve sworn that they were a shade of dark brown. Then again, your eyesight hadn't been the most reliable in recent months.

"At least go get some painkillers," the younger girl persisted, her voice a gentle plea. "Do it for me, please?"

Looking at her worried face, you couldn’t bring yourself to reject her request. You could never say no to her. With a nod, you accepted the tissue she handed you, using it to gently stem the flow of blood that had begun trickling from your eyes once more.

“I’ll go get Mina.” She whispered.

.

.

.

.

You'd think that things would return to their former state after the world tour came to an end, but reality proved to be quite the opposite. With the tour ending, Mina had returned to Seoul, yet an undeniable distance had formed between the two of you. She seemed to be slipping away, much like your own soul was descending into the depths of a toxic embrace. Perhaps, it was time to let go of the girl you love so much. 

Mina couldn’t help it, but she began to despise you for everything, even if it was out of your control. She hated the fact that dispatch released the photos of you kissing, she blamed you for being the reason for controversy, and absolutely abhorred you for being a girl. She hated the way your skin on hers brought electric currents to her body, and hated that you made her feel all those feelings.

Most of all, she hated you for making her fall in love with you. 

It took her countless meetings with PR, hours of grueling planning, to suppress the dispatch articles. Nonetheless, she couldn't erase the memory of her mother's disapproving gaze, and the disappointment that radiated from the fans. It had escalated to the point where she was disgusted in herself, and in you. 

As you stepped out of your building, with Haerin following closely behind, Mina's black car caught your attention as it was parked at the curb. It had been a while since you last saw the idol; she often claimed to be busy with work, even during the two-month break JYP had given the girls. Like a moth drawn to a flame, your heart still fluttered at the sight of her, despite the pain she had brought you. 

You missed her. 

Haerin on the other hand, was fuming.

She had always held an admiration for Mina, yet her care for you surpassed any sentiment she had for the idol. Her protective instincts were set to defend you against Mina, for everything the latter had put you through.

“Hey,” Mina said, surprised to see you. 

“Hey.” You said softly.

Haerin, her anger seeping through her emotions, nodded stiffly before entering the car with a forceful slam of the door.

"Why didn't you tell me you were free today?" Mina's tone carried a hint of accusation. "I wouldn't have needed to reschedule my practice if I knew you were available to drive Haerin."

Before you could reply, Haerin beat you to it. Her small frame seemed to vibrate with anger, her eyes narrowing into a glare that could cut through steel. She couldn’t believe that Mina was actually saying this to you. What happened?

“Y/N unnie is sick.” Haerin hissed, “Take her to the hospital.”

“Sick?” This caught Mina’s attention, finally bringing her eyes to look at you. “What happened?” 

“How can you not know the reason why?” Haerin started, but the warning look you gave her caused her to shut her mouth. 

“Probably just a small cold.” You said, waving your hand dismissively. 

The rest of the ride to Haerin’s school was in silence, except for the loud slamming of the door from Haerin’s side as she got out of the car. It was unlike the ever timid girl to show such anger, and Mina knew it was because of her. 

Left in the car with Mina, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. Mina's voice, carrying a genuine note of worry, pierced the silence.

"Are you okay?" she inquired, her gaze fixed on you.

You looked thinner, your face paler, and the redness around your eyes was evident. Her hand hesitantly reached out, her palm coming to rest against your cheek. An internal battle raged within her, torn between her own conflicting emotions. Seeing you in pain stirred a sense of care within her that she found difficult to suppress. She loved you as much as she hated you.

"I'm fine," you replied, your voice gentle as you withdrew from her touch. "But I promised Haerin I'd get it checked out."

As if woken up from a trance, the concern in Mina’s face wiped clean and she simply nodded before driving you towards the nearest hospital. 

.

.

.

.

It was well past dinner time by the time you finally managed to return home. Your mind was betraying you, a jumbled mess of thoughts and recollections. These episodes were becoming more frequent, leaving you in a state of confusion and panic. There were moments when your mind seemed to go blank, leaving you disoriented and terrified. You struggled to recall even basic details, like where you lived or where you were.

After leaving you at the hospital to attend her practice, Mina had disappeared without much explanation. You were aware that her schedule was packed, with her often being seen at parties and events across the city.

Fortunately, Haerin had noticed your absence upon her return home. In a state of panic, she immediately contacted Karina, and the two of them set out to search for you.

Their frantic search led them to find you sitting on a curb along the bustling streets of Seoul, near JYP's building. You had walked nearly 10 kilometers from the hospital in your distressed state. Even when your condition was at its worst, your subconscious seemed to remember Mina, guiding you to a place that held some significance.

Holding your hand and leading you to your room, Karina wiped a few tears from her face before tucking you in and leaving you in Haerin’s care. It was too much for her to watch her best friend deteriorate and fade away. She wanted to blame Mina, but she knew that you wouldn't appreciate her for doing so, and Karina was determined to respect your feelings.

"Hae?" You mumbled, your voice groggy, just as Haerin was about to leave your room.

"Yes, unnie," the younger girl replied, holding back her tears. "I'm here."

"You found me," you whispered, your eyes still closed, your voice weak.

“I’ll always take care of you.” She said, softly stroking your hair the way you always did when she cried. “Just like the way you take care of me.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips, and you pointed to the bag at the end of your bed.

“I got you something.” you said, your eyes opening to gaze at her. A soft, excited giggle escaped your lips.  

“A red frog wearing a cowboy hat. I found it today when I got lost, but I could remember you.”

Relief washed over Haerin as she saw you regaining your usual self, more focused and aware of your surroundings. However, she knew this was temporary. Your lapses into confusion were becoming more frequent.

Rummaging in your bag, she pulled out a soft frog plushie. 

But the frog was a shade of dark brown. 

Burnt sepia.

You were colorblind again. 

.

.

.

.

You drifted in and out of sleep, a pattern that had become all too familiar in recent days. In those fleeting moments of rest, you were transported to different memories - the gentle breeze of Guryongpo Beach, the comforting touch of Mina's hand as she dragged you through yet another museum, the first time you laid eyes on her,, and the first time you could see color again. 

A series of loud knocks on your door jolted you from your dreams. As you opened the door, you were met with the sight of a drunken Mina, seated on the ground, giggling and gazing at you with dreamy eyes. It has always been like this lately. Mina's behavior was erratic, jumping between cold and distant when sober and a clingy, lovesick demeanor when intoxicated.

"Y/nnie," The pink-haired beauty slurred, reaching out (and failing) to grab onto your legs. "Y/nnie, y/nnie, y/nnie. I missed you."

Her softened state tugged at your heartstrings, injecting the poison of your complicated relationship even deeper. With a resigned sigh, you helped her to her feet and guided her inside. She stumbled her way into your room in the dark, shedding her clothes in the process, before falling face-first onto your bed.

"Mina," you sighed, leaning against the door frame of your room. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't a girl miss her girlfriend?" she mumbled, her face buried in your pillow.

"Am I still your girlfriend?" you inquired, flipping on the lights in the room.

"Of course. I love you so, so, so much," The idol giggled, turning her head to peer at you through dazed eyes, waiting for you to say it back, like you always do.

But all you could do was look at her, frozen. Mina’s back and neck were adorned with scratches and marks, blatant evidence that she had spent the night in another person's bed. 

You knew she was cheating on you, but the sight of the love marks of someone else on her body still brought a burning sensation to your heart. It shattered any lingering hope you held onto, hope that she might eventually love you again.

The countless news reports of her leaving with various male idols after parties, the rumors of her dates with Jeno, the images capturing her in the arms of different men – they were all true. It was as if something inside you had finally given way.

You could feel the intense heat of pain coursing through your tattoo, spreading like wildfire throughout your entire body. She had torn your very soul into pieces, shattering the soulmate connection.

Still in her drunken state, Mina failed to see you crumbling right in front of her. She failed to feel the subtle sting on her own tattoo signifying the broken connection of your once strong bond. She merely looked at you expectantly, waiting for your reply. 

“I love you, too,” you managed to utter, your voice strained as if each word were a struggle. As the words left your lips, you felt like your chest was constricting around your heart, making it difficult to breathe.

I love you so much that I allowed you to destroy every fiber of my being.

Satisfied with your response, the light-haired beauty closed her eyes and succumbed to sleep, while you stumbled your way towards the bathroom, the pain in your body and heart mirrored in your unsteady steps.

Quietly packing your bags, you left the place you called home, as the first light of dawn painted the empty streets. It would be torture for Haerin to watch you deteriorate, and it was torture for you to see Mina, who was a constant reminder of the love that had become poison in your veins.

It was time for you to let go. 

Blood was seeping out of you, as if you were stabbed by knives repeatedly, cutting through your body and soul without hesitation. Your tears flowed like a river of crimson, your nose a steady trickle of mahogany, and you coughed up blood, staining tissue after tissue in shades of red. 

But to you, all these vivid colors were reduced to a somber palette of burnt sepia.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

AHHH it's finally here!! Sorry again for the late update 🥲 This chapter was a bit hard to write. Thoughts?

[fatehbaz]

In fact, mounted police have a long history in Australia. They have certainly been used as a method of crowd control at countless demonstrations in living memory — from anti-war protests to pro-refugee rallies [...]. But the history of mounted police in Australia goes much deeper. [...]

---

In early colonial Australia, horses were at a premium. In the 1790s, policing of convicts and bushrangers in the confined region of the Sydney basin was conducted on foot by night watchmen, constables and the colonial military. By 1801, the then Governor King formed a Body Guard of Light Horse for dispatching his messages [...] and as a useful personal escort. By 1816, at the height of the Sydney Wars of Aboriginal resistance, the numbers of horses in the colony had grown. Their importance as mounted reconnaissance and for use by messengers was critical to Governor Macquarie’s infamous campaign, which ended in the Appin Massacre of April 17, 1816. [...]

Along with firearms and disease, the horse was a key element in occupying Aboriginal land and controlling the largely convict workforce on the frontier. In the early 1820s, west of the Blue Mountains, the use of horses in the open terrain of the Bathurst Plains was critical in capturing escaped convicts [...].

---

During the first Wiradjuri War of Resistance between 1822 and 1824, calls were made to the colonial authorities for the formation of a civilian “colonial cavalry” to assist the beleaguered and overstretched military forces. [...] It was hoped colonial farmers would be their own first line of defence [...]. Governor Brisbane wrote to London that in 1824 a mounted force was becoming “daily more essential [for the] vital interests of the of the Colony”. [...]

After possibly hundreds of Wiradjuri people had been massacred by heavily armed and mounted settlers, a “Horse Patrol” was created in 1825, which soon formally became the Mounted Police. [...]

By the 1830s, the force had proved useful as a highly mobile quasi-military unit in combating Aboriginal resistance as well as bushranging. As the colony continued to expand with an insatiable desire for running cattle and sheep on Aboriginal lands, three regional divisions were based at Bathurst, Goulburn and Maitland.

---

After conflict between colonists and Gamilaraay warriors on the Liverpool Plains, commander Major Nunn led a Mounted Police detachment on a two-month campaign around the Gwydir and Namoi Rivers, resulting in the Waterloo Creek Massacre on January 26, 1838.

Armed colonists soon followed suit, ending in the Myall Creek Massacre in June that year, where colonists killed at least 28 Aboriginal people (possibly more). [...]

---

From 1850, the colonial police force (and then from 1862, the NSW Police force) incorporated mounted police as mobile units in mostly remote locations.

But they also found them useful in urban areas, especially with growing numbers of strikes, political disturbances, protests and riots in the rapidly industrialising cities in the late 19th century.

The use of horses in crowd control has a long history in policing [...]. Among the other issues this presents, we might also consider horses’ long suffering histories of being placed in the front lines of conflict. Like the inexorable march of sheep and cattle [...], understanding the role of animals in colonisation and policing is crucial to a broader understanding of Australian history.

---

Text by: Stephen Gapps and Mina Murray. “From colonial cavalry to mounted police: a short history of the Australian police horse.” The Conversation. 28 July 2021. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. The image is a screenshot of the headline as published at The Conversation.]

[beevean]

As a writing prompt here's a neat idea: Imagine Soma having dreams about his previous life. More specifically of Isaac and Hector :)

Soma may have had rejected his fate, denied his nature as the reincarnation of Dracula, but that didn't mean his own soul didn't insist on reminding him of what he had turned his back to.

He had learned how to distinguish irrational dreams from real memories of his past lives, as confused and fragmented as they were. In his sleep, he felt all those emotions as acutely as he was reliving them again, and it turned out that Dracula felt everything with the intensity of a burning sun: love, hatred, grief, disgust, delight... A few times Soma would wake himself up by cackling, or shouting in rage in a voice that he could not recognize.

He dreamed of women, blonde women with kind eyes who made his dead heart soar, and made his eyes sting with tears he could not shed. He dreamed of horrible, fearsome men holding a whip - Julius' clan, and Soma could see something of him in their posture and stare, while Dracula was overcome by nothing but the thirst of death. He dreamed of a young blond boy in his father's lap, giggling with his little fangs shining, and it came naturally to Soma to love him as his son, despite not even knowing his name.

Soma would tell everything to Arikado whenever possible. The agent wanted to be kept updated on Soma's "condition", and Soma... well, he just wanted to vent to someone who wouldn't think he had lost his mind, or worry about him like Mina or Yoko, which didn't help his nerves one bit.

"Oh, you saw the Devil Forgemasters, Hector and Isaac," nodded Arikado one day, when Soma told him that two boys not much older than him had visited him in his dreams.

Soma raised an eyebrow. "Wow, for once you didn't play coy. Did you know them?"

"I did. They were Dracula's students of dark arts, and I crossed paths with them in the castle. What did you see in your dreams?"

Soma struggled to put the memories together. "Uhm, we were in a... laboratory of some sort? Full of potions and machinery and stuff. And I... Dracula was assisting them, I guess. The one with silver hair conjured a whole devil from a basin of pink water! I remember I felt pride at the sight."

The vision creeped Soma out, to be honest. He assumed that demons would simply... appear out of nowhere. He would have never imagined that they could be created from simple matter. And that was Dracula's magic? (He refused to think "his".) Creating life, on top of absorbing souls? Just how powerful was a Dark Lord?!

"Hector was Dracula's star pupil." And this time, Soma could have sword he had seen a corner of Arikado's lips twitching. "But both of them were formidable alchemists. They were born to dwell in the darkness and grow powerful from it. It's no wonder Dracula invested time and effort in training them."

If Arikado's words didn't bother Soma, he would have paid more attention to the twinge of jealousy creeping in his flat tone.

"But... they were human, weren't they?"

"They wouldn't be able to give you one answer."

"What do you mean?"

"Isaac prided himself on being inhuman. Being born cursed, mankind had shunned him, and so he sought solace in the realm of the devil. He was honored that Dracula had infused him with his magic, and believed that it made him something other and beyond mere humanity."

While Arikado explained, Soma could picture more and more clearly the redhaired man clad in black, the sneer he reserved at his companion, and the pure adoration that Dracula could nearly smell on him. So, Isaac saw himself as not human, because he was born with dark magic, and for him it was a source of joy. Soma stared at his own hands, suddenly very uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

"And the other one? Hector, you said?" he asked, not able to mask the nervousness in his voice.

"Hector fled the castle, eventually." At that, Soma raised his head. Arikado was adjusting the handkerchief in his breast pocket, averting his gaze. "He, too, had been chased away from the land of man, and his potential for dark magic was even greater than Isaac's... but he chose to reject it and stay true to his humanity. And I eventually learned, from the Belmont records, that he slew Dracula himself when Julius' ancestor could not."

"I think I dreamed that one too. I had no idea holy magic cast by a cute mage burned so badly!" Soma laughed, chasing away the memory of the indignation Dracula felt that day. Right, they were nothing but memories. "I think I get what you mean. Thanks."

[calebom]

Minas Basin; North Medford, Nova Scotia, Canada

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

A River Contrasts and Inequalities in the Arid Lands of Brazil

Osmir da Silva Rubez refuses to join the drip system, and is the only one among the 51 families living in the Mandacaru Public Irrigation Project in Juazeiro, a municipality in the state of Bahia, in the Northeast region of Brazil, to maintain the furrows that carry water to their crops.

The São Francisco River, which rises in the state of Minas Gerais, near the centre of Brazil, and flows northeast, has boosted irrigated agriculture in its 2,863 kilometres, much of it in semi-arid territory, with rainfall averaging between 200 and 800 millimetres per year.

It is a privileged basin, located in a region that suffers from water scarcity, especially in the increasingly recurrent droughts, when small rivers and streams dry up.

Water availability, immense due to the river's large flow, was increased by the construction of two hydroelectric dams North and South of Juazeiro, a city of 238,000 people, which has developed a fruit-growing industry, mainly for export.

Mangoes and grapes are the main local crops, grown on large private farms and in the irrigation projects of the state-owned São Francisco and Parnaíba Valley Development Company (Codevasf). Export activity highlights the contrasts and inequalities of the so-called Semi-arid ecoregion.

Continue reading.

[middleearthpixie]

Promise Me ~ Chapter Six

Summary: Friends since childhood, Gabriella has long held back her feelings where Boromir is concerned, as she did not want to risk losing his friendship if he didn't feel the same. But, then he is summoned to Rivendell, and the night before he is to leave, he stuns Gabriella by confessing his feelings for her as well. 

But, war is coming and he cannot put off what he knows must be done. All Gabriella can do is wait for him and pray for his safe return. 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Gabriella

Characters: Boromir 

Warnings: Pining, Battle, death 

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

It was the longest of nights as Gabriella sat there at his bedside. Various healers passed through. They poked and prodded and made Boromir cry out in pain—which made her ready to leap across the bed and throttle the party responsible—and then left without a word to her. She didn't know how many of them had heard him confessing to wanting to kiss her that day down by the river, nor did she care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered now but Boromir’s getting better. And whatever the other healers knew, they kept to themselves. Boromir had made it clear she was to remain there, and they would honor his wishes, of course.

She sat at his bedside, stroking his hair to calm him when he grew restless, moaning and mumbling in his sleep. Every so often, she refilled the basin and bathed his forehead, his neck, his chest until he calmed. As the night crept on, she kept hoping he’d open his eyes, that he would sit up and assure her everything was going to be all right.

But he didn’t, of course. Heat wafted from him. He mumbled and muttered and spoke to no one in particular—to his brother, his father, his mother. He threw off the linens and swore whenever she tugged them back up. She laid a hand against his forehead, only to have him moan softly and try to get away from her. 

Ioreth had left a pain elixir for her to give to him, which was no easy feat as he did not want to be touched at all. Still, she managed to get a least a few drops into him, and then he’d settle back and be calm for a while. 

Gabriella just watched over him, like a mother hawk. She drifted off more than once, and each time awoke with a start at the slightest sounds. Each time she lay her hand across his forehead, it felt hotter still. Fever ravaged him, burned wildly through him to leave him thrashing against the sheet as if it was lined with sharp nails scraping against him.

She had no way of knowing when he’d been wounded, no way of knowing how he managed to survive them and walk back to Minas Tirith. How he managed to survive the walk itself. Orcs seemed to have plagued every last corner of the world and now, no one left the city unless they absolutely had to. No riders from other realms came, no supplies came, no exports left, and yet, somehow, Boromir had crossed untold miles through the most dangerous of territory, to make it back home.

“No, please…” his voice grew thin and reedy, such a far cry from its normal calm, soothing tones, “I must find them… the little ones… they are in danger…”

She sat up sharply at his moaned words. He’d kicked the sheet from himself once more, so she rose to grasp it and gently tugged it back up. “Shh…”

“I cannot shhh…” he growled, a hint of furious desperation woven through his voice. “Do you not understand? It is my fault! What have I done? The little ones are gone and I must find them.”

“Little ones?” 

She tried to soothe him by stroking his hair, only this time, it seemed to only agitate him further. “Yes! And Frodo! I must find him. Where is he? I wouldn’t have harmed him…”

She pressed her lips together as his voice broke then and a tear slid from the corner of his left eye. “I would not have harmed him, I swear it.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” she assured him, although she had no idea what he could possibly mean. Her fingers slipped lightly along his hair as she added, “You are a gentle man, Boromir.  One of the gentlest men I have ever met, you know. You would not harm anyone without just cause.”

“Gabby… I just wish to return home to her,” he replied brokenly, his voice hitching. “She worries for me. No one has worried for me since my mother’s death… I—I don't know what to do with that…”

Her hand went still. Boromir rarely spoke of his mother. All Gabriella knew was that she had died when he was about ten years old. He went quiet then, and a hint of a smile played at his lips. “Gabby… I must return home to her. I promised her I would…”

“You have,” she whispered, leaning over to brush his forehead with her lips, along the faint scar above his left eye. “I am right here.”

“I love her,” he whispered, his voice breaking, “and I should… should have told her… I am a coward…”

Her lips trembled even as she smiled and her eyes misted over once more. “You are anything but a coward,” she murmured, her fingers moving lightly over his soft hair. 

“I am, though,” he insisted, his voice growing faint. “I—I would not have hurt him. It was… but a—a moment of weakness…”

Her fingers went still. “What was?”

“I will not die here,” he replied, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. “I must find the little ones. They are in grave danger. And it… it is… my fault.”

With that, he sat up sharply, crying out in pain even as he kept moving, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Gabriella skirted it to face him, catching him by the arm as she said, “No, no… you need to rest, Boromir. You are in no condition to go anywhere.”

“I must find them.” He tried to push her away, but his arms trembled too badly for there to be much force behind his shove and she barely moved.

“You will,” she told him, a hint of panic rippling through her. “In the morning. But for now, please, lie back and rest.”

“Rest? Are you mad, woman? I cannot wait until morning. I have to find them. I have to tell them I am sorry I failed them.” He pushed harder against her, then tried to jerk free of her grasp. He managed to break her hold on him, but as he tried to stand, he let out another cry as his wounded left leg buckled beneath him. 

She caught him before he hit the floor, sucking in a sharp breath as his bulk nearly tore her shoulder from its socket. Still, she managed to hold onto him, to keep him from hitting the floor.

His howl rang throughout the infirmary and brought Ioreth scurrying from her chambers. “Gabby, what are you doing?”

“Me? I’m trying to keep him from hitting the floor,” Gabriella grunted as he sagged against her. “He’s trying to leave…”

“I must go and you will not keep me.”

“Do not be a fool, Boromir,” Ioreth snapped, pulling his right arm about her neck to get him upright again. “Back to bed with you this minute.”

“I cannot lie about…”

“You will and that is that.”

He tried to fight her, but his strength gave out completely and between Ioreth and Gabriella, they were able to wrestle him back to his bed. “And you will remain there, is that clear? No more of this foolishness, do you understand?”

“Evil woman,” he growled, even as he did as he was told.

“Yes, yes. I know.” Ioreth tugged the sheet back up over his broad chest. “Now, you stay where you are, lest I restrain you. And make no mistake, my lord, I will do so if it comes to that.”

A low sigh leaked through his teeth as he nodded, then replied, “Aye.”

“Good.” Ioreth turned to her. “If he tries this foolish thing again, come get me at once.”

“I will.”

With a bob of her head, Ioreth turned and strode back toward the rear of the room, where a door led to the hallway that led to her chambers. Her back and shoulders aching, Gabriella sank into her vacated chair and breathed a low sigh of relief when Boromir drifted off to sleep once more. 

She watched him sleep, her mind whirling with ever more questions now. Who were the little ones of which he spoke? Children? And if so, why was he with children? 

But that made no sense. He would never put anyone in danger intentionally and he would certainly never harm anyone without good reason. So, who or what plagued his fevered mind? What had happened from the time he departed Rivendell and the time he staggered to the edge of the Pelennor Fields? 

She leaned closer, letting her fingers skim lightly along his hair. “What happened out there?”

He didn't answer, of course. He remained silent for a bit, but then grew restless once more. Thankfully, he did not try to rise from bed again, but she knew she was in for a terribly long night.

****

Everything hurt. The pain came sharp as a blade, and hot as fire and refused to leave him be. No matter how he tried to get away from it, he couldn’t. It just threatened to swallow him entirely, but not before slicing him into little pieces to chew first. 

A soft voice broke through the heat. A gentle hand on his hair calmed him. He couldn't see to whom they belonged, though. All he saw was blackness. Then trees. Then, the terrified faces of two halflings. The ugly faces of the abominations known as orcs.

Arrows pierced him, each one filling him with fire anew. He fought back, using all of his will to swing his blade in any direction, to cleave as many of the beasts in half as he could. He had to. He had to prove to them he was not a traitor. He’d never meant to frighten Frodo. Never meant to threaten him or make him think he was in danger. He simply wanted to save his people. 

“Gabby…” Her name bubbled to his lips as he saw her before him, tranquil and beautiful, standing before him in a gown of pale blue. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her dressed in such feminine attire, as she preferred trousers and tunics over skirts and bodices. But she looked beautiful just the same.

Her white-blonde hair fell freely about her face, also something he’d never seen before. Normally, she wore it pulled back in a braid. But now, it tumbled over her shoulders and down her back and he fairly ached to gather it in his hands, to bring the silken strands to his face and inhale the soft lavender scent that clung to her. He ached to kiss her again, to open the back of her dress and let it spill from her before he swept her up in his arms and spirited her to his bed.

He loved her. He’d loved her since the first time he’d seen her, down at the river. He wanted her to be his, to be his wife, to be the mother of his children. But he never had the chance to tell her any of that. All he’d been able to do was kiss her twice. And that wasn't nearly enough. He’d squandered each opportunity out of fear. He was a bloody coward. 

“Where is she?” he fought against the rising panic as she slowly faded from sight. “Gabby? Gabby!”

“Shhh… I am right here, love,” she whispered, and he calmed at the gentle brush of her hands against his cheek, over his hair. She was there. She was safe. It was safe for him to rest now. 

But his mind wouldn’t let him. 

He smiled as he reached down to adjust the small hands on the equally small handle. “Grip it a bit more tightly. There’s a good lad.” He rumpled the halfling’s honey-gold hair.

“Boromir, take care. He is only five and that sword is almost as big as he is.”

He looked up in surprise to find Gabby sitting on the rock where he’d tossed his gloves and draped his cloak. “What are you doing here? It’s not safe.”

“I’m fine,” she told him, her beautiful eyes silver and serene. “But take care with him. He’s still only learning.”

He turned his attention back to the hafling, who now smiled up at him. His eyes were silver.

Silver? That couldn't be.

He scooped up the halfling, as he’d done in the mines of Moria, when first the Watcher in the Water and then the Balrog had tried to stop them. But as he tightened his arms, the halfling draped his arms about Boromir’s neck and said, “Can we play now instead, Papa? My arms are tired.”

Papa?

He looked back at Gabby. Her eyes. The halfling had her eyes. No, wait… he was no halfling.

He was a child.

He was their child.

Then she stood and his eyes went wide at the sight of her. Round. Only days away from going into labor, it seemed.

“Why do you stare as if you’ve never seen me?” she asked as she came up and slid an arm about his waist before pressing her cheek against his arm. 

“Because I feel as if I am seeing you for the first time,” he said, unable to keep the amazement from his voice. 

He leaned closer. Her eyes sparkled. Her lips pursed.

Thunder rolled in the distance. Lighting crackled. It struck and the jolt tore through him, throwing him back and drove him into the ground hard enough that he thought his bones shattered on impact.

He lurched awake with a gasp, an icy cold sweat breaking out over his entire body as he fought to catch his breath. His family melted into memory. His son. An expecting Gabby. They no longer existed.

“Shhh…” Ioreth was there in an instant, a cool, damp rag bathing his temples, down along his neck.

Panic set in as he stared wildly about the room. Sunlight spilled through the windows behind him. A gentle breeze wafted in its wake. He fought to calm himself even as Ioreth murmured, “You had us worried, Boromir.”

“Where… what… how…?”

“All things we would like answered as well,” she replied in her calm voice. “Now, calm yourself before you pull out the stitches.”

“Stitches?” His head ached, his vision swam, and his leg and chest felt as if they were on fire. 

“Stitches, indeed. How you managed to walk on that leg, I will never know.”

He sank back into the pillows as breathing came more easily now. “Where is Gabby? Is she here?”

“She is. I’ve sent her down to have a bath and to fetch a change of clothing. She has refused to leave your bedside since you returned.” Ioreth offered up a long look, then laid her hand against his forehead. “Your fever has broken. We should get you into fresh clothes and onto fresh linens.”

“Gabby can help me with that.”

“That is highly inappropriate.”

He glared up at her. “It is my choice.”

“Isn’t it her choice?”

He gritted his teeth as his roiled gut twisted tighter with hot irritation. “I suppose it is, so I will ask her when she returns.”

“It’s good to see you are your same stubborn self, my lord,” she told him sharply. “Please, just let me help you and make things easier for all of us?”

He stared at her for a long moment, and decided a fight with her was a waste of energy he simply did not have. Besides, he was still more tired than he’d ever been and so squeezed his eyes shut, brought up a somewhat shaky hand to rub his forehead. “Very well. What day is this?”

As she moved toward the cupboard, Ioreth replied over one shoulder. “Tuesday. You were found out in the Pelennor Fields three days ago. Do you recall any of it?”

He shook his head slowly. “Not much, no. Was I alone?”

“I think so,” she opened the cupboard to take out clean clothes for him and then came back, “but you’ll have to ask Gabriella. She is the one who found you.”

He nodded, letting his hand flop down onto the bed alongside him. Everything still seemed so… fogged to him. “Gabby found me?”

“She did, yes. And as I said, she’s refused to leave your bedside since, slept right in that chair for three nights. She’s a bit stubborn, you know. Sit forward, please.”

He did as she asked, ignoring the burn of pulling damaged muscle when he lifted his arms to pull off the sweat-soaked. He shook his head when Ioreth held out the clean one. “I have no need for that and I’d rather not lift my arm again, if it’s all the same to you. Those will do just fine.”  He took the small clothes from her. “And this, I will do this myself.”

“As you wish.” 

She turned away to give him a whit of privacy, waiting for him to say, “I am decent again,” before she turned back to him.

Something as simple as changing clothes was enough to wipe him out, but as he sank back against his pillows, he turned his head to peer at the chair at his bedside. There was no way at all Gabby had been at all comfortable for those three nights in that straight backed, barely-padded chair. “Why did someone not fetch her something more comfortable?”

“We were a bit busy, I’m afraid. The infirmary was overrun with wounded from the battle.”

He let his eyes close for a second. His physical pain had ebbed for now. The fire was gone. But he was still just so very tired. And the enormity of what she’d just said sank into him, added to the shame he already burned with, the one he’d share with no one. “Of course you were. I’m sorry.”

“Do not be sorry. You’ve been through much as well. Where were you when you were set upon? How far did you travel?”

He shook his head. “It is of no matter. You need only know I traveled far enough.”

She just offered up a long look, but said nothing, just shook her head. Footsteps sounded then and Gabby came into view and he forgot about being tired, forgot about his wounds, forgot about the guilt he bore and the shame he carried. Seeing her made them all melt into the background.

She was even more beautiful than the image he’d carried in his mind of her. Unlike most of the women in Minas Tirith, she was not one for flowing gowns of any sort. He couldn't recall ever seeing her in anything other than soft trousers and tunics that emphasized her femininity more than he would have thought possible. He would never complain about her choice in clothing at all. It suited her. It suited him. 

Relief flooded Gabby’s eyes, and to his amazement, he watched them go from stormy gray to a calm silver. She came up to him, slipping her hand into his, and said, “Welcome home. You had us worried, you know.”

He tightened his fingers around hers, the remnants of his dreams still clinging to him. “I feel as if I’ve been gone a lifetime.”

“Tell me about it.”

He gave a gentle tug on her arm. “Come and lay with me. Ioreth won’t mind,” he glanced up at the healer, “will you?”

Her expression suggested that she very much minded, but all she said was, “No, I don't suppose it would hurt.”

A pale flush crept into Gabby’s cheeks. “I don't wish to hurt you, Boromir.”

“You won’t. Trust me.” He pulled again, harder this time. “Please?”

She glanced at Ioreth, who nodded, and then Gabby carefully settled onto the bed alongside him. A sigh rose to his lips at the feel of her soft body curved up against his and he slid his arm about her shoulders to draw her closer. “You are not about to break me,” he told her with a hint of a smile, giving her a gentle squeeze.

A soft laugh bubbled to her lips, as silvery as her eyes. “Of course not, still, I—”

Her voice hitched, and her eyes shimmered with tears that silently spilled over her lower lashes to course down her cheeks. She tucked her head against his chest, his skin growing damp beneath her.

He tightened his arm about her. “Shhh… love… it’s all right. I’ll be fine in time.”

“I know, but…” She shook her head, her arm draped gently about his hips. “I heard the horn and then Faramir found it, or what was left of it and I—I knew the worst had happened.”

“I survived, Gabby. I am here now and the worst has not happened.”

Her arm tightened over him, but before she could respond, she dissolved into tears that he was powerless to stop. So, he didn't try. He just held her as she cried.

After a while, Gabby quieted and he glanced down to see she’d fallen asleep. He lay there for a long while, just savoring the feel of her against him. Nothing had ever felt so right as this one woman in his arms did. None before her had, and there would be no other woman but her now.

The sunlight had softened as the day went on, glinting along the strands of her hair until it looked almost molten. He let his fingers trail lightly along it, smiling as it was every bit as soft as he remembered. His fingers moved along the plait and he found himself wanting to unwind it and send it spilling down her back, to see how close his imagination was to the reality of seeing her that way. 

For the first time in weeks, his wounds didn't feel as if they were on fire. For the first time in weeks, he didn't burn with fever or wander about in a delirium. He still wasn't entirely certain how he survived the battle with the orcs, only knew that Aragorn came to his aid and lopped the head off the foul orc taking aim between Boromir’s eyes. He vaguely remembered convincing Aragorn to go on after Merry and Pippin, vaguely remembered getting to his feet to force them to obey his mind and move. 

Large blocks of time had gone missing from the time he collapsed at Amon Hen to the time he did so at the edge of the Pelennor Fields. He vaguely remembered stumbling about trees, coming to in areas he did not recognize. But, he knew he was close to home when he heard the sounds of battle.

Then he saw the White City and he knew he’d made it. 

Gabby stirred then, lifting one hand to rub her eye and when she peered up at him, her eyes softened. “This was not a dream.”

“Which part?”

“All of it, I suppose.”

“No,” he shook his head slowly, “it is not a dream.”

Her eyes grew shiny again and he brought his hand to her cheek. “No more tears, Gabby.”

“I cannot help it. I—I—” Her bottom lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth for a long moment as she collected herself. Then, she drew in a slow breath, exhaled, and murmured, “I thought you were lost. We all thought you were.”

“And as you can see, I am not.” He caught a loose tendril to tuck behind her ear. “I am right here.”

“I know.” She slowly shifted onto one elbow and her palm came to rest against his cheek. “And I still feel as if I will wake and find myself back where I was when I heard the horn blow.”

“You needn’t worry,” he told her, tightening his arm about her shoulders to pull her close once more. 

She leaned in and when her lips brushed his, he let his hand slide along her neck, up to her hair, where his fingers wove into the strands pulled back into that plait, and for the first time since the first arrow struck him, he felt no pain whatsoever. 

[zarawest]

Tides in the Minas Basin

The Tide Harbor series is set on the north shore of the Minas Basin. This body of water, a part of the Bay of Fundy, is known for having some of the highest tides in the world. The fictional town of Tide Harbor is located between Economy and Parrsboro. Tide Facts The tides move in and out as fast as a person can walk They rise and fall as much as 14-16 meters (42-56 feet) The highest tides…

[canary0]

May 3, Bistrita - Dracula 2023

The train left Munich at 8:35 pm on May 1st, arriving in Vienna early the next morning.

We would have been there sooner, but the train was an hour late. Really unfortunate, because once I arrived from Vienna to Budapest, the place is beautiful. The fact that the railways wanted to get back on schedule meant that didn’t get much of a chance to explore, but I managed to get a few pictures.

Train station interior: Photo by Thomas Choi on Unsplash (https://unsplash.com/photos/DdBEYd4hZ5k)

Train station exterior: Photo by Gabriel Miklós on Unsplash (https://unsplash.com/photos/asIEq0NrNNE)

Budapest: Photo by Klaudia Olejnik from Pixabay (https://pixabay.com/photos/budapest-hungary-river-city-bridge-7810815/)

You can feel the history, moving into the area that the Ottoman Empire once ruled. The influences are so different, between the oldest architecture in England and here. Like a gateway into Eastern Europe, something like that. I would love too travel here some time when I’m not on business with Mina. She could probably tell me the history of half the buildings here.

Sadly, I left shortly after I took the picture of the bridge. I almost ran late for the train taking off again! I can’t complain, though, as we left in good time and weren’t too late getting into Cluj-Napoca. Even the rail station was lovely.

Train station: Public Domain image at Wikipedia.com (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cluj-Napoca_railway_station)

I stayed for the night at a small hotel about ten minutes walk from the station, Villa Escala. I always thought that if you’re going to travel, you should go places where you can absorb the atmosphere more, and this place was lovely in that regard. The atmosphere warmed the soul, and the furniture wore its history on its sleeve without looking worn out.

Hotel (Villa Escala): Photo at Booking.com (https://www.booking.com/hotel/ro/villa-escala.html)

Once I checked in, I inquired after the staff where I might find some local fare, and they directed me to a nearby restaurant where I had a lovely dish they called “ paprikás csirke”, chicken paprikash. While apparently not commonly made this way these days, this particular place used an old recipe that included hot paprika, and it was quite a thirsty dish. I finished my carafe and water and needed more. It was interesting in how the burn was more at the back of the mouth and going down than at the front.

Mina: I think you would love this dish. Creamy, spicy, a little tart from the sour cream, and a subtle sweetness. I found a recipe for it you might want to try. (link)

Chicken Paprikash (paprikás csirke): Photo by Istvan Szabo at Pexels (https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-close-up-shot-of-a-chicken-paprikash-dish-10338434/)

While the cell reception has grown increasingly spotty during my trip, I’ve done some research on the area as I went. The place I’m going is right on the border of Transilvania, Bucovina, and Moldova (that’s the Romanian state, not the country – that’s farther east yet), in the eastern half of the country, tucked up in the Carpathian Mountains. I won’t be quite heading into the latter two states, I gather. I think the castle must not be on any official roads, because I couldn’t find where it’s supposed to be on any roads. I think I can see an impression on Google Earth, but it’s surprisingly blurry. I can’t tell if what I’m seeing is a castle or a strange craggy outcropping. I suppose I’ll see.

Anyway, there are a few different ethnic groups in the area: Saxons (yes, the same ones King Arthur was supposed to have fought – they occupied a really wide swath of Europe), Vlachs (speakers of Eastern Romance languages, possibly descended from the Romans who once occupied the region; indeed, they simply called themselves Romans), Magyars (Hungarians), and Szekelys (who regard themselves as descendants of Huns, and served as the vanguard of Romanian armies in the past). Supposedly, when the Magyas conquered the Carpathian Basin, they found the Huns already there, so it’s possible.

Supposedly the Carpathian Mountains are rich in folklore and stories of all sorts of strange beings out there in the night. I think I must have been thinking about it that night, because my sleep was interrupted by odd dreams. It likely wasn’t helped by a dog howling beneath my window, the paprika, or the picturesque, if rather spooky, graveyard I had to pass between the hotel, train station, and restaurant. Despite that, I must have been sleeping very deeply by morning – it took a couple of wake up calls for me to actually get up.

I had a breakfast of more paprika, a polenta-ish cornmeal porridge called “mămăligă”, and a stuffed eggplant dish they called “impletata”… but since that word just means “stuffed” according the the online translator that has been a lifeline this leg of the trip, I think they might have been having me on a little. Very tasty, though, so I can’t complain too much.

I hurried through the food to get to the train on time, since it was supposed to leave before late, but… Well, the phrase “hurry up and wait” comes to mind. We didn’t get started until at least 8:30. Such is life.

The train took a moderate pace through the countryside, which suited me just fine. I mentioned that Budapest was beautiful, but the countryside of Transilvania has a completely different sort of beauty. Little picturesque towns in the midst of rolling fields and little rivers in the distance, castles settled atop steep hills, watching over the surrounding area like lone sentinels. The streams and rivers had wide, stony margins that made me wonder if they were prone to sudden floods. Every once in a while, we would pass a small village and town close and see people going about their daily lives that made me think of some of those cottage/back to nature sort of aesthetics you see online. It reminds me of a cottagecore mood board Lucy once showed me when we visited, and traveling through this region, I can feel the appeal.

Romanian Countryside: Photo by Fotografu on Unsplash (https://unsplash.com/photos/8h-yUi_l2Jw)

I arrived in Bistrita iwhile it was still somewhat bright, sadly too late to do much in the way of sightseeing, though a little bit of hurry let me take a photo of the church that dominates the central square of the town.

Bistrița Evangelical Church: Photo by Mian Bulacu (https://backpackglobetrotter.com/2018/09/17/postcards-romania/)

The Count directly me to The Coronana de Aur hotel. It’s a modern business hotel like many others, but it’s hard to find a hotel that’s historic these days. While it’s a little disappointing, as I was hoping to take in a little more of the local feel, it was nice to have a comfortable place to stay before I head off to the Tihuta Pass tomorrow. Having good reception to call Mina before I go is a comfort, too.

When I arrived, the front desk staff passed me a letter from the Count: “My Friend.--Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. Sleep well to-night. At three tomorrow a bus will start for Bucovina; a place on it is kept for you. At the Tihuta Pass my carriage will await you and will bring you to me. I trust that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land.

Your friend,

DRACULA.”

(A/N: Hopefully you enjoyed the first foray into this silly endeavor to rewrite the book as if it was happening as of May 3, 2023. This is absolutely not meant to be serious.

I am trying to make it a little more accurate to real world Romania as much as I can (and as much as can be reasonable from an Englishman's perspective). We're part of a connected, small world these days. I think that's going to make the horror of the isolation even stronger.

Anyway. Have fun with the dumb, silly thing I'm making at DD goes. If it's not your cup of tea, you are welcome to move on.

Obviously, this is not mine, Dracula being public domain in the US aside. It's basically fanfic. Some of it will be direct quotes. Probably not much, as having characters in a modern context will change them, and that'll be filtered through my own lens of how I perceive them as well.

Enough excuses, I suppose. It'll be what it'll be.)

[fleurcareil]

Nova Scotia: North and West shores

Before heading to Nova Scotia, I'm visiting the Hopewell Rocks which are at almost high tide this morning so that people kayak around the flowerpots rather than walk on the ocean floor. The Bay of Fundy is infamous for its fog so many viewpoints did not have much to show but the walk along the cliffs was still a great way to start the day!

After having rounded the end of the bay through Moncton (which I visited a few years ago but didn't find interesting), I dove into Acadian history at the Monument-Lefebvre National Historic Site in Memramcook and at the Fort Beauséjour – Fort Cumberland National Historic Site. The first time I had heard about the Acadian people and their horrible deportation by the English had been in Cape Breton many years ago, so I knew their story but it was interesting to learn more... many of the original settlers came apparently from the area of La Rochelle in France, which is close to where my grandparents lived! The Lefebvre monument is at the first French college in the Maritimes, which allowed Acadians to get educated in their own language, which in turn spearheaded efforts to reclaim their identity. It was also the location of the first Acadian Convention in 1881, which continues to be held every 5 years celebrating Acadian culture across the world. Driving along Nova Scotia's north and west shores, the display of the Acadian flag everywhere shows that people remain proud to this day! 👌 The visit to the fort gave pretty views over the bay but also sobering thoughts as this was the site where the English deported many Acadians after having taken over the fort from the French (who had forced the Acadians to fight with them despite having proclaimed neutrality) ... It makes me shudder to be reminded time & time again of how brutal humans can be against each other!

A completely different type of history is told at the Joggins Fossil Cliffs, which is a UNESCO world heritage site recognised for its preserved sequence of Carboniferous sediments and, due to the high tides continuously exposing more rock face, a tremendous collection of fossils from the Coal Age. Not only are there tons of fossilized trees (the 3 pics below are from left to right of the outer cast of a tree trunk, a tree root embedded in the rock, and a trunk that tumbled down from a rockslide), but it is here that a fossil was found of the first reptile which could reproduce on land and which therefore is the ancestor of all land-based animals, including the dinosaurs and ourselves 😃. A guided walk along the beach allowed us to pick up random rocks and ask whether it contained a fossil, and most of the time it did! 😁 It was a shame that we were not allowed to take anything home (I already have a little fossil collection from Oman), but that's what conservation is about.

Final activity of the day is setting up my tent at Five Islands Provincial Park, close to the highest tides in the world (up to 16 meters!) in the Minas Basin, where I arrived at low tide so that I could walk over the seafloor to the first of the islands and have a look at the magnificent red cliffs (that don't contain any fossils). No single mosquito meant that I could watch the sun set over the bay in peace 😊. Next morning, the usual fog wasn't too bad so that I still had a bit of a view over the rocks from up high on a hiking trail.

Driving around Minas Basin the next morning, I tried to see the tidal bore that happens when the high tide water rushes into a shallow river but missed it twice (at the first place in Truro I was an hour too early and at the next place along the Shubenacadie River it had just passed), but to watch the speed of the water coming in was impressive nevertheless (I had taken a video but sadly only one is allowed per post & I got a cooler one further down).

Having spent enough time on the high tides, I drove slightly more inland and had a great time wine tasting at Luckett Vineyards in the Annapolis Valley. Similar to around Niagara, this region has many different wineries who have tasting rooms, restaurants and little trails for visitors. The highlight here is the red telephone booth, from which you can call free to anywhere in North America, so I made a call to my colleague Kathryn who had recommended the place! 😍

Before leaving town, I also visited the Grand-Pré National Historic Site, which was the largest Acadian village before the deportation and where a statue of Evangeline graces the grounds in front of a memorial church. Evangeline was a fictious character from a poem that became to symbolize the Acadian plight so she's quite a heroine around here with streets, shops and everything in between named after her! The Celtic cross indicates the place where the villagers boarded the deportation ships before the town was burned down.

On that gloomy note, it started to rain and it didn't stop for two days 😒 the delicious chowder (seafood soup) at a harbour restaurant in Digby helped to warm up after which I was very happy having booked a hotel for 2 nights!

Despite the crappy weather I still had a great day at Digby Neck, which is a series of 2 islands jutting out into the Bay of Fundy, connected by two little ferries whose timetables are aligned so it's one drive through. I had however left an hour early so that I could hike to Balancing Rock on the first island, where a large piece of granite hangs precariously over the edge of the sea. It's a beautiful, rugged coastline and also the boardwalk to it (with big-leafed skunk cabbage around the trail) was pretty so well worth braving the rain!

And then I had the most awful but also the coolest whale watching tour I've done so far... we spent about 3 hours off the coast of Brier Island in the driving rain on an open boat on a rolling sea looking for whales and seabirds... About a 1/3 of the tourists vomited and although I kept it in and was warm & semi-dry due to my many layers, it sucked!! There was nothing to see for a long long time apart from a few swimming seals and shearwater birds so the mood wasn't great, until two humpback whales called Foton and Litte Spot (according to the marine biologist) showed up right next to us!! They kept coming close to the boat and flapped their pectoral flipper on & on the water for some 20 minutes...something I've never seen before, really special! Swimming so close by, you could see their massive, grooved bodies and ofcourse their tails when they were diving deeper. On the way back, when the rain briefly stopped & the waves subdued closer to the shore, everyone was smiling 😃 however never been so happy to sit dry in my car waiting for the ferry ;)

The next day there was rain nor fog (woohoo!) so had a pretty drive along the west shore, where there's mostly small Acadian villages, the bigger town of Yarmouth where I got some beers from the local microbrewery and many, many lighthouses of which I chose three to visit. The first one was at Gilbert's Cove where you can walk up a ladder to stand next to the old light (now decommissioned). Outside, there were male eider ducks close by the shore so that you could see how truly large they are.

The second lighthouse I visited was at Cape Saint Mary, a tiny square (still active) building that you can't enter, but which has impressive rocks around it. Nearby Mavillete beach has pretty dunes and would be a great place to chill if it were warmer!

The third lighthouse that I saw is at Cape Forchu, southwest of Yarmouth, which is called the "apple core light" because of its shape. I can't imagine living on such an outcrop during a winter storm!

On the final stretch to my camp cabin for the night, I passed through badly burned forest west of Shelburne, which had been doused only the week prior... The fire had grown to more than 235 square kilometres and forced more than 6,000 people from their homes, destroying over 200 houses and other structures. It was very sad to see the "apple green" trees turned into all this black, stinking mess... That night, the smoke alarm in the cabin went off from time to time, which I was later told is due to remaining ash in the air.

Just before turning into the campground, I walked briefly around Shelburne's historic district, which was built largely by British Loyalists who fled from the US and started a new life here. It only being 4pm, the town was deserted apart from a few prom photo shoots which was funny to watch as they are still soooo young :)

Wildlife: 3 seals & 2 humpback whales (Digby Neck), 15 male Eider ducks. There's ofcourse also lots of shore birds all around the Maritimes, but whose name I don't know apart from gulls and cormorants which I'm not fond of, so ignoring those 😉

SUPs: none

Hikes: two at Five Islands PP, one at Digby Neck

[enchanted-moura]

Het Heru

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

List of Returned Exiles (Part 2)

41 the sons of Pashhur, one thousand two hundred and forty-seven;

42 the sons of Harim, one thousand and seventeen.

43 The Levites:

the sons of Jeshua, of Kadmiel, and of the sons of Hodaviah, seventy-four.

44 The singers:

the sons of Asaph, one hundred and forty-eight.

45 The gatekeepers:

the sons of Shallum, the sons of Ater, the sons of Talmon, the sons of Akkub, the sons of Hatita, the sons of Shobai, one hundred and thirty-eight.

46 The temple servants:

the sons of Ziha, the sons of Hasupha, the sons of Tabbaoth,

47 the sons of Keros, the sons of Sia, the sons of Padon,

48 the sons of Lebana, the sons of Hagaba, the sons of Shalmai,

49 the sons of Hanan, the sons of Giddel, the sons of Gahar,

50 the sons of Reaiah, the sons of Rezin, the sons of Nekoda,

51 the sons of Gazzam, the sons of Uzza, the sons of Paseah,

52 the sons of Besai, the sons of Meunim, the sons of Nephusim,

53 the sons of Bakbuk, the sons of Hakupha, the sons of Harhur,

54 the sons of Bazluth, the sons of Mehida, the sons of Harsha,

55 the sons of Barkos, the sons of Sisera, the sons of Temah,

56 the sons of Neziah, the sons of Hatipha.

57 The sons of Solomon’s servants:

the sons of Sotai, the sons of Sophereth, the sons of Perida,

58 the sons of Jaala, the sons of Darkon, the sons of Giddel,

59 the sons of Shephatiah, the sons of Hattil,

the sons of Pokereth-Hazzebaim, the sons of Amon.

60 All the temple servants and the sons of Solomon’s servants were three hundred and ninety-two.

61 These were they who came up from Tel Melah, Tel Harsha, Kerub, Addon, and Immer, but they could not show their fathers’ houses nor their lineage—whether they were of Israel:

62 The sons of

Delaiah, the sons of Tobiah, the sons of Nekoda, six hundred and forty-two.

63 Of the priests:

the sons of Hobaiah, the sons of Hakkoz, the sons of Barzillai, who married one of the daughters of Barzillai the Gileadite, and was called by their name.

64 These sought for their fathers’ registration in the genealogical registry, but it was not found. Therefore, they were considered as unclean and removed from the priesthood. 65 The magistrate said to them that they should not eat of the most holy things until there was an appointed priest with Urim and Thummim.

66 The whole congregation together was forty-two thousand three hundred and sixty, 67 besides their male and female servants, which numbered seven thousand three hundred and thirty-seven; and they had two hundred and forty-five male and female singers. 68 Their horses were seven hundred and thirty-six; their mules, two hundred and forty-five; 69 their camels, four hundred and thirty-five; the donkeys, six thousand seven hundred and twenty.

70 Some of the chiefs of the fathers’ households gave to the work. The magistrate gave to the treasury one thousand gold drachmas, fifty basins, and five hundred and thirty priests’ garments. 71 Others of the chiefs of the fathers’ households gave to the treasury for the work twenty thousand gold drachmas and two thousand two hundred silver minas. 72 What the rest of the people gave was twenty thousand gold drachmas, two thousand silver minas, and sixty-seven priests’ garments.

73 So the priests, the Levites, the gatekeepers, the singers, some of the people, the temple servants, and all Israel lived in their cities.

Ezra Reads the Law

When the seventh month came, the children of Israel were in their cities. — Nehemiah 7:41-73 | Modern English Version (MEV) The Holy Bible, Modern English Version. Copyright © 2014 by Military Bible Association. Published and distributed by Charisma House. Cross References: Exodus 28:30; Leviticus 8:8; Deuteronomy 33:8; 2 Kings 7:10; 1 Chronicles 4:8; 1 Chronicles 9:2; 1 Chronicles 9:12; 1 Chronicles 29:7; Ezra 2:42,43 and 44; Ezra 2:46-47; Ezra 2:51-52; Ezra 2:53-54; Ezra 2:57; Ezra 2:59; Ezra 2:66-67; Ezra 3:1; Nehemiah 3:26; Nehemiah 11:3; Luke 12:45