#maybe in the very northern tip and less so in the south

[chernabogs]

Yk because bv is so north I wonder if they experience a similar to kaamos in Finland where it's dark for a few months and then perpetually light for a few

[birdbrainweekly]

Natives perfect for a ski resort (with northeast in mind)

I am procrastinating on doing my actual work and wanted to do something fun.

I ski (or at least used to before I moved) and honestly, a lot of times it was just sticks and sticks and sticks, which is fine, but today I am making an imaginary ski resort and these are the main plants I would include in it to make it ✨aesthetic ✨ only using natives! There is something so refreshing about the idea of designing something for just one season.

Ok, so first things first! lets talk evergreens! Obviously, the time people are visiting a ski resort is in dead winter, so we want to cater to it.

Eastern Hemlocks:

The eastern hemlock is struggling in a lot of regions due to an invasive bug right now, but I list it in hopes of a swift recovery and because they are one of my favorite conifer trees. They have soft short needles and tiny pinecones. They tend to keep lower branches also, which gives them a very Christmas tree shape.

Eastern White Pine (or any other pine that is native is fine):

There are a lot of pines that are very pervasive, but I think the appeal of them is there larger cones and their long needles. In the winter it is always so beautiful to see them coated with ice!

Red Spruce or Black Spruce (black spruces have cooler looking cones) :

While further south spruces are harder to find native populations, I still include them in this list because I am ADAMENT that at my imaginary ski resort there would be specialty spruce tip soda and beer, but I want them to be native not planting invasive for the commodity.

Eastern red cedar:

not actually a cedar, it is actually a juniper. They get these beautiful blue berries on them (I think just the females though). And their bark is very pretty!

Now we can't just plant conifers, biodiversity is the spice of life, so for other trees, I think the thing most important in the winter is what is bark looks like or is it holds fruit/color:

first on the list is obvious, The American holly:

this plant actually leans pretty southern and hugs the coast the further north you go, so because of that I can say eh, depending on the ski resorts location I could lean toward excluding it (unlike the spruce).

winged sumac and staghorn sumac:

they have bundles or cones of red berries though out winter, enough said.

next it is addressing interesting bark starting with...

yellow birch:

we have a pretty hefty population of yellow birch trees in my families woods and they have a very pretty coppery bark that peels.

Paper birch:

This one is just a classic when we think of birch trees and unique bark, but I feel like I would mostly plant these by the lodge because it might be hard to see while skiing. Although if we planted enough of them maybe we could tap them and make a ski resort special birch syrup (less sweet than maple syrup, but a little sweeter than molasses).

Sycamores:

Stunning, every time.

Alright! enough with trees, lets talk shrubs/ small trees.

Canadian Yew:

red berries and evergreen? Hell. Yeah.

Winterberry holly and viburnum:

There was one of these growing on the side of the road on my route to my university and I would enjoy looking at it every winter.

American Barberry:

red. berry.... I tried eating one because it said they were edible... was not a fan honestly. Is it wrong to put this one in a sky place if it is thorny?

snowberry:

A white berry this time! we are switching it up

Red-osier dogwood:

I see these everywhere, and I still love them, so! here they are, literally just red sticks.

and then more evergreens!

northern white cedar and common juniper:

northern white cedars are a tree actually and probably could have gone in the tree section but I was mentally picturing them as more decorative. And then common juniper to take up some ground cover space.

Alright! I am feeling pretty good about this, now time for some misc. items. These are for ground cover, while snow can be generated for the slopes, a lot of times you get a warm spell that will melt and expose the ground. In times like that, we still want things to look festive!

Partridge berries and Pine moss:

Eastern teaberry and American Cranberry:

I wasn't going to include these.... but I have to. Teaberry plants smell so good, an absolute must have. Maybe at the lodge we could offer a special teaberry tea. Or teaberry hot cocoa?! Yum.

And cranberries would be such a fun thing to say you are growing idk.

I would also like to note that my imaginary ski lodge takes great pride in the native wildflowers we maintain in our ski lanes over the summer months.

Well anyway! I had a good time, there are definitely more plants that I didn't feature because I felt this was already an infinitely long post, like spicebush, American strawberry bush, etc. and more. I encourage you to add to this post if you want to.

While I did this entirely for fun, I do recognize some of these species prefer more shade, or more wetness than may be possible at my imaginary ski lodge. Also, always be sure to check the native ranges of plants before purchasing them to get the most benefit from planting natives.

But! it is good to highlight all these beautiful winter plants.

**Final note, I am by no means an expert! I am a geologist, but in undergrad I took a couple environmental classes because I am also very passionate about it. I grew up outdoors, I still love outdoors, but I can still be very ignorant about it.**

[the-firebird69]

Coming over announcements about this evening and the events occurring in the rings and at the circles in the rings pretty soon the squares in Northern Florida. That's how he talks that I get it it is real fast. Also we are discussing infiltration and we needed this idea is great the scout two idea you saw that bronco and he was like wow that's awesome that's Hera but they make these cars in such a weird way all these holes and weird stuff it takes forever does he need to hold just drill it thanks less time really does they're ridiculous it's gross I don't know they're making The mousetrap and a mouse trap and a mouse trap that's what they're doing it's really disgusting and where the mice and others. So this idea is terrific and it's going ahead we're approving it and he says he's going to try and design it he's going to do with his friend says you just put bigger tires leave everything alone change the seats and plop it on there the performance kit is saving the day those pistons and rings will go for a very long time and you can do a ring job by doing the top end and it's going to be a lot faster as a matter of fact the new top ends easy to take off and on and you do a ring job every 20,000 miles and you'll have better mileage the gas mileage will go from 37 to 40 and he says oh yeah we can do that not everybody can but they're not hard and our son can do it with the tool nails he breaks the rings and it is just an amazing find yeah top speed would be faster way too fast already but and this is a great idea and all-wheel drive is awesome and our son needs some protection and I'm thinking about it what can you really ride in and he's saying an f650 or F350 and because of gas like no tomorrow it would never work this thing gets as much gas mileage as his Kia even his Kia starts to suck wind a little bit it was getting about 27 not 37 so you have to do the ring job and you can have someone do it so he's saying he could put one together and have you sponsored in his guys would start making them it's true I can make it on spaceships he's starting to laugh thinking that stupid but nobody does anything up there it's good because they learn how to make stuff and they can repair stuff real quick and I can install things real quick it's starting to barf saying that's a great idea so he's making my truck in space it's the first space track so we're going to go ahead with us talking about talking this is probably what the rickshaw is and we believe so and everybody's starting to agree that he needs a cage and people think they can pick him up.

The war is on tonight people are getting ready it's gaining momentum the 31st is probably when the South are we going to lose the southern tip of Florida it'll be cooler here by 10° and he says thank God and September is usually down to 85 so some days will be 75 it says it's just what we really need that's because they're not too far from the tip if you go all the way down to really estereo this is only one time South you're only about 20 miles from the ocean it where it's going to be we estimate and he'll probably then be 15 and it'll be about 65° during the winter and 75 to 80 during the summer up here it'll be like 75 to 80 during the summer and 70 during the winter it's just a little cooler and he says perfect I can't stand 75 either and it's true it's too hot for him so this is great this is going to work and at sea Tommy f is going to have a war from Cuba and he is going to lose the island cuz it looks like mac takes it over and they've got to repel them from Brazil those are going to be the morlock and they're probably fight Tommy f so time you have doesn't like them either and he gets pushed out so he gets in the scout too she's either grab him or try and get him to leave and maybe go to Utah cuz he's out there it makes sense you need to have all wheel drive and he might go out to Utah but he's going to take a plane it's kind of good it's not that bad because he might be able to have someone put the car in a car carrier or come back and get it you have to set up and it's that song by Jerry Garcia and the other one was Tom joad and people are thinking this is really weird it's in songs but some people get emotional and send it back and afraid and it works but this might happen pretty soon there's a building up war this 700 million clothes the mack more like a pushed out they called $500 million more they have 500 million there and they're still there the pseudo empire has 300 million and they called $200 million it's going to be a war tonight they might lose leadership and go down from 13% to about 11.5% but that's all night the others will go to 17 and this is coming to a head we only have days and the sequence is going to be a little weird if Tommy gets pushed out because of the storms and his positioning and his armies coming in and getting defeated which might happen it might not he blow the top then he'll get kicked out and that's something we agree with when he gets kicked out Trump will get kicked out more shortly

Thor Freya

Olympus

[fatefulfaerie]

Christmas List (Santa Baby)

Day 2 of the 12 days of Christmas prompts orchestrated by @zelink-prompts

Incarnation: Phantom Hourglass post-Bellum

It could be felt in the colder breeze that the season was changing. On the open ocean, the breeze tended to counteract the hot sun, but as weather got colder, the sun started to hide and the breeze became more of an icy chill. In fact, within the next few months, Tetra would likely dock the boat at an island in order to get it off the sea before the ocean froze over.

In fact, she gazed at the map now, Gonzo behind her as they both studied where to head next in order to dock the ship for the winter months.

“I say we head back down South to Rugan Island,” Gonzo said. “With less visibility, it will be harder to navigate the more rocky Northern waters that lead to Hern Island.”

“I suppose,” Tetra said before leaning back in her chair.

“Miss Tetra,” Gonzo said in reaction. “If there’s a problem I can—”

Tetra had held up her hand, silencing her crew-mate.

“There’s no problem, Gonzo,” Tetra said. “The south is safer, I just…the people there are just…a lot. I can only imagine that with the holidays coming up, they’ll make a big deal of it all.”

“Still not in the holiday mood, huh?”

Tetra shook her head.

“He still hasn’t made a move?”

Tetra pursed her lips as she shook her head again, the motion a bit slower.

“Forgive me, Miss,” Gonzo said. “But it doesn’t seem like you to wait so submissively. Why not take charge of the situation, confront him.”

Tetra’s eyes blinked into a downward gaze.

“I don’t want to approach this as his captain,” Tetra said quietly. “And I’m woefully unfamiliar with that kind of bravery anyway.”

Tetra sighed as she leaned her head back, her neck draped over the back of the chair as she stared at the ceiling.

“I’ve known him for five years now,” Tetra explained. “There are many times I’ve wanted to share my feelings, but…I always assumed that if he felt the same, his courage would have made him more outspoken about it. He’s told me about everything under the sky. I really think he just wants to be friends…and I’m not about to be vulnerable with my feelings just to get my heart broken.”

Tetra shook her head as she stood up.

“You didn’t come here to listen to me vent about Link,” she said, looking up at Gonzo. She was still shorter than him, although her and Link had both nearly doubled in height over the past five years. Tetra could hardly believe they were only twelve when her and Link first met each other. “You know your orders. Rugan Island.”

“Yes ma’am,” Gonzo said, saluting his captain and departing from her cabin. 

As Gonzo opened the door to the deck, Link seemed to be on his way in, Gonzo snickering as he headed to the steering wheel of the ship.

Link found Tetra in her cabin, head in her hand and looking at the map, but really she was thinking about everything else.

“Hey,” Link said casually as he approached. “Do you have a Hylia’s Day list?”

“A what?” Tetra said as she looked up and over at him. Link had placed his hand on the table and his charming smile was already adorning his face.

“A list of things you want for Hylia’s Day?” Link reminded her. “I asked a couple of the crew what you might want, and they all laughed at me.”

“That’s because I don’t want anything,” Tetra said dryly as she returned to her map. Link tipped his head in confusion.

“But...we got stuff for each other last year,” Link said.

Tetra stood up quickly, facing Link directly.

“Then why don’t you figure it out,” Tetra said sternly before deliberately bumping his shoulder as she started to leave her cabin. Link was absolutely flummoxed as he watched her leave, lips parted before he started to chase after her.

“Tetra, wait,” he called after her. “Did I do something wrong?”

The door to the deck was slammed in his face, Link left aghast before he followed her out.

“Tetra!” He exclaimed, running. “Tetra, just tell me what I did wrong.”

Link caught up with her enough to grab her hand, which made her stop in her tracks. Tetra sighed.

“You didn’t do anything.”

Tetra ripped her hand from his. Link watched as she decided instead upon heading to the crow’s nest. Link’s thoughts ran rapid with replaying the last few days and what may have caused this as he let her be. The crow’s nest was a place she went when she wanted to be alone and Link looked up at it thinking of how much more angry she would be if he followed.

Link furrowed his brow as he thought of that as a good thing. Mad enough, and she should start yelling about what’s wrong.

Tetra was looking out at the ocean when Link met her at the very top of the ladder. He planted his feet and summoned his courage.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, figuring it out, “and yet you are angry with me, no one else. You are mad at me for something I didn’t do, aren’t you?”

“You’ll never figure it out,” Tetra said quietly. “And if I tell you…it won’t be real…it won’t truly be coming from you.”

“Tetra,” Link said. “I’ve done everything you asked of me as your subordinate and as your friend…I’m just not sure what else you want. If you just asked, I would do anything, I promise.”

“I believe you,” Tetra said sharply before a silence fell over the both of them. Link felt unwanted here in this crow’s nest and yet he needed to stay, he needed to figure this out. This emotional distance was already killing him.

“Tetra, I…I don’t know what to say,” Link started. “Somehow I’ve hurt you without even realizing it and…I’m such a horrible person that I still don’t know what it is. I can only apologize, Tetra. Maybe I’m too dumb to figure it out, but...I will, I’ll spend a hundred days and nights going over the last five years, as long as it takes, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you until I figure out what I didn’t do for you. I’ll make list after list of what you may desire to show you how much I love you, just…please don’t leave me like this.”

Tetra was afraid to turn around, her eyes streaking with tears.

“Link,” she said shakily. “You don’t have to do any of that. I just,” she sniffled and before she knew it, Link’s hand was on her shoulder. “I just have been too scared to say something…for a while now…and I’m afraid I’ve taken it out on you, tried to place all the blame on you.”

“What is it you need to tell me?” Link asked. Tetra turned around to face Link. She attempted to find her words but Link was absolutely awestruck by how she burned brighter than the sunlight.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Tetra asked.

“You’re so pretty,” Link replied, his voice almost weak, and yet it was strong and rung with truth.

Before Tetra’s lips could form words, Link’s were on them.

He forgot she meant to say something and so did she as their kiss quickly went from an innocent peck to a deep, desperate exchange.

[thatbanjobusiness]

I want to briefly talk bluegrass fashion.

I appreciate and enjoy bluegrass from its roots to its present. I think creative growth over the decades has allowed for incredible and diverse music. Whether it’s disco influenced jamming, rock-bluegrass fusions, or classical music inspiration, there’s cool stuff to be had anywhere in the timeline. That said, one thing I wish contemporary bluegrass bands did more of was take fashion tips from the first generation bands.

In the 1920s, barn dance type radio programs featuring hillbilly music and rural style entertainment became popular. Some of these radio shows like the WLS National Barn Dance and WSM Grand Ole Opry had stage shows where you could watch the program in person. Costuming and presentation of the performing cast tended to be rough rube depictions, even caricatures, of rural people. George D. Hay, who founded and hosted the Grand Ole Opry, himself named the bands things like “The Gully Jumpers” and “The Possum Hunters.”

But when Bill Monroe and his Blue Grass Boys auditioned and were made members of the Grand Ole Opry in October 1939, Monroe detested this rough presentation that could quickly engender degrading opinions of hillbilly stereotypes. He opted instead to dress in a more classy manner. His band came out in white shirts, ties, jodhpurs, and boots.

This is something Bill Monroe bragged about even as the decades went on. For Monroe, it was important to dress well and in dignity when you got onstage. You respect yourself and you respect audiences when you come out in your best.

By the mid-1940s Bill Monroe’s band had accumulated a number of musical features that today our ears would recognize as bluegrass. It’s interesting to notice that bandmembers who left Monroe and went on to do their own bluegrass music often... took with them some of Bill’s ideas about stage presentation. Flatt & Scruggs, when they left Monroe and started their own band, are sometimes seen in early images wearing jodhpurs.

Early bluegrass bands on occasion might have had an “exception” to the rule. At the very least, you see this in Flatt & Scruggs in the late 1940s and first half of the 1950s. But I believe what they were doing reflected a trend that existed in the broader hillbilly music industry. I’d like investigate that more later to understand better. Unlike today’s concerts that involve music and only music, in those times, comedy was a more expected part of a show. White banjo performers, prior to bluegrass, were essentially all comedians; and in ensembles, someone (as I’ve often seen, the bass player) might take a comedy role. So you could’ve gotten a well-dressed band... and then the bassist dressed in comic rube garb.

That said, each first generation bluegrass band ended up creating their own unique presentation. It’s variation around a theme: dress up nice to respect audiences and put your best foot forward. How you present yourself onstage has impact. Audiences aren’t coming out to see some tattered everyday person; they’re coming out here to listen to music stars.

And so you see bands and acts coordinating their outfits in classy ways like...

(The 1958 screencap above doesn’t 100% evoke this, but I’ve noticed Flatt & Scruggs in the mid-50s through mid-60s would often do a 2-2-2 coordination. Everyone would wear hats. The band leaders would wear matching jackets and string ties. Two band members would wear the same collared shirts and the same string ties as the leaders. The last two band members, who were a duet and comedy team, would wear vests or different hats or some other distinguishing marker. Everyone’s clothes would carry the same overall color theme. Very well-thought out wardrobe presentation.)

SEE? EVERYONE IS DRESSED UP AND LOOKS GOOD.

You can tell they’re an act. You can tell they’re professional. You can tell, the second they step up to perform, they mean business. It helps elevate them into STARS.

As new generations took up bluegrass, the social context of how to dress changed. The Folk Revival of the 1960s brought many Northerners, urban people, and hippies into the bluegrass world. I haven’t read up as much on this part of bluegrass history, but I believe it was starting here that new bluegrass ensembles quit thinking about dressing up to be onstage. I’ve certainly seen photos of the early bluegrass festivals of the late 60s and 70s, and some second generation bluegrass groups would wear extremely casual things onstage. Other groups would coordinate by wearing the same collared shirt, which meant they were matching, but also (to me) making less of a “statement.”

It makes sense. First generation bluegrass performers were seeking to dress to impress and get away from crappy hillbilly stereotypes. Later generations of bluegrass performers might not have been from the South or a country lifestyle at all, and would feel more inclined to try to evoke a “working class” vibe by wearing everyday or ragged clothing. Today, I feel many bands do this to evoke their own form of an authentic stage presentation.

This means that today, many groups wear rather casual clothing. I feel I see this especially in jamgrass. And for the record, these are all VERY talented, well-known ensembles; I’m not comparing pros to locals or something.

And they’re dressed better here than what I’ve seen for bands at concerts.

I think it’s ironic that Bill Monroe, the Father of Bluegrass, sought to escape tattered clothing that actual country people wouldn’t wear on the fields, let alone onstage... only to have bluegrass musicians half a century later revert to costuming concepts Monroe had rejected. Today’s clothes of course aren’t the torn-up straw hat and single-strapped overalls of the early Opry, but it’s the same idea: dress down to look “country.” I don’t think there’s any objective disrespect to bluegrass’s history to dress like that, but I do think there’s a point that everyday clothes don’t make as much of an impression for your band.

Now of course not all groups have gone this route. In any generation of bluegrass, you still see bands that dressed more “traditionally.” But it’s certainly been a trend—since at least the 70s—to see bluegrass groups, either at the local or professional level, wearing everyday clothes. Get jeans, maybe some flannel, and you’re good to go. I see it oh-so-often now.

It doesn’t resonate as much to me. I get the point of their presentation, trying to evoke a casual non-mainstream working class image, but I feel there’s other ways you can set a vibe for your ensemble that doesn’t come off as lazy, everyday, or unnoticeable.

I’d be much more interested seeing:

YEAH!!!!! YOU GO RHONDA VINCENT AND THE RAGE!

I think it’s interesting to see this mindset about proper bluegrass performance attire recur in interviews. I’ve watched a number of 2000s and 2010s interviews for first and early second generation bluegrass performers, and one common thing the old-timers complain about is how people don’t dress up anymore. They feel it doesn’t respect the audience or make a good impression for the ensemble. How you present yourself onstage is half of the performance; it can be an effective means of enhancing a show when you do it well.

And I’ve seen it in conversations with people like Steve Martin, showing how in the 2010s, there’s still negative “hillbilly” images to butt against:

INTERVIEWER: Does it bother you that quite possibly the most famous banjo song in pop culture is "Dueling Banjos" from "Deliverance"?

MARTIN: It doesn't bother me at all. Actually I might argue with that because another most famous song would be the theme from "The Beverly Hillbillies" or "Foggy Mountain Breakdown," the song from "Bonnie and Clyde." So there are a couple of 'most famous' banjo songs.

INTERVIEWER: But still… the theme song from "The Beverly Hillbillies"?

MARTIN: It's just something we have to face. And everything changes. That's why I always wear a suit and tie when I play bluegrass.

INTERVIEWER: Do you feel like you're helping changing the face of bluegrass?

MARTIN: I don't know. That's what I do when I go on stage. I don't make hillbilly jokes or things like that. I'm just playing it as the person I am, not pretending to be anything else. The band I play with, we all dress in suits and ties.

One of my favorite contemporary bands also has one of my favorite wardrobes. What they choose to wear is a huge element of their stage presentation, amplifies their show powerfully, and contributes to the entire vibe of their music product. Good costuming can be part of marketing, and they market themselves spectacularly.

The Dead South almost marries the best of both worlds between “dress up” and “dress as the everyday man.” Their clothes aren’t “formal” in the sense of suits and ties. There’s more casualness to it. At the same time, what they wear—blatantly Southern and Western gear that matches with variation across the band—isn’t something everyday Joe or Janet would put on to go to Walmart. It’s got a little more of a “period” feel to it while also being modern enough to feel authentic. Altogether, it makes them classy without being formally classy.

It’s perfect for them. This is a “controversially” bluegrass band who knows that, while they play string band music, its creative reach extends beyond what you’d expect of something labeled “bluegrass.” They have called themselves “a rock band without a drummer, a bluegrass band without a fiddler.” Elsewhere, they’ve marketed themselves as “a gold rush vibing four-piece acoustic set from Saskatchewan [that] infuse[s] the genre's traditional trappings with an air of frontier recklessness, whiskey breakfasts and grizzled tin-pan showmanship.” This is a band I’ve always said plays to a “degenerate” image, songs filled with cowboy shootouts, barfights, gun-wielding robberies, alcoholic nights, and more.

And doesn’t their wardrobe evoke that spotlessly? There is CLASS and INTENTION with how they present themselves, to the point the band almost always stands in that order left-to-right, and has used their unique wardrobe choices for album covers and stage design.

Check out how the stage’s stained glass window lights behind them evoke both images from their songs, and have the tie, beard, skull, string tie theme on them. Every band member stands in front of his respective window.

That is *WAY* cooler, more effective, more impacting, more resonating, more memorable, more vibing, than simply tossing on my latest t-shirt. 

(And yes, the last photos are from when I went to their concert last year. One of the best concerts I’ve EVER been to, and it’s because they knew how to put on a SHOW.)

Performance entails everything from the sounds you make to the personality you evoke to the clothes you wear. It’s why I prefer the first generation bluegrass bands’ approach to “dress well” over some modern string band trends. And again, bands like The Dead South show alternate ways you can dress up and rock out.

[alifeincoffeespoons]

part x of the avatar au: prince remus and master slughorn

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix

For a while, Lily wasn’t sure if they’d ever make it to the North Pole.

After all, they’ve gotten sidetracked—and almost killed—at least twenty times by now. At the rate they were moving at, they would’ve arrived at the North Pole in three years.

But now they’re actually here. And it’s beautiful. Lily looks down at the thick ice walls surrounding the capital city of the Northern Water Tribe, her mouth open in awe, as they fly over on the back of Prongs. It’s the most wonderful thing she’s ever seen. 

Then, suddenly, Prongs are falling out of the sky, and she realizes that they’re surrounded by spears. This time, though, they’re almost a pleasant sight to see. 

“It’s the Northern Water Tribe!” she exclaims, and by her side, James beams.

As they’re led into the city by the tribesman, Lily gapes unabashedly at the buildings of ice. It looks like something out of a fairy tale, all sparkling snow and sharp edges. Glancing at James, she can see the same look of amazement on his face. Looking forward, she smiles. She has a good feeling about this place.

That feeling is confirmed that night at dinner, when the chief of the tribe makes a toast to her and James. “To our guests, James and Lily,” he says, lifting up his glass. “The Avatar and, as I’ve been told, a wonderful waterbender.” Involuntarily, she blushes at the praise. “And,” the chief continues, “I would be remiss if I didn’t make a toast to my son, Remus, as well. Today is his sixteenth birthday.” 

Looking to the side of the chief, Lily sees a lanky boy with shockingly white hair and a thin scar across the bridge of his nose. He’s dressed in silver-embroidered blue robes that hang off him just a bit too loosely. She gives a small smile and a wave to the boy—Remus—which he returns warmly. 

An enormous snow crab is lifted onto the long table, and the chief inclines his head. “Well? Dig in!” 

James shovels the crab into his mouth quickly, as though he hasn’t eaten anything in days, and Lily rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry for his utter lack of table manners,” she says, smiling at Remus.

“Don’t be,” he replies. “My father will be happy to see that he’s enjoying the food.”

“I’m Lily,” she says. “Wait, you knew that.” And the blush is back on her cheeks.

“I’m Remus, but you knew that too,” he replies, not unkindly. “How’re you liking the city?”

“Well, I’ve only been here for less than a day, but from what I’ve seen, it’s amazing,” she says sincerely. “I’ve never been anywhere with so many waterbenders before. It’s almost surreal.”

“Well, we’re happy to have you here,” Remus says. “And we’ve got tons of waterbenders here—I think my father mentioned that you were searching for a teacher?”

Lily nods, and Remus smiles again. “My father will introduce you to one after dinner—I’m sure Master Slughorn is excited to meet the two of you. He’s probably the best waterbender in all of the Northern Water Tribe.”

“I’m excited to meet him too!” Lily says, returning the smile. By her side, James clears his throat, apparently done demolishing his meal. 

“Remus, why’s your hair white?” he asks loudly, and Lily huffs, rolling her eyes.

“James! You can’t just ask that!” Turning to Remus, she sighs. “I’m sorry again for him. You’d think the Avatar would be more polite.”

“It’s fine,” Remus laughs. “When I was a baby, I was very ill, almost from the day I was born. None of our healers could do a thing, and my parents weren’t sure if I would live past a month. Finally, my father decided to place my fate in the hands of the spirits. He brought me to the Spirit Oasis—I can take you there later, if you want—the most spiritual place in the entire North Pole, and prayed to the Moon Spirit to save my life. The Moon Spirit listened to his prayer and gave me part of its own life to save mine, which turned my hair white.” He smiles shyly. “I know it’s a little weird at first, but you get used to it.”

“I don’t think it’s weird at all,” Lily says. “Your hair is beautiful.”

James coughs loudly, and Lily frowns at him. “Are you feeling sick too, James? You really shouldn’t have eaten the crab so quickly.”

“It’s fine!” James declares loudly. “I’m fine! Anyway, Remus, Lily and I should get to meeting Master Sluggy—”

“Master Slughorn, actually.”

“Whatever his name is! We should go meet him, Lily. Time is of the deepest essence and all that, right? Let’s hop to it!” James stands up quickly, almost knocking over his drink in his haste, and extends a hand to Lily to pull her up. Rolling her eyes, she takes it, before dropping it quickly. 

“Again, I’m so sorry for him,” Lily says to Remus.

“Yes, I’m such a burden, aren’t I?” James grumbles.

“James, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you should be more polite to our hosts. You’re not a burden at all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but he looks slightly cheerier. 

Master Slughorn turns out to be a cheerful middle-aged man with a large mustache and an echoing laugh. Just as Remus had said, the Waterbending Master smiles widely and excitedly when James asks him to teach them waterbending. 

“Of course, of course!” Slughorn exclaims. “We’ll start tomorrow morning—eight o’clock sharp, and don’t be late!”

That night, Lily can barely sleep, out of sheer excitement. The last time anyone besides a scroll had tried to teach her waterbending had been more than half a year ago, back when Sev was more concerned with helping her learn than railing against Prince Sirius and spreading conspiracy theories about the Avatar. She smiles wistfully at the memory—Sev correcting her stance, teaching her to shoot spikes of ice in the same way he shot spheres of fire out of his own hands. 

In the morning, she has to drag James bodily out of bed, but somehow, they make it to Master Slughorn’s training grounds on time. 

“Why don’t you show me what you know first?” Slughorn suggests. “First the Avatar, then Lily?”

James grins, and he sends up a great tidal wave of water out of the ice, bringing it up to the sky and then back down. It crashes with a great force, but Slughorn just hums. “Interesting. Lily?”

She takes a deep breath and thinks of Sev, thinks of the waterbending scrolls, thinks of everything she’s tried to teach James in the past few months. Then, she brings up long lashes of water that quickly crystallize into whips of ice, forming spikes as they land back onto the ground. She grins, and whirling around, she sees a matching smile on Slughorn’s face. 

“Wonderful, Lily!” he applauds. “You know, I don’t think I’ve actually ever seen that move before. Where did you learn it?”

“I kind of just, uh, figured it out,” Lily says, suddenly bashful. “It’s not from a scroll or anything. Down at the South Pole, I couldn’t really learn waterbending from another waterbender, so my friend who was a firebender taught me instead. Really, we just learned from each other.”

“Very ingenious,” Slughorn says approvingly. “Lily, why don’t you show me something else?”

Over the next eight hours, Lily demonstrates to Slughorn every trick she’s learned and read about, and almost every time, he claps enthusiastically afterwards, giving her small corrections and tips to improve her focus. It might just be the best day of her life.

That is, until she realizes that James looks increasingly tired and frustrated. “I just don’t get it,” he sighs. “None of this is working for me at all.”

“Well, James, not everyone can take to waterbending as easily as Lily,” Slughorn chuckles. This, of course, is basically the worst thing he could have said, and a moment later, James has a look of despair on his face.

“How can I be the Avatar if I can’t waterbend?” he bemoans, after Slughorn’s dismissed them for the day and they’re walking back to their lodgings with Remus. 

“Well, you can waterbend,” Lily says, trying to cheer him up.

“But I can’t do anything advanced,” he says. “I can’t do any of the things that he taught you to do today. It’s like—I don’t know. I know how it’s supposed to work, but I can’t see how it does, you know? Everything’s all mixed-up in my head, and I can’t separate it.”

Remus looks thoughtful. “James, how have you been learning waterbending before this?”

“Er, from scrolls, mostly,” James says. 

“That might be the problem, then,” Remus says. “You’re used to seeing the moves illustrated first and then trying them out.”

James grunts. “Maybe.”

“I can take you to my father’s library,” Remus continues. “He should have waterbending scrolls there—we’d be happy to let the Avatar borrow them.”

James doesn’t say anything, so Lily nudges him, but all he does is let out another grunt. Rolling her eyes, she smiles. “He’d love to.”

“Great!” Remus says cheerily. “I can bring him to the library after dinner.”

She waves goodbye to Remus as they go their separate ways, still smiling. The moment Remus disappears from their sight, she nudges James again. “Why are you being so rude to him? He’s been nothing but kind to us.”

“What’s so great about him anyway?” James exclaims. “So what, he’s a literal prince, and he’s handsome, and he’s probably stinking rich, and the Moon Spirit gave him life or whatever, but I’m the Avatar. I’m the bridge between humans and the Spirit World! I’m the most spiritual person alive!”

“Careful, James, or you might get a big head there,” Lily says sarcastically. “And I know you’re the Avatar. What’re you going on about?”

“Nothing,” James says sullenly. He kicks a ball of snow into the nearest canal. 

Suddenly, a thought occurs to Lily. It’s as clear as day, honestly—she can’t believe she didn’t see it before. “James, are you jealous?”

“What?” James laughs nervously. “What would I be jealous of? His fluffy hair and ridiculously nice smile? No way!” 

“Oh, James, I get it now,” Lily says sympathetically. “I know you’ve been having a tough time with the Avatar State, and you’re still nervous about what Avatar Dumbledore told you when you visited the Spirit World, and today’s waterbending lesson was—well, it wasn’t the best. Look, just because Remus has part of the Moon Spirit in him doesn’t mean he’s more suited to the role of the Avatar than you are. You have such a big heart, James—you’ve already helped so many people!—and you’re amazing at earthbending and airbending. You can do this, James. I believe in you.” She takes his hand and squeezes it for good measure. 

“Yeah,” James says slowly. “Yeah, that’s definitely it. I’ve been jealous of Remus because I’m scared of not being a good enough Avatar. Thanks for the pep talk, Lily.” 

She smiles at him, relieved, and finally, he gives her a genuine smile back.

That night, when James and Remus return from the library, waterbending scrolls in hand, both of them are laughing, talking quietly to each other like they’re old friends. When James manages to create and control multiple water whips in their lesson with Master Slughorn the next morning, Lily smiles broadly, proud of how far her friend has come. 

The next few days are full of laughter, cheer, and engaging lessons.

Then, of course, the Fire Nation attacks. Again.

[lunarsaga]

EPISODE 3: ABOUT ALICE

Y'all, I am SO CLOSE TO catching up to myself with these chapters! I can't wait for y'all to see the next chapter, it's gonna be all kinds of heartbreak~ >:3c

ENJOY~!

REMINDER: [Dialogue like this is English!]

The farther northeast they traveled, the more Luna missed the absolute shit out of her clunky old gas guzzler of a pickup truck.

Now she wasn’t ever one to complain—she knew better than that—but holy fuck did her feet hurt. She’d had these shoes for god only knows how long, and it was a good thing they were practically made of mithril, because if they hadn’t been mythically indestructible, they definitely would’ve been worn out by now. She had to bear it—they all did. Sore feet were mostly likely only gonna be a minor pain compared to what they were gonna face once they caught up to this Naraku guy (or so she’d heard). So complaining would only make things more irritating.

And she was already irritated enough, thanks to Inuyasha.

“We would’ve caught Naraku by now if all of you weren't demanding we stop and rest every five minutes!”

“Inuyasha, you have to understand that we don’t have your superhuman strength.” Miroku, always the diplomat.

Luna, not so much. She gave her sister a look that all but read she was about to snap, and spoke to her in English: “[If he says one more thing about us having to stop and rest, I’m throwing my shoe at him.]”

Kagome sighed. “[Luna, please don’t do that.]” Their friends looked, confused, between the both of them.

“What’re you guys saying?” Shippo asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Luna chuckled, starting to dig through her backpack. “Damn, I need to be careful about how much I fire my gun, I don’t have as much ammo as I thought…”

Kagome furrowed her eyebrows. “I thought you brought everything?”

Luna glanced up, still rifling through her pack. “I brought everything I could, but I had to leave some ammo and one of my weapons at Kaede’s place, along with my guitar. Traveling this much, especially walking? I had to pack more food and survival shit than ammo, so I gotta conserve what I have if this is gonna take much longer—especially if we’re getting this far away from the Well.”

Inuyasha snorted, and Luna felt her blood pressure spike. “Wouldn’t be taking so long if you all weren’t so damn weak…”

Luna looked at her sister again, and completely disregarded the warning look she got back. In less than a second, she had one of her boots off and chucked it full force at the half-demon’s head. The ensuing chaos was definitely worth the satisfaction.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!”

“For being an absolute prick about us needing to rest!”

“Luna, can you please not?!”

“He’s the one being a little bitch about it!”

“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!”

“Stop it, you two!”

“I called you a little bitch! Clean out those fuzzy ears!”

“OH THAT IS IT!”

“BRING IT, DOG BOY!”

The imminent fight (which Sango, Shippo, and Miroku were watching like a Tennis match) stopped before it actually got started. Kagome grabbed her sister by the ear and pulled back, causing the older girl to yell out in pain, before pointing at Inuyasha and shouting:

“INUYASHA, SIT!”

The aforementioned half-demon slammed face-first into the ground, and the situation diffused.

“I am sick of you two fighting!” Kagome said, ignoring her sister’s little mutters of “ow, ow, ow” until she finally let go of her ear. “Can’t you guys just try to get along?! We’re supposed to be a team here; how are we supposed to fight Naraku if you two won’t stop fighting each other?!”

Ego bruised (and her ear too, just as likely), Luna tried not to pout as she got up to retrieve her boot. “Can’t promise it won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, me either…” Inuyasha’s voice cracked as he was finally able to lift his head and glare at the elder Higurashi.

“What we’re doing is a little more serious than petty conflicts,” Miroku said, “It might take an adjustment period for all of us, as Luna is new to our group, but we still need to focus on our actual goal.” And of course, as he gave this incredibly insightful bit of wisdom, his hand was drifting.

Sango flinched, then turned to slap his cheek, pinching the skin on his hand to keep it away from her butt. “And what part of that goal is this?” She growled.

The monk chuckled nervously, “N-nothing?”

Luna rolled her eyes, a small smile on her lips as she sat back down to re-tie her shoe. “Never a dull moment, huh?” She sighed as she knotted it, finally glancing over at Inuyasha. “Alright. I’m sorry, okay? But you gotta not complain like that. Gets on my nerves.”

“I’ll complain if I wanna complain…” Inuyasha mumbled. He quickly corrected himself, as the harrowingly angry look Kagome gave him struck fear into his heart. “F-fine. Whatever. Sorry.”

Luna chuckled. “There then, that’s put to rest. And, speaking of!” Instead of a second half of that sentence, she stretched her arms out and fell back to relax back on the grassy hill they’d chosen as their rest stop. She sighed, enjoying the quiet and the sun for a few minutes. She could swear she was about to drift off to sleep, when she heard the softest little “mew!” just beside her. She opened one eye to find Kilala blinking big red eyes at her.

“Adjustment or not, Kilala seems to like you,” Sango said with a light smile.

“She sure is cute,” Luna mumbled happily, sitting up and giving the kitty little scratches on the head.

Sango chuckled. “Thank you. Kilala is my very best friend—she has taken care of my family and my clan for generations.”

“Yeah?” Luna tilted her head, quizzical. “Does she always stay in cat form?

“What do you mean?”

Kilala paid the conversation no mind, she just decided that this person petting her was the lap she wanted to lay on for the moment. Luna chuckled as the nekomata curled up with her head on her thigh. “Well… funny enough, my best friend is a cat demon too? She’s even done the same—watching over our family for generations.”

“Really?” Surprised, Sango looked to Kagome, who nodded.

“I thought you said there weren’t any demons in your time, Kagome?” Shippo piped up.

“It’s not that there aren’t any,” Kagome said. “They’re just… not all over anymore, like they are here.”

“Japan is one of the only places I know of that have actually kept their supernatural m—” Luna cleared her throat, “uh—inhabitants?—in check. The country where I live? Not so much.”

“But you mentioned the cat demon you know has a human form?” Sango asked. “I’ve never seen Kilala take on any form than this one or her full demon form.”

“Maybe… it’s because Alice is a Bakeneko? Rather than a Nekomata?” Kagome mused.

Luna nodded. “Could be, yeah. She’s got a cat form like this—and like Kilala’s full demon form too—but a lot of the time she stays in her, ah….” Luna started snapping her fingers at Kagome, trying to think of the word in Japanese. “[Humanoid form?]”

Kagome shrugged, “Most of the time, Alice just looks like a human.”

“600 years old and looks 25,” Luna rolled her eyes. “ ‘I choose to look this cute~!’, that’s what she always says.”

“She’s also watched over the Higurashi Family for generations. Heck of a coincidence, huh?”

~ ~ ~

Everything hurt.

From the tip of her nose to the end of her tail, every inch of Airisu’s tiny, feline body hurt. Her black fur was matted with blood and dirt, one of her eyes wouldn’t open all the way, and she struggled to draw in breath. Not only all that, but she was running low on her own demonic power as well—if she tried to use any to heal herself, she might not make it through the night. As it was… she feared she might not make it through the night anyway, but she had to keep going. Her family would have wanted her to.

It had been an incredibly rough night for the little cat demon. Her family was the last of the Bakeneko clan this far south; all the others of their kind had moved to the northern mountains a hundred years ago. And it wasn’t until now that Airisu saw why: down here, they were plagued by other demons. Their family over the years was slowly picked off, until it was only her, her parents, and her brother and sister. Until now, she’d done her best to try and protect them… but tonight… she’d failed.

Mama… Papa… everyone… I’m sorry… If she could shed tears in this form, she might have been. But all she could do right now was limp forward. At least I’ve lost the pig…

Or so she thought.

A rustling in the bushes caught her off-guard. Hackles raised (despite the sting), she hissed as the figure of the same ugly boar demon that murdered her family lumbered out of the woods. The boar’s crude scythe weapon was still coated in her family’s blood—and she could see a stain or two on its tusks, as well.

The thing’s laugh was a little more than a snort. “Thought you could get away, eh?! I’ll eat you, just like the rest of your little family!”

Grief twisted in her gut like a cold steel blade. This was it. She had just a little power left, and if this was going to be her last stand, then she was gonna use it to avenge her family. This boar was going to pay for the lives he’d taken. She summoned up her last nerve, and grew to her full size; flame erupted from her paws to ignite the transformation, her front fangs elongated past her chin, and her body grew to the size of a panther. She wouldn’t have long in this form, so she would have to strike quickly.

She leapt at the boar, one last war cry roaring from her maw. She aimed for its throat, but the boar wasn’t as exhausted as she was. He swung his weapon faster, catching her in the chest. She landed, chest heaving, and attempted to swipe at him with her claws, but she was too off-balance. As she fell, she shrank again, the last of her demonic power used up.

At least I went out fighting, everyone… she thought as she crumpled into the dirt, prepared for death.

It didn’t come. Instead, there was another voice; a human one. Airisu could only keep one eye open, straining to see what was happening:

It was a human woman, strangely dressed but boldly blocking the boar from finishing off the half-dead feline. She held an odd weapon—a rifle? But it looked so different from the ones Airisu had seen before… When the woman fired it, it looked like it spat fire, and the boar demon reeled back, squealing. No rifle Airisu had ever seen had that kind of effect on a demon: his flesh seemed to be sizzling as he tried to get away into the forest.

“Ugly-ass PIG,” The human girl shouted as she cocked the rifle again, “You leave that poor kitty alone!” She fired it again, and the boar demon fizzled into nothing.

Does this woman think I am a mere cat…? Airisu wanted to laugh, but she didn’t have the energy. She was fading fast. Either way… she saved me… even if it was in vain...

~~~

“Thought you said you had to save your ‘am-hoe’, and you got and blow some of it on some weak-ass boar demon?”

“Inuyasha, please don’t say it like that—”

“No, let him, it’s hilarious.”

“He does have a bit of a point,” Sango cut in, before either Inuyasha or Luna could spark another fight. “You did say you had to save your ‘shells’, right? It seems a little wasteful if you used some on that boar demon—why did you?”

Luna nodded down at the little bundle in her arms—it was the little cat that the boar demon had been after the night before. She was asleep; Luna had bandaged her injuries and kept her warm and safe all night. As the little cat slept, her breathing had evened out, and Luna figured (what with the demon markings and all) that she would be alright soon.

“This little cat was trying to fight him,” She said softly. “I saved her.”

“Well ya ain’t keeping it—”

“Inuyasha!” Kagome chastised.

“Quit yelling at me!” Inuaysha snapped back, “It ain’t like it’s a house pet! She’s a demon cat like Kilala. She’s alive, so we should leave her be and keep going. She’ll heal by herself.”

“Who died and made you King of the Rock?” Luna grumbled at him.

“Guys, look!” Shippo, sat beside Luna, stretched up to peek at the little bundle. “She’s waking up!”

Quickly but gently, so as not to alarm her, Luna set the cat down and backed away a little. The demon cat’s eyes blinked open, blurred and confused. Luna smiled at her.

“Hey there, kitty,” she said softly. “You’re gonna be okay now…”

She sat up a little, pulling out something wrapped in paper and tied with a string—a handful of little fish from the river. She let the cat sniff it before setting it down in front of her. Cautious, the cat stared at her for a long time before she began to munch on the offering.

“[‘Atta girl,]” Luna chuckled, “You feeling better now?”

The cat paused in eating, blinked, and then disappeared into a cloud of smoke. A little startled, a couple of the group jumped back, but Luna stood where she was.

In the place of the little cat now sat a girl. Short waves of black hair fell around a pair of sleek feline ears and kissed her cheeks. The pupils of her eyes were catlike as well, sitting among irises that resembled a sunset. She wore a short, tattered pink kimono, and had a bit of black fur tucked around her collar. She had the same magenta markings that the cat had; on her cheeks and forehead, as well as the same bushy black tail.

The girl plucked the little cloth she’d been wrapped in as a cat off of her head, smiling brightly as she held it out to Luna.

“Much better!”

There was a beat of confused silence, before the others began to clamor in confusion.

“She had a human form this whole time?!” Inuyasha shouted.

“She was probably weak from fighting, Inuyasha, that could be why she stayed in her smaller form—” Miroku tried to reason with him.

“She did look a little like Kilala does—but she has only one tail.” Sango uttered.

“Then she’s a Bakeneko!” Shippo proclaimed, “They’re not common around here, my dad used to tell me they all went up North!”

Kagome looked suspiciously at her sister, who wasn’t shocked at all by the new information. Luna just stood there, watching her friends start to freak out with a sly little smile on her face. When she caught Kagome’s eye, she quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing as she turned back to the Bakeneko sitting before her. Like she knows something… Kagome mused to herself.

“My name is Airisu,” the Bakeneko said, bowing her head in greeting, “I want to thank you, Miss. That boar demon took the lives of the rest of my family last night, and would have taken mine as well if you hadn’t intervened.”

Luna shrugged. “I was only doing what I thought was right.”

“Well, for that, I owe you my life,” Airisu bowed her head once again, placing her hand over her heart. “I doubt I could ever fully repay you, but to show my gratitude, I will do the same for you. I will follow where you go, and protect you as you have protected me.”

Luna opened her mouth to respond, but her friends were once again surprised:

“That seems rather extreme…” Miroku said.

“You’d think so!” Shippo commented, “but some Bakeneko are really loyal like that! Especially since she saved her life!”

“Really?” Sango wondered.

“Still though…” Kagome chuckled awkwardly.

“Luna doesn’t need her protection,” Inuyasha scoffed, “she’s got that crazy weapon—and if she did need someone else to protect her, she has us!”

“Guys,” Luna waved her hand at her friends, laughing, “Don’t worry about it. I got this.” She extended her hand to the Bakeneko. “Alice, I accept.”

The cat demon pouted. “It’s Airisu!”

“Right, right. Sorry—Airisu,” Luna corrected herself. “Welcome to the team.”

“Hold on, Luna,” Kagome grabbed her sister’s arm, pulling her aside. “Shouldn’t we all talk about this first? I mean… you only just met her?”

“No I didn’t,” Luna said, with that knowing little smile on her face again. “You kidding? I’ve known her all my life. And so have you, Kags.”

It took a second for Kagome to put the pieces together. She glanced back over at the Bakeneko, who had started formally introducing herself to the rest of their friends. The bubbly smile, the black hair, the vibrant orange eyes—it finally clicked. “Wait… you don’t mean that’s—”

“The very same,” Luna smiled fondly as she watched the realization cross her sister’s face. “She’d be pretty young for a demon by now—only 40 or 50 years old—but that’s Alice alright. And I’d trust that cat with my life.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her at first,” Kagome said softly.

“Well, it’s also been a few years since you’ve seen her, too,” Luna nudged her sister. “But look, we can’t tell her that we know her in the future. Gotta Marty McFly this, okay?”

“You can’t go two seconds without some pop culture reference, can you?”

“Absolutely not.” Luna laughed.

[tyrannoninja]

Arrows of Alodia

Japan, 1500 AD

The walls of the castle glowed pale yellow before the face of the setting sun, with blue shingles sparkling on stacks of curved roofs. This radiance conferred the semblance of a tall gold crown encrusted with lapis-lazuli gems. The castle sat atop a wooded hill, overlooking the fields, forests, and scattered peasants’ villages like an emperor surveying his rural domain.

A young woman hiked a series of stone steps that zigzagged up the hill’s northern slope, cradling in a yew chest her arms. Her hooded waist-length kimono and trousers, both dull green like the trees sheltering the path, protected her both from the evening’s damp chill and from any eyes spying on her. Not that the woman had noticed anyone giving her a second glance so far, but nobody in her line of work could afford to let their guard down.

She reached the summit of the hill, strolled across the short bridge over the castle’s moat, and paused to gaze over the sprawling countryside. The verdant beauty of the Japanese landscape would never leave her eyes entirely, yet years of experience had scraped away much of its allure. She knew that underneath its lush and tranquil veneer lay a cutthroat and lawless world of cruelty and treachery.

This would be her last evening in the land. The next day, she would set sail for civilization.

Among the irregular mass of rocks building up the castle’s base was a rectangular slab, as tall and wide as a man. The woman inserted her fingers along its edge and pushed it aside as if it were a regular sliding door. Ahead ran a narrow corridor lit with paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, a small courtesy she had not expected.

Underneath the more pleasing scent of the cherry blossoms, the stink of dead flesh leaked through the chest’s lid. The woman hugged it against her breast, a queasy nausea swelling in her stomach. Grisly as the odor was, it was only part of the price she had to pay for her upcoming escape.

She followed the passageway through the base until it led into a series of rooms, the walls built of white paper with wooden frames, a building material she had always thought strange. Back in her native Alodia, along the Nile to the south of Egypt, people built almost everything from sturdier materials such as mudbrick or stone. For a race that constantly warred with their own, the Japanese could have stood to fortify the interiors of their homes better.

After sliding open a succession of paper doors, the woman found the Daimyo Takeshi awaiting her in his study. She greeted him with a bow of her head while laying the chest before the tatami mat he sat on.

“I see you already had the way in lighted for me, my lord,” the woman said. She pulled down her hood to reveal her dark brown face and braided black hair. “Very kind of you.”

“I have good timing.” The old Daimyo croaked a chuckle as he laid his hands on the chest. “I trust this is Hiroshi himself?”

The woman nodded as she unslung her bow and quiver. “I took him out in the dead of night. Nobody suspected a single thing. Suffice to say he won’t trouble you anymore.”

Takeshi pried the chest open, releasing the stench of its contents in a full wave. Inside lay the half-rotten head of Hiroshi, once his vassal. The Daimyo’s cackling made the woman feel even more sick than the morbid object.

“Excellent work, Maia of Alodia,” he said. “I see you more than deserve your reputation.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice, my lord.”

Maia glanced around the study for a bag of coins, yet she could find none. The only gold she detected in the room was the paint on some serpentine dragon illustrations on the walls. “Now, where is my payment?”

The Daimyo’s smile vanished. He pulled a curved scabbard from his belt and slid out the katana sword within. “You didn’t really think I would let you go with my vassal’s blood on your hands, did you?”

Maia’s pulse kicked into a thumping panic. She held her bow close to her. “Why not? None of the other daimyo I’ve served had a problem with that.”

“Then they were fools. Think, Alodian, of what would happen were you around to blurt out the truth, in whatever circumstance. The world would know I was behind this all, and I’d have even more insolent subjects to contend with than before!”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t pay anyone to take out your critics, O Daimyo.”

Takeshi stood and drew back his sword, his once pale yellow-brown face flaming red. “Unless I can take you out in turn!”

Maia ducked beneath the slicing sweep of his katana, dodging it by less than an inch. She hopped across the room and swung her bow at him as if it were a sword. Its bottom tip slashed across the back of the Daimyo’s blue silken vest. Despite not drawing blood, he fell over with a yelp and a groan, his sword flying out of his grip and rolling over the floor until Maia picked it up.

Maia strutted over to where he lay and pressed the tip of his katana into the nape of his neck. “I could easily kill you as I killed your vassal, Daimyo Takeshi. But I’ll give you one more chance than you gave him. Pay me the gold you promised, and I’ll leave your hide unscratched.”

“Never!” Takeshi swept his arm aside and banged into Maia’s ankle, tripping her. He snatched his sword back in a springing leap. “I still have tracks to cover up.”

After wheeling away from his next few attacks, the Alodian shot her foot into his shin. He growled a hideous curse and repaid the blow by slashing across her hip.

The cut burned hot through the flesh of her leg. Her rage blazed so much hotter that it drowned out all pain.

Again the Daimyo charged, brandishing his blade with a bloodthirsty roar. Maia sidestepped and swatted him in the skull from behind, throwing him across the room until he crashed through the wall, tore through the paper and splintered the framing. From a leather sheath under her belt, she grabbed a curved dagger and flung it into his spine. After one last guttural croak, the Daimyo Takeshi lay without movement other than the blood flowing out of his wounds.

Signing a cross into the air, Maia whispered a prayer that her God show mercy on the poor sinner’s soul.

“How could you?”

A young woman in a scarlet kimono burst into the study, her hair tousled and her face wet with tears. She knelt sobbing by the Daimyo’s body.

“I’m sorry, was he your father?” Maia asked. She lowered her hand to touch the other woman’s shoulder in consolation.

“No! I was his beloved wife, Ichiko.” The Japanese girl slapped the Alodian away and tore the katana out of her fallen husband’s grip. “Now you will pay for your crime, barbarian bitch!”

Yanking the dagger out of Takeshi, Maia thrust it to parry Ichiko. Sparks erupted from the clashing of blades until the Alodian’s smaller weapon broke in half. She lunged to stab her opponent’s thigh, but Ichiko kicked her into the room’s opposite wall.

Maia had carried half her dagger, and the Daimyo’s widow showed just as much agility. Maia carried only one weapon that would give her any advantage in the fight.: the one she had used on the vassal Hiroshi.

What she needed was more space between she and her target.

After chucking a stick of shattered wood into Ichiko’s face, Maia scrambled to retrieve her bow and quiver. She hurled herself through the hole, over the Daimyo Takeshi’s body. She had an arrow drawn the instant Ichiko launched herself into the air, katana raised overhead for a downward cleave.

Maia fired. Ichiko fell in mid-arc onto Takeshi, the arrow through her heart seeming to pin her onto her husband’s corpse, uniting them in death as in life. It was a bittersweet way for them to go, Maia admitted to herself.

Through her labored breathing, she heard the shrill wailing of an infant.

Hurrying out of the study, the Alodian stumbled into a room, where three flat cushions rested like low beds on the floor. The first two were adult-sized, for the Daimyo and his wife. The third was only big enough to support the naked, wailing baby that lay curled into a ball on it, bawling with frightened distress.

Throughout her career, Maia of Alodia had taken many lives. Some were daimyo rival to the ones who paid her, whereas others were insubordinate vassals like the one she had taken at Takeshi’s behest. Still others had been guards and soldiers she fended off when her missions went sour. It was her way of earning what she needed to survive in a ruthless country. Never had she imagined she would feel guilt or remorse, until she saw the tears glistening on the baby’s face.

He had no mother or father anymore. No one left to comfort or protect him. Instead, he lost them to the cold bite of steel, much as Maia had lost her own mother and father when she was a girl. This time, though, Maia’s own steel had robbed him of his family.

She could not leave him there. Either he would die young in this merciless land or would grow up forever ablaze with hatred for her and perhaps all the people of Alodia. Maia could not blame him one bit for that.

She had to make it up to him, to give him what she had taken from him.

Maia picked up the baby in a firm embrace, murmuring soft words to soothe him. “I shall name you Isaac, sweet one. Don’t cry, you shall be safe with me.”

##

The castle of the late Daimyo Takeshi, once a brilliant pale yellow, turned a luminous white before the moon and stars. Down the hillside steps Maia descended, holding the sleeping Isaac under one arm while hauling the yew chest in the other. Instead of a human head rolling within it, the chest now jingled with plundered gold coins, more than enough to buy Maia a sailing trip away from this beautiful yet deadly land.

Where could she go next? She didn’t know. Her family had fled Alodia when it fell under attack by the Muslim Funj, and doubtless they would have taken the kingdom over and replaced its Christian religion with their own. Perhaps Ethiopia, another African kingdom still faithful to the same God as Alodia, would offer sanctuary. Or maybe Maia could sate her appetite for adventure elsewhere in the East, perhaps the jungle kingdoms to the south or the steppes to the north. Even the empire of China might hold promise, as they enjoyed more unity than the Japanese.

Wherever Maia went, she would carry Isaac with him. She would nurse him, raise him as her own, and teach him how to shoot arrows like a true Alodian.

This and other short stories can be read in my self-published collection Beasts & Beauties.

[sarissophori]

Hither Yonder, Chapter 5

The Wild Roads

Halli awoke soon after sunrise, roused by the warming air and ground. She stirred, still sore from the night’s run and the fall that ended it. She sat up stiffly and listened for a while. Aside the pleasant sighing of boughs in the morning wind and distant bird calls the forest was silent, serene. She no longer feared capture, overtly at least, and took time to eat some of Sador’s provisions before starting off again. Climbing out of the ditch, she consulted the map as to her course. The Irdon forest, as it was named, stretched off west and south along the slopes of the Adorn mountains, the spine of Dumbria, running with them for many miles before ending at a sundered range called the South Spur, which formed the mountain-gap watched over by the fortress of Lake Tirgon. Rather than going immediately south-west and risk becoming lost in the forest, Halli went due-west toward the mountains, where she thought to have a sure marker to follow beside. Using any roads as a runaway slave was not an option.

      This was the first course of her journey. Two days she spent walking into, then through, the heart of the forest, the mountains ever before her. The land rose gradually for the most part, then more so as she neared the pine and spruce-covered foothills of the range, rising in folds of green up and up to the bare flanks of the mountains proper, cloven by dales and valleys sheltered between rocky arms. Halli now went southerly west, on ground high enough to see down the surrounding lands, but low enough to avoid steeper terrain that would only hinder her.  Away back east, in the fading light, she thought she could almost see the topmost battlements of Thargorod tiny and black on the far horizon, and thought of Sador and Siri in that moment. She wondered what punishment they stood to suffer because of her escape, if it would end with them. Here on the third day, more than on the previous two, the weight of her actions pressed on her shoulders as keenly as her roll-kit, and it was brought to her, concisely, what it would mean to be alone and to carry on. The sun set, leaving her under a blanket of night and stars.

 The fourth day unfolded very much like the others; calm, boring even, in the shade of tall and ancient trees high enough to shut out the world beyond the forest. The air was scented with pine sap when the wind came in from the west. Northward, it smelled crisp from the mountain airs. Her aloneness was so apparent, the fear of being found completely left her.

      By late afternoon Halli came to the source-waters of the Olgon River, the largest in Dumbria; a river she crossed once before, when the wagon train carrying her and Yuta rolled past its lowland fords to Thargorod. Here she refilled her water-skin, for it was fresh from the mountain springs, and stood about to take in her surroundings. The Olgon roared and splashed down bare stony banks worn smooth by its tide, falling downhill as rapids through ravines into the deeper forest. The foam glinted in the sunlight. The mountains were to her right, marching onward out of sight, catching the sky on their peaks as if they alone suspended it, keeping the separation of heaven and earth. The trees, clustered among the rocks, swayed in the mildest breeze, and she breathed it in.

      Downstream from her, near the brink of the rapids, an ibex emerged from the trees and trotted to the river, fairly large, with great curved horns. Halli crouched low and watched him drink before deciding this an opportune time to test her bow. She unfurled her roll-kit and pulled it out slowly, bending it to notch the string. She had an arrow ready when she saw, lying stealthily on a shelf overlooking the bank, a mountain lioness in wait from above, her hind legs tensed for a jump. She sprang from her rocky perch and landed squarely on the ibex, who collapsed from the attack. He kicked and bleated, but she pinned him with a bite to the windpipe as he fought, then feebly writhed, then stilled. There was rustling in the trees behind; his pack heard his calls and bolted, bounding up to the safety of the steeper slopes. The lioness looked at Halli, who stood awestruck with her arrow slacked impotently on its string, suddenly feeling like prey herself.

       “The kill is yours. I offer no contest.”

      The lioness hauled her meal back into the wood, toward her mountain den undoubtedly nearby. That in mind, Halli crossed the shallow arm of the river by the spring and continued on her way.

 Halli walked on in caution for the remaining day and those thereafter, while the forest lasted. Her bow was out, and she made a nightly shelter to help shield her from predatory eyes. Her guard lessened, however, when the forest began to open out, the hills only partly covered. Shrubs took advantage and grew in bunches in the glades, those that flowered and those that prickled. Ivy curled through them here and there, and little rodents scurried.

      Nine days after entering the Irdon, the forest’s bulk finally thinned out to a few solitary pines along tumbled lands, and Halli could see the plains below. To the immediate south ran a separate range of hills, green and roving, the peaks grayish-brown and bare; the South Spur, a bulwark of rock across the neck of Dumbria. Just before her, a league away and beside the hills, was the fortress of Tirgon, unceasing in its watch of the plains. Calvary was afield in exercises, and white smokes wafted from the chimneys of barracks. There were no trains of slaves today, but Halli knew many more had come this way since she and Yuta went through its gates that summer long ago; Hananin from the steppes and the Kundish Mounds, and others from Ipsaria, Doria and beyond from Wilderland to the north. Halli backed into the sparse protection of Irdon’s westernmost reaches and went on her way, nursing blunted fantasies of revenge against that hated fortress.

        Halli followed the flanks of a great shoulder in the range that hid her from the fortress, and down she went into the lower hills. Here Lake Tirgon sat against the mountains, buffered by a narrow and rocky land populated with holly bushes, beds of dry grasses and rough thickets. Trees were sparse, and were old and stunted. Nevertheless, this was Halli’s road as she chose it. The only other way, across the plains south of the lake, would mean almost certain capture while the cavalry was out.

      She scrambled down the slopes and into a defile, going along ground that alternated between sandy, gravely, rocky, and sandy again. Her bare feet were sore before much trudging, yet on she went, walking through what grass she could find, stopping only a few times to rest. The lake at least was a beautiful bluish-gray, spanning many leagues south and west, ruffled by spouts of wind, otherwise reflecting mirror-like the mountain tips under a sapphire sky. The risk of exposure in this landscape was plain to her, but she took solace in one thing: there were no trails along Tirgon’s north banks, meaning this part of the mountains were seldom visited by the Dumbrians, maybe their soldiers too, despite the presence of their fortress. Halli certainly hoped it.

 For two and a half days Halli plodded through that strip of waste, her palms, knees and soles callused by the rocks, and white from a chalky powder that coated the boulders and pebbly expanses. By noon she came to the eaves of the Farrow Wood, and her spirits lightened, not only because it meant an end to this unpleasant land, but also because past the woods was the West Reach, the extent of Dumbria’s borders. The borders of her own country were near.

      The difference between the Farrow Wood and the mountain waste was abrupt. Up a few shelves of layered rock hung the roots of the outermost trees, stout and gnarled, at least by the lake. Further on, Halli saw taller, leaner trees as the land became less stony further west. She delighted in feeling the softer grasses under her feet again and decided to make camp early, resting and sleeping a long while.

      Halli remained in the forest’s northern marches, to keep the mountains at her side. Then, after nearly fifteen days of constant hiking within the shadow of the Ardon range, over lands easy and difficult, they began to run down into a descent, hilly with many valleys, to the adjacent lowlands of the Hananin Steppes. The forest ended, and the Ardon sank into gentle rises. Here sprawled the West Reach, the beginning of the expansive, near featureless grasslands of inner Hinterland, bare under the noontime sun. Flatness, with subtle rolls, went off as far as the eye could see, except to the north where the Morrow Wood lay, a line of green against the wheat-color of the plains, and the Kundish Mounds further on. In the north, too, were brooding cloud fronts gray with rain, as colder airs from Wilderland mingled with warmer airs from the Sea of Ahn, rising to cumulus towers black-bottomed and foreboding, as far as they were. But this was not Halli’s road. From the eaves of Farrow, she turned south in a gradual meander westward, and came after a few day’s march under the Hinterland sun to the old Imperial Road.

        The Road was built ages ago by the auxiliary legions of the Tarmaril Imperium in the years of its greatest extent, to connect the conquered lands with the mother-kingdom; to speed trade, culture, and the armies not the least. In those times the Imperial Road extended unbroken from the Sheerim Mountains to the gates of Tirgon, was tended to by a dedicated legion, and was punctuated every twenty miles with manmade watering holes. Every forty miles, or every other watering hole, was a courier station with inns, stables, and a fortified garrison.

      In these later times, the Road was little more than an overgrown track of stones choked by weeds and grass, covered over entirely in some sections, marked along its way by the ruins of those courier stations and reed-studded pools frequented more by wildlife than any rider, much less a cavalry of thousands. Decay and disuse aside, the Road was not completely abandoned. After Tarmaril’s fall and the decline of Dumbria, the Hananin reclaimed their country and took from the Road what purpose they could find for it: irrigation ditches were dug to drain the watering holes for farmland, then blocked up for the spring rains to fill again, then drained as before. Stones were removed from the crumbling garrisons to build bridges and homes, though not from the Road itself. The Road was never repaired to its first glory, but parts of its length between villages were tended to and cleared, especially those parts near the Hills of Hanan and Lake Onu, where Hanan’s chief villages lay.

 So Halli went west, following a way as sure as the mountains, though subtler. However, she walked along beside it at a distance, staying in the long grass; the threat of Dumbrian raiders still patrolling the West Reach was too great to ignore, making it unwise for her to travel directly on the Road. She remained a furlong’s breadth away day and night, far enough to dart and hide in the grass if need be.

      And on she walked, and walked. The miles were covered in good pace, but there were many of them, each identical to the last. The occasional acacia tree was approached and passed, Halli using its dry, umbrella-like canopy for the shade it offered against the relentless sun when she rested, maybe twice a day for eating, seldom at length. She also came by several watering holes, or delves in the ground where one once was. They were brackish and warm, gathered over by birds and beasts; wild oxen and kingfishers, caribou and white flamingos migrating from the wetlands of Ahn. Even if she wished to use them, she doubted room would be made for her through their herds with so many young about, and under watch. Worse, the banks would be horribly muddy and mucked with filth by their tramping, making her think better of it than wasting one of Sador’s purifying tablets. And on she walked.

 There was no marker or indicator to show where the West Reach ended and Hanan proper began, besides the words on her map. Halli guessed she was close; the lands here, hardly distinguishable to a traveler, were familiar to her as a local. She knew these fields. Her village was near here. As if to remind her of her present danger, not far off the Road was the site of a small homestead of yurts and tents. Their remnants, at least. Halli dared approach for a closer look. Burnt, brittle timbers and torn cloth were strewn everywhere. The people and their flocks were gone, the ground gouged and scorched in places. A few arrows stood staggered in the grass. This was not a fresh scene of massacre, however. The pillaging of this homestead was months ago, the bones of the slain picked clean by scavengers and carrion fowl.

      Halli stood silent a moment, then pressed her hands together and bowed low, speaking softly and backing away. In Hananin tradition, a place of murder not purified remained unclean, and perilous for the living to trespass. This site would remain unclean for a long time yet, and Halli, in a mix of reverence and wariness, dared not disturb the uneasy sleep of the ill-rested.

 Halli moved on, with no other sign of Dumbrian menace for the day’s remainder, or much of the next. She noticed that game was starting to become scarce around the watering holes, and that her food supplies were running low. Before she lost the chance, Halli camped by one of the pools and, after a short stalk, shot a heron through the reeds. She spent precious hours plucking the carcass and preparing a modest fire, gutting the entrails (an old chore she hadn’t really missed) and holding it suspended for the blood to drain, but it would be worth it. A good catch earns a good preparation, she remembered her barn’s caretaker telling her, and a good catch it was. Aside what she would eat today, there would still be enough to last her three or so more days, if she rationed it so.

      Just as the bird was ready for spitting, Halli looked behind her shoulder to see a thin black line on the Road, growing to become a rank of black forms in the twilit evening. In the stillness, she heard the beat of hooves and the snorting of horses. It was Dumbrian cavalry, and they were riding fast, in her direction. Halli quickly blotted the fire and darted into the reeds, leaving her catch in the open.

      The troop of horsemen, twenty with their captain, steered their horses to where they saw the faint wisp of smoke spied from afar, and dismounted to investigate. Halli watched them while hidden away. The captain sifted through the cinders with his boot, giving the plucked bird a kick into the soot. The rest ambled about, scanning the ground for clues to this riddle. Some murmured and pointed to imprints in the grass. They were fresh, meaning the one who made them, and made the meal, was nearby –but the light was fast fading, and Halli was well hid. They paced the spot a few more times, then as the stars outshone the slender gleam of orange against the west, they remounted and continued down the Road, leaving their riddle unsolved. What was one lowly Hananin vagabond to them? Their job was to scout the outer fields and return to Tirgon, and return they would. They galloped off in speed, leaving as swiftly as they approached.

      Halli waited until the thudding of hooves was gone before coming out, checking over what was to be dinner and extra rations. It was dirty but salvageable, were she bold enough to start another fire. She risked her luck terribly already with the first, and decided not to again. Instead she resumed walking, feeling more secure in the cover of dark, wanting to put as many miles as she could between herself and the reach of Dumbria before the night ended.

 On the days went, drawn, hot and trudging as before, with one noticeable change: the northerly thunderheads ever present against the horizon rolled down in haste on a southern gale, darkening the afternoon. Halli was relieved at first by the sun’s veiling, despite the thunder booming overhead, and welcomed the rain. She held her water-skin open to collect some of it, and it poured, and it blew. Then, it hailed. Halli wrapped her cloak tightly about herself and hunkered down, muttering as she was pelted, watching through her hood as the plains were pelted with little stinging balls of ice, waiting for it to pass. That was how the rest of that day went, shifting between rain and hail till early evening, when Halli found a battered acacia tree to sleep under. The night proved cold in her dampened cloak, her only protection against the wind. Come morning, she would welcome the humid sun.

 Then, on the fourteenth day since leaving the Adorn range, Halli saw the rising shapes of the Hills of Hanan in the distance, and her heart lifted at the sight. An afternoon’s march, and she would come to villages outside Dumbria’s reach (she hoped) who could help her, refresh and restock her, give her rest and a little friendship. She was sick of being alone. By late afternoon she was at the Hill’s eastern ends, and wandered to the southern slopes toward Lake Onu blue and placid, crowded in by pockets of forest.

      Halli looked on and frowned. The villages scattered across its banks appeared empty. She investigated each in turn, walking the dirt tracks branching to and off the Road openly, if cautiously. Long lanes ran beside tilled farmlands between fingers of forest, prepared for the planting season. The fields were abandoned, as were the villages; home, hut and barn. The livestock were also gone. Halli didn’t think this the work of Dumbrian raiders coming to collect slaves for Thargorod’s markets; none of the buildings were looted or torched, none of the fields ravaged. It was as if every villager to the last child had simply vanished.

       Not quite. They had fled, and taken their livestock with them. News of incursions from the West Reach would have spread far and wide soon after the initial raids that took Halli and Yuta as spoils. That was almost a year ago. So the Hananin, most being semi-nomadic, gathered their livelihoods and mobile goods, and dispersed to wherever hope or safety led them within the Hinterlands, be it north to the eaves of Wilderland, or south to Kundanar, with whom they had a common ancestry. Anything that could be resown, rebuilt, or replaced was left where it was.

      Halli lingered among the ghost towns, partly wanting to scavenge what supplies she could yet find, partly because she wanted to believe that they weren’t as empty as they seemed; that she might still find someone to give her tidings, or just talk to her. She peered into the houses, even exploring inside them, but saw only field mice nibbling on crumbs, and a few broken jars. The docks on Lake Onu were bare, moored with empty fishing rafts. Finding nothing else, Halli took some water from the wells for her water-skin, and continued on.

 Westward on from the Hills of Hanan, the Imperial Road slanted a little north while keeping its heading, still dotted by watering holes, still watched over by crumbling outposts. The days were consistently bright and sunny without the threat of rain, a monotonous continuum of sunrise and sunset, with all the hours blurring into a plodding haze. Halli reckoned she was getting rather good at solitary marching, and even better at food rationing.

      Before the Hills fell from sight, the long grasses gave way to shorter prairie ones, then failed altogether. The lands got tougher, with pasture shrubs becoming thistle thickets and other hardy weeds, and the occasional wildflower grove. Animal herds were sparse to nonexistent –though vultures could at times be seen wheeling about hither and yon, gliding on the high winds in a perpetual search for carrion. Now and again, Halli heard their lonely cries.

      So came and went another eleven days; but on the morning of the twelfth, she saw rising suddenly over the flats of Hanan, purple in the wan light of dawn, the rugged peaks of the Sheerim Mountains, the border separating the Hinterlands from the Hither. Taller and mightier than the Adorn range, The Sheerim, where Halli stood, spread out in a great arc stretching north and south, falling with the bend of the horizon to immeasurable leagues. Though it didn’t mean an end to her journey, Halli was glad to see some change, any change, to the landscape, even if it was an obstacle so great, it suffered no rival formation this side of the world. As the map showed, it spanned over five hundred miles arm to arm, nearly sundering the two halves of the western continent. This would mean two-hundred and fifty miles just to go around, no matter which way she took –more months of joyless wandering, if not for one curious feature: right through the middle of the range was an opening in the mountains, called the Mistgap, which offered itself, on paper, as a most convenient shortcut. Halli didn’t have the rations to last going around the mountains, nor the patience at this point. It was either risk an unknown way, or possible starvation. As far as she made out, there wasn’t really a choice to be discerned. Besides, the Imperial Road continued right on up to the Mistgap on the map, and so maybe went through it as well. She put her faith in that.                        

[acourtofhopeanddreams]

The Four Seasons of Love

Written for @jonsadreamofspring Day 1 based on the prompt "Seasons"

Spring is not as beautiful anymore as it used to be. And even Summer beyond the wall doesn't bring back the magic. But when Autumn arrives it holds a promise: Winter is Coming and when Winter Comes, Jon comes home.

Canon Compliant // Post-Canon

Spring

Winterfell looked more beautiful now than it had ever been. The castle was bathing in the rays of sunshine melting the snow away and small flowers in a million different colours appeared out of nowhere. The smiles on the Northerners’ faces brightened even more and each and every day more people visited the great hall to deliver some of their fruit and other goods to their queen.

And each and every day Sansa thanked them from the bottom of her heart, even though anyone could see that her eyes were never smiling along. Because each and every day she still caught herself turning to the empty seat next to her at the dinner table. Or she woke up in the morning mumbling something and expecting an answer that never came. Whenever she strolled through the hallways, filled with life and laughing people, she forgot that the dark black curls she loved so much wouldn’t all of a sudden appear. And during her council meetings she heard a voice in her head, surprisingly much like his, challenging her opinions and arguing with her, even though she knew deep down that she was right.

Spring had always been her favourite time of the year. She had laughed with her friends, braiding each other’s hair and crowing themselves with self made flower crowns. But Spring had now lost a little of its magic, a little of its beauty and a little of its gleam. Because Jon was not there with her.

Summer

The songs sung around the burning fire were a little happier. And the food they shared was a little less scarce and a little more filling. But the ground around them, as far as they could see, was still covered in layers of snow and they were still huddling together and basking in each other’s warmth to sleep at night. If the wildlings beyond the wall would ever have to choose a motto, it would certainly be something about Winter never being truly gone or only love and freedom being able to warm a cold heart.

Sansa would be able to come up with something great and witty and clever. Within a few hours she would have a sketch of a sigil and the new inspiring words written down beautifully.

Here, up North and beyond the wall, he had been somehow happy. He had found things he had never thought he would find and he was surrounded by people who loved and liked him and didn’t care about titles or the lack thereof.

And yet, even this place, licking its wounds and slowly healing, was not as beautiful as he remembered it to be. It wasn’t as magical. It wasn’t as enchanting. And not even the rays of the Summer sun could warm the cold part of his heart. It was as if the layer of eternal snow covering the ground also covered his heart. Because Sansa was not here with him.

Autumn

During the long Summer she had wondered if Winter would ever be coming again. Maybe there was no Winter without the Night King and his army. But Sansa recognised the change before anyone else even noticed that Summer was slowly fading and the rays of sunshine were slowly weakening and the days were slowly shortening.

He would have seen it. He would have known. He would have repeated her father’s words, the Stark promise. He would have known that not even the defeat of the Night King could erase something older than time and more true than anything else. Winter was coming. Winter was still coming.

Sansa used to wish as a child that Summer would never end, but now she was happy to see the leaves changing colour, to hear the howling wind circling around the castle and to feel the cold rain on her bright red hair.

Autumn was a promise, and not just about Winter coming, but about something else coming too, about someone else coming too. And the less bright the sun burned and the more flowers disappeared and hid in the cooling ground, the warmer her blood rushed through her veins and the stronger her heart beat in her chest.

Winter was coming. And just like Winter had driven the Night King and his army south, it would now force the Wildlings to come back and find shelter too. And Jon would be and come with them.

Winter

It hadn’t been this cold for a very long time and yet his entire body was glowing. There were barely enough blankets to keep the Northerners and the Wildlings warm and yet pearls of sweat rolled down his sweating body. Winter had come and with it snow and ice and shivering. But the Queen in the North and the King beyond the wall, the Wolves, were thriving like never before.

“Will it be like this for the rest of our lives?” Sansa used the soft tip of her finger to draw slow circles on the naked skin of his chest. “A lonely Spring, a meaningless Summer and an endless Autumn without you?”

“Maybe…” Jon wrapped his strong arms around her tender body and he pressed her as close to his chest as humanly possible. He told himself that it was to keep her and himself warm. He told himself that he could let her go when Winter was over again. And yet he knew that he was soothing himself with lies and untruths. “Winter has always been my favourite time anyway.” He kissed her temple and her cheek. He kissed the corners of her mouth and the sensitive spots in her neck.

A soft moan escaped her slightly parted lips and she buried her sharp nails in his back. “I always preferred Spring and Summer.” She whispered and the circling tip of her finger wandered over his chest, around his nipple and bellybutton and even lower. “But if I can only have you in my arms during Winter, I wish this Winter was eternal or would at least last until the last day of our lives.”

[photo-safaris-blog]

How To Plan A Safari To Africa?

There are a few key inquiries to, thoroughly consider when arranging your optimal safari occasion to Africa. The first is “The thing that would you truly like to do?” Not what you figure you should do, nor what your companions prescribe, however, the closest thing you can accomplish to your very own most out of this world fantasy of what you need from your African safari tours.

The considerations that need consideration

The other primary contemplations are your own prosperity, wellness, capacities and your accessible spending plan. Do you need Luxury, Deluxe or Budget-spending itinerary with reputed tour operators? Would you like to see the breathtaking hordes of the Serengeti and Masai Mara migrating wildebeests, zebras or mighty elephants of Chobe, Tarangire and Amboseli from a 4×4 game-review safari vehicle?

Would you like to take a gander at perfect wild or Grand River from a treehouse, a camp, the deck of a house-pontoon or a tourist balloon? Would you like to film, photo the Big Five in Tanzania’s NgorongoroCrateror South Africa’s Kruger NationalPark, or would you like to, just yet discerningly experience the dynamic, extraordinary environment of Botswana’s rich Okavango Delta or the UNESCO World Site Legacy wild of Lewa Conservancy in Laikipia cushioned around Mount Kenya.

Does your inclination reach out to chic voyages through Garden Route in the Eastern Cape or differing celebrations in Zanzibar or Cape Town? On the other hand, do you long to test yourself against the most testing territory on the planet? It can be from mountains and volcanoes like Kilimanjaro and OlDonyoLengai in northern Tanzania to burning the Namibian desert on the Skeleton Coast and scuba diving in the brilliant coral reefs of the Indian Ocean in Mafia, Pemba and Mombasa. Maybe your feeling of experience reaches out to bungee jumping at Victoria Falls in Zambia and Zimbabwe, whitewater boating on the Zambezi or even Uganda’s Nile, fly-camping along the Luangwa Stream in Zambia or Rufiji Waterway in Selous Tanzania finishing with trekking through challenging untamed woods overflowing with fire ants and vexes looking for imperiled Rwandan and Ugandan gorillas.

Vacation exercises of reputed tour operators can likewise stretch out to social or chronicled endeavors, which can be as enlightening as the ingrained instincts of a Kalahari bushman in Makgadikgadi, as moving as a Maasai wedding, function in the Mara. It can be as stunning as the fossil bones or impressions of ancient man in KoobiFora Turkana or Olduvai Crevasse or old cavern rock canvases in Botswana’s TsodiloHills, Matobo Hills and Diana’s Promise in Zimbabwe, and as tragic as remembrances of Rwandan destruction. You can even discover chances to chip in as an educator, a games coordinator, a specialist, a progressive, a humanist or an analyst at numerous goals in South Africa, Tanzania, Kenya, Malawi, Namibia or Zambia. You can do so on ventures as shifted as restoring panthers, checking birds, lion and rhino following undertakings, securing turtles and sharks and furthermore giving a hand to younger students living with their host families or orphanages.

Contingent upon the motivation behind your visit, your voyage through Africa can be will be determined by what you would like to see and experience A romantic honeymoon could be spent in Botswana, horse-riding in South Africa or at shoeless beach heaven by the Indian Ocean in Zanzibar, Mozambique, Seychelles, Maldives or Mauritius, or any combination of these destibations and that’s just the beginning. In the event that you are putting resources into an anniversary adventure, you should extend it to cover an assortment of goals and exercises during a similar wild outing. Whatever your fanciful idyll includes, reputed safari organizations have the skill and energy to make a consistent, bother free custom agenda to envelop any or the entirety of your most stunning travel dreams.

Where to Go On Safari In Africa 

There are three unmistakable and darling zones to visit on your safari getaway with reputed tour operators. Though a great part of the natural life can seem comparative, there are incredible contrasts in immaculate verses created unsettled areas, untamed life or guest fixations, climate, landscape, perspectives and openings. Major Southern African safari goals incorporate the Kruger and Sabi Sand, Etosha, Sossusvlei, Okavango Delta, Chobe, South Luangwa, Lower Zambezi, Victoria Falls, Hwange, Mana Pools, Matobo Hills and so forth. Botswana and Zimbabwe bolster enormous crowds of up to 80% of Southern Africa’s populace of more than 300,000 elephants and Kruger – Sabi Sand is the Central Hub for the Big Five in South Africa.

Kenya and Tanzania are prime untamed life safari gems in East Africa, enveloping Lake Victoria, moving savannahs, the incomparable African Rift Valley, the Swahili coast and islands of the Indian Ocean. Here you will discover Mount Kilimanjaro and Mount Kenya, the Ngorongoro Crater, the Serengeti Plains, Selous, Tarangire, Masai Mara, Amboseli and the incredible pools of Manyara and Nakuru as the essential visited biological system. The yearly wildebeest migration sees a huge number of ungulates conquering floods, flames and starvation in the quest for crisp grazing between Tanzania’s Serengeti in the south and Kenya’s Masai Mara in the north. Other corresponding and occasionally the less dealt goals incorporate Katavi, Selous, Ruaha, Mahale, Laikipia, Samburu’s Northern Wilderness, Chyulu Hills – Tsavo and that is only the tip of the iceberg.

Rwanda and Uganda are most popular for gorilla and primate tracking safaris in Volcanoes and Bwindi Parks as a major aspect of the more noteworthy East Africa just like the Virunga National Park in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, which is a piece of Central Africa

The various zones offer various styles and experiences of the African safari experience.

Botswana has low sightseers apportion with “glamping” or camping spectacularly in extravagance tented confined venues in huge, untainted wild regions: the objective here is to give fewer quantities of advanced visitors paying more to have liberated access to enormous private conservancies for continuous and undisturbed natural life viewing experience which yields a profoundly valid encounter away from the majority. It leaves the experience unscripted as the manner in which nature would have proposed it to be.

Zambia, the final most stunning Africa, will, in general, be supported as a prepared returning safari nation for repeat guests who like to appreciate the final wild with strong quantities of natural life and birdlife populace in unblemished biology. One can experience exceptionally outdoorsy rural conditions – not for the timid when an elephant scrounges its trunk over the outside washroom during the long stretch of the October heat. One can have the “pleasure” of having restricted water fill late-night bucket shower after a bush supper in a flame lit zone of tent’s sandy floor may show a crawl or development however drives the prepared Africa voyager to be unflinching by the happenings and esteem it as being in the bramble.

The natural life involvement with Southern Africa is less dense than in East Africa as the spearheading untamed life goals where there are frequently more sightseers obliged in progressively populated lodgings in littler zones, for example, the Ngorongoro highlands or Masai Mara. Yet for those like to experrience it properly, there are still increasingly crude, valid wild regions open on private conservancies and parks in Laikipia, Ruaha, Selous and Katavi.

To what extent To Go on an African Safari 

While ponderiung to what extent your safari will last, you have to think about how to get the ideal incentive from your excursion. As a rule, airfare to your destination in Africa costs when booked well ahead of time.

We suggest arranging the safari trip logistics effectively to abstain from backtracking to the first appearance point. Reputed tour operators can assist you with arranging and plot the logistics effectively. Obviously, on the off chance that you can bear the cost of an opportunity to visit a few parks in different nations, it is smarter to gather exercises in contiguous zones. For example, a visit to Victoria Falls in Zambia or Zimbabwe by the compelling Zambezi River combined with Chobe National Park and Okavango Delta in Botswana and completion with Kruger National Park in South Africa can amount to a superb safari!.

Make a northern circuit voyage through Tanzania with Tarangire, Lake Manyara, NgorongoroCrater and the Serengeti or essentially trail to Amboseli, Nakuru-Naivasha, Laikipia or Samburu and Masai Mara in mysterious Kenya can be well combined with  a trip to see the mountain gorillas in Bwindi in Uganda or Volcanoes National Park in Rwanda. On the other hand, differentiate a particular encounter of the Skeleton Coast of Namibia with an excursion to Sossusvleiending with exploring the wonderful Etosha National Park.

Consider doing a safari of 12 – 14 days. There is such a great amount to choose – from horse-riding, ballooning and white-water rafting to pro bird watching, photography, angling, scuba diving, hiking and trekking…

 It might be ideal to consolidate a thrilling encounter, for example, a wild safari in Sabi Sand in Kruger, with a restful voyage through South Africa’s Garden Route ending in Cape Town. Or end with a relaxing stay in Zanzibaer, after a safari in Kenya or Tanzania.

Photo Safaris will be pleased to recommend the best blend of goals for the traveling time that you have for a flawlessly great dream safari. Call 928.899.5917 to have a word with them and plan your trip to Africa after the pandemic of COVID 19.

[markscherz]

Blommersia transmarina

Boophis nauticus

As a result of their highly permeable skin, frogs are not exactly great at crossing oceans. A few species are able to reproduce in brackish water, but for the most part, salt water is a pretty strong barrier to frogs. Yet, curiously, there are a few islands across the world on which frogs do occur natively (and many many more that have subsequently been colonised by the likes of Eleutherodactylus coqui through the international plant trade). Volcanic islands in particular are fascinating cases, because they are typically very short-lived (think succession of the famous volcanic hot spots of the Galapagos and Hawaii). There are not a lot of examples of volcanic islands that have frogs on them, but each case that does exist may be a recent transoceanic dispersal, and an opportunity to learn a little more about how frogs do make such long-distance dispersals.

The frogs of Mayotte, an island belonging to France that sits between Madagascar and Mozambique in the Mozambique Channel, are one such example. The island of Mayotte is quite small at just 374 km2, and is the south-eastern most island in the Comoros Archipelago, consisting of four islands altogether. The two frog species present on the island, depicted above, were originally thought to be introduced species, but Vences et al. (2003) showed that they in fact represented undescribed species belonging to Madagascan genera, and were evidence for relatively recent trans-oceanic dispersal. They were members of the genus Boophis (tree frogs from Madagascar) and Blommersia (more terrestrial or bush-dwelling frogs).



Now, sixteen years after that initial revelation, the frogs of Mayotte have finally been named. Glaw et al. (2019) described them as Boophis nauticus and Blommersia transmarina, respectively, in the journal Science of Nature (formerly Naturwissenschaften).

These two frogs are the only members of the family Mantellidae—a group of more than 200 named frog species—not endemic to Madagascar. Both indeed fall clearly within Madagascan genera. This in itself is not so surprising; most of the Comoroan herpetofauna has a Madagascan origin, including its geckos, snakes, and skinks. Instead, two things make this stand out as particularly interesting: (1) these are frogs indisputably crossing several hundred kilometres of ocean, and (2) it is not one species that colonised the island and diversified, but instead two, unrelated frogs that independently undertook this journey. Mayotte is also the only island in the archipelago to have frogs on it, for which I am not aware of any clear explanation.

In April 2019, while I was sitting on the island of Nosy Be just off the northwest coast of Madagascar, Cyclone Kenneth brewed up to the north. This was to be the strongest cyclone to hit Mozambique since records began, and was exceptional also in hitting the north of that country. Its path led it past Madagascar’s northern tip and through the Comoros, on its way to make landfall on the east cost of Africa. As I sat in the bungalow, watching the waves beat at the shore and the rain lash the thatched roof over my head, it occurred to me that a storm like this one, maybe a little stronger, maybe reaching its zenith a little further east and passing a little closer to Madagascar’s northern tip, might easily blow vegetation bearing frogs and tadpoles out to sea, and drive them toward the Comoro archipelago.

Such a perfect storm would be extremely rare, and such an occurrence happening to send one or more frogs out to sea still less likely, but given the annual cyclone season, and a time-frame of millennia, even such improbable events tend toward inevitability. And so it seems to have been, for it does appear to have happened twice, from the same area of Madagascar to the same island. Glaw et al. (2019) argue that these two frogs in particular belonged to groups that are amongst the most likely to become swept out to sea and subsequently establish on a volcanic island—their closest relatives, Blommersia wittei and Boophis tephraeomystax + B. doulioti, occur at relatively low elevation, and in fairly arid habitats. The Madagascan Boophis species in particular amongst the most often seen by tourists, because they have a predilection for toilets and showers.

Blommersia wittei from Montagne d’Ambre

Boophis tephraeomystax from Montagne d’Ambre

Interestingly, while B. nauticus strongly resembles its closest Madagascan relatives, Bl. transmarina looks rather different from its mainland sister species, B. wittei, resembling rather some species of Gephyromantis. It is, for example, much larger than other Blommersia species and does not have the characteristically elongated snout. Glaw et al. (2019) discuss the possibility that this may be related to ‘a moderate form of island gigantism’. Whatever the cause, the differences among these frogs are quite stark.

Mayotte’s frogs give us first-hand support for the hypothesised origins of other island frog faunas. Despite being clearly young colonisation rates, one of the species has diverged so strongly from its mainland sister as to be hardly recognisable except by its mating habits. Understanding the events following such a change for frogs may help us understand the incredibly diverse frogs of Madagascar, which represent at least four non-human-mediated trans-oceanic dispersals.

References Vences, M., Vieites, D.R., Glaw, F., Brinkmann, H., Kosuch, J., Veith, M. & Meyer, A. (2003) Multiple overseas dispersal in amphibians. Proceedings of the Royal Society of London B, 270, 2435–2442. 10.1098/rspb.2003.2516

Glaw, F., Hawlitschek, O., Glaw, K. & Vences, M. (2019) Integrative evidence confirms new endemic island frogs and transmarine dispersal of amphibians between Madagascar and Mayotte (Comoros archipelago). The Science of Nature, 106, 19. 10.1007/s00114-019-1618-9

Frogs that set sail: Mayotte’s mantellids finally get names! As a result of their highly permeable skin, frogs are not exactly great at crossing oceans. A few species are able to reproduce in brackish water, but for the most part, salt water is a pretty strong barrier to frogs.

[galadrieljones]

that he may hold me by the hand: chapter 1

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason  

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes, Violence, and Sexual Content) 

Summary: After saving Albert from falling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph 

Chapter 1: Well, we are untamed.

It was a quiet evening, that night he ran into Arthur Morgan again out near Caliban’s Seat, just south of Valentine. Albert had been photographing eagles, or trying to, spouting off a real big game as he tripped off the ledge up there like a fucking fool. He should have died, showing off like that. Truth be told. But the outlaw—he rustled him back up the ledge, put him back on his feet, and dusted off his vest like nothing had happened at all. He was never flustered, this man, Arthur Morgan. He seemed untamed and yet quietly sewn around the edges. The seams were messy, but there they were, seams.

Reduced to a wilting version of his former self, Albert glanced over the ledge after his near-death experience. As usual, he placed himself in Mr. Morgan’s debt, charming with his song and show energy that had become, to him, second nature. Arthur was unconcerned with anything like debts. He just smiled. Albert looked up at the sky now where the sun was on its last legs in the west. He felt strange about leaving. The randomness had begun to stack up and was beginning to trigger inside of him some odd anxiety in which he wondered if he was ever going to see him again. “I’m—I’m sorry for all the trouble,” said Albert, straightening his hat, picking up his leather valise with the fraying handle. The tripod and the camera all gathered into his arms. He freed one hand, held it out for a shake. “Mr. Morgan. Perhaps—”

“I’m going into Valentine,” said Arthur. He shook Albert's hand, held it firm, then released him and lit a cigarette. He tipped his hat back a little so Albert could see his whole face. “I got a thing going with a buddy of mine. Told me to meet him at the auction yard, but that ain’t till morning. You wanna come, have a drink with me?”

Albert blinked. Sometimes he got hot, around the rim of his collar for no reason.

“It’s just an offer,” said Arthur, confident. He smoked. “I mean, if you’re headed that way.”

“Oh, right,” said Albert, shaking out his head a little, as if he had only just realized what he was being asked. “Yes,” he said. “You know, I haven’t made many friends here. The untamed country, it can be unforgiving, to say the least. Dreadfully lonely. A drink would be—it would be nice.”

“Good,” said Arthur, that half-smile. He tossed the cigarette, took Albert’s valise in a gentlemanly fashion, lashed it up on Albert’s horse then hopped up to the saddle of his own. “Come on. Get the rest of that stuff on your horse, and follow me.”

“Okay.”

A molten, muddy town, Valentine welcomed them. Its name alone was sweet, like an invitation. Though neither of them thought of that at the time. Life is sometimes full of feelings that we do not know we feel until we're already inside them, captives to our own ignorance.

“It’s kind of good,” said Arthur, taking a seat at a booth by the window, “meeting on purpose for once, don’t you think?”

“I do,” said Albert, sitting across from him. He still had his valise which seemed home to all of his earthly goods, but he had left the rest of it all outside on his horse, which they could see through the window. “I very much do. I've never been terribly charming, I'm afraid. I don't find myself forging many friendships.”

"You charm just fine," said Arthur, settling in. "And I wouldn't worry about forging too many friendships, Mr. Mason. In my experience, one or two will suffice."

Albert seemed to find this comforting.

Arthur set a toothpick between his teeth then, leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “So, where are you from anyway?”

Albert removed his hat, straightened up in the booth. “I am from Philadelphia.”

“Philadelphia,” said Arthur. “Well, that is a place I can safely say I have never been.”

“Oh, it’s nothing like this,” said Albert. “This wide open country. It’s very…constricted. There are walls on all sides it seems. Pressing in.”

“And you don’t like walls.”

“No, sir. Well, I mean, I am not opposed to walls. But in a more philosophical sense, no, I do not like walls.”

“Me neither,” said Arthur. He gestured for the bartender, snapped his fingers and was immediately catered to.

“What’ll it be?” shouted that bartender, wise to Arthur by now, shining up a glass behind the counter.

“A whiskey for me,” said Arthur. "Make it a double. And, uh—” He looked at Albert. “What do you want, Mr. Mason?”

“Uh, gin, perhaps?”

“And a gin. And do that one up nice, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Arthur returned his focus now, chewing that toothpick.

“What does that mean?” said Albert. “Do it up nice?”

“Ah, I just meant, you ain’t the rough sort, Mr. Mason. Straight-up don’t really seem like your style. He’ll put a little mint leaf in there for you. Maybe sweeten it up a bit.”

“Gin with mint and sugar?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“It sounds good,” said Albert, nodding. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They sat for a little while. There were conversations everywhere in the saloon, the smell of liquor like ribbons, wrapping all around and inside. Arthur had his hands folded on the table now, gazing out the window. A coach went by, pulling a whole load of timber. The man driving was holding a lantern that sort of dangled, and he was shouting for the horses to pull steady through the mud.

“Where are you from, Mr. Morgan?" said Albert.

This sort of yanked him back into the moment. He looked back at Albert who was a patient man. "Sorry?" said Arthur.

“Did I startle you? I just asked where you were from.”

“Oh,” said Arthur, a little clumsy feeling. “Apologies.”

“Don’t worry.”

“I think I was born somewhere in northern Nebraska,” said Arthur. “Whereabouts, at least. My ma and pa set out on the Oregon Trail when I was four or five? I ain’t got much memory of that.”

“The Oregon Trail?” said Albert. “Fascinating.”

“I’m sure it was, in some respects.”

“Albeit difficult, I surmise.” Albert removed his hat, set it on the booth beside him. “For your mother especially. I can't imagine that being an easy journey, particularly when you've got a small child. Is she still alive, your mother?”

Arthur shook his head. “No. She passed when I was nine years old. We was up in Oregon when she got sick.”

“Oh,” said Albert, softening, becoming almost transparent, like a ghost. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay,” said Arthur. “It’s a more or less typical thing to ask. And that's a long time ago. I was a kid.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose.”

The bartender came over then with their drinks. They toasted. “How is it?” said Arthur.

“Very good. Thank you, sir.”

“So where you living?” said Arthur, sipping his whiskey. “You must have a room, or a place around here somewhere.”

“Well, I’ve camped some.”

Arthur chuckled at this. “You? Camping?”

Albert laughed as well, canny to this particular predicament of heroics and protection and how it had become commonplace in the fabric of their friendship. He was not offended. “I’ll have you know, good sir, I’m not quite as hapless as I may seem,” he said. “Of course, I’m not you. That is well-established. I cannot live meaningfully off the land for any sustained period of time. I am far from a...piece of its beauty, if you will. But I do my best.”

Arthur gazed at him. A man started playing a little tune on the piano, and some of the saloon girls were singing along. “You’re not camping near no gator nests, I hope.”

Albert shook his head, amused. “No, no. Of course not. I have learned something these past months. But speaking of predators, I do have a room, down in St. Denis, over the high saloon there. They’ll rent by the week if they like you.”

“And they like you, Mr. Mason?”

“Well.” He blushed. “Apparently. Though I've no idea why.”

“Please.” Arthur took a long drink. “Why St. Denis?” he said. “I thought you said you didn’t like walls, in a philosophical sense.”

“I don’t,” said Albert. “That’s just where the train dropped me off. Tonight I suppose I’ll get a room here, in Valentine. I’ve stayed at the hotel once or twice.” He took some of his gin, tapped his fingers on the table. He had a little bit of sun burn on his face, Arthur noticed. Albert picked up his hat off the bench and set it on the table, as if to keep an eye on it, and then he wiped his forehead with a gold handkerchief from his pocket. “It sure is warm in here.”

“Little bit,” said Arthur.

“Where do you live, Mr. Morgan?”

“Please. Just call me Arthur.”

“Right,” said Albert. “Where do you live, Arthur?”

“All over,” said Arthur. “My gang—I travel with, a gang of sorts—we got a sort of big old camp, not far from here.”

“You live nearby?”

“For now.”

“I see,” said Albert, nodding. “You know, I’ve thought of you often, Arthur.” He looked up, a starry man. The way he talked sometimes, it was just like storytelling. “I’ve seen you enough times now, out in this wilderness. You live a life of your own inside my foolish memory. But there, you’re more a character than a man. So far, I mean. Though I expect that will change.”

“A character?”

“Yes,” said Albert. “Like a hero from the storied wilds of the west. Almost Byronic. Always seeming to be there right when the damsel is about to accidentally kill herself with her hubris.”

Arthur laughed at this. “Now, I've read Byron,” he said. "I think you're either flattering me or insulting me, Mr. Mason."

“It’s just Albert,” he said, smiling down into his drink. “Al, if you’re feeling cheeky. And I would never insult you. But don’t mind me. I grow sentimental with alcohol.”

“Good men always do in my experience,” said Arthur.

“Sometimes I miss the walls back home," said Albert, a little subdued. "Their absence, it makes me fearful. Like I’m falling forever, and there will be nothing there to catch me. I wish I weren't so sheltered. The uncertainty, it makes me babble.”

“You got a family?” said Arthur.

Albert shook his head. He finished his drink. Arthur snapped his fingers, silently beckoned the bartender for a refill.

“I never married,” said Albert. “Never had the time. Then again, I'm only thirty. My mother, she’s still alive. I suppose that's family enough. She writes me letters, telling me about her goings around the town. She’s a dreadful gossip. But a good woman. She may be moving to California soon.”

”California? Whereabouts?”

”Her brother lives in a cabin near Monterey, in a charming township called Carmel-by-the-Sea.”

”Carmel,” said Arthur. He had never been there, but he'd heard of it. It made him think of fishermen. “Yeah, I know that place.”

“She was always proud of me,” said Arthur. “My dear gossip of a mother. She helped put me through school, even after father died.” He nodded to himself. The bartender came by to refill his gin drink. “Thank you, sir,” Albert said.

“No problem,” said the bartender and went away.

“She sounds real nice,” said Arthur, smiling. He wasn't surprised by Albert's age. That seemed right. “It’s nice that she helped you.”

“I haven’t seen her in a couple of years,” said Albert, drinking. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you got a wife? A family?”

Arthur sighed, shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

Arthur laughed, mostly at himself. “Lord knows I’ve tried,” he said. “Believe me. I’ve had my share of chances.” He was turning a coin in his fingers now, from his pocket.

"Well, you can't be but what, thirty-five?"

Arthur studied him. "Pretty close."

"There's still time. If it's what you want."

Arthur found this amusing. “I do miss her sometimes. But let’s just say it ain’t worth the headache.”

“How come?”

“She’s—well, she’s a little like you.” He smiled. “I don’t mean the headache part. I mean that she’s above my station. Our inequalities manifested in any number of detestable ways, drove us apart. It wasn’t never gonna work. She’s too good for me. ”

“I’m not too good for you,” said Albert. “Don’t be silly, Arthur. And I’m sorry, that it didn’t work out.”

Arthur saw the ways his face flickered, an optimist. He smiled at Albert but he did not agree with his former claim. “Thank you.”

”Don’t mention it.”

“When will you be going back to Philadelphia?” he said.

“Not for several months, at least,” said Albert. “Truth be told, my timeline is a bit of a shit show. Pardon my language. I haven’t gotten nearly enough of what I came for.”

“Oh yeah? What are you still missing?”

“A great deal,” said Albert, seeming filled with resolve all of a sudden. Maybe it was the booze. “Perhaps you could help me. I’m on the search for black bear.”

“Black bear?” said Arthur. “I know a couple good spots for finding black bear.”

“Really?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well,” said Albert. “Perhaps we could meet again, sometime soon. Go…bear hunting, if you will. I don’t mean bear-shooting. No, of course not. I mean, unless they try to eat me. I just mean—well you know what I mean by now.”

Arthur smirked, just a little bit. “Yeah, I do.”

Albert straightened up with his elbows off the table, looking relieved. “Where are the black bear?" he said. "I thought I read in my atlas that west of Annesburg was a good spot.”

"Yeah, a good spot if you wanna get ambushed by hill people who'd fancy sucking your eyeballs out through a straw."

It was like being pitched straight off a cliff. Albert looked up from where he had been fussing with the buttons on his sleeve. "Good heavens. Hill people?"

"You stick with me, Mr. Mason," said Arthur, taking a long drink. "I'll get you some black bear, but considering your luck, I think we should avoid the Roanoke Valley."

"Whatever you say."

“Will you be heading back to St. Denis?” said Arthur.

“Tomorrow, yes,” Albert said. “I have a meeting there, with a gallery owner.”

“A gallery?” said Arthur, seriously. “They gonna show your photos?”

“I hope so,” said Albert.

“That’s wonderful.”

“Indeed. Though it's all very cut throat and unclear, and I haven’t got my hopes up.”

They finished up their drinks after that, listening to the piano. The bar was getting fuller, men standing shoulder to shoulder and the occasional woman, fanning herself at the bar. Neither Albert nor Arthur seemed very willing to drink any more.

“Well,” said Albert after a little while. “I suppose I should be going. The train out of here is very early in the morning.”

“Yeah, I should be going, too,” said Arthur.

"Will you head back to your camp, or...?"

"Maybe," said Arthur. "Or I might just set up shop in the hills till morning."

"You mean, sleep under the stars?"

"Sure."

"Well," said Albert. "I do envy you your casual relationship with nature. You know I always have."

"You're too kind to me," said Arthur, giving in a little. It was easy, which surprised him. Arthur thought it felt vaguely like looking in a mirror that could reflect another universe. He left the coin on the table for the bartender. Then he went up to settle whatever there was on his tab. Albert had put on his hat and was waiting for him at the door.

Outside, the night was cool. The sky was big and so clear you could see the whole galaxy up there, spread out like buckshot. The streets were quiet, but there was some bustle. Always men moving in and out of these parts, working girls smoking. One of the girls said hello to Arthur, as he had seen her around before. Her name was Violet, and she was young and this always triggered inside him a sense of failure. He wanted to save her, but he had tried that sort of thing before. It was an old complex for Arthur, and by now he knew a selfish endeavor.

Arthur took the reins on Albert’s horse and lead her along, walking Albert over to the hotel. He kept his hat off the whole time. Albert held his valise with one hand by his side. Arthur tied up the old girl and patted her once behind the ear. “What’s your horse’s name,” he said.

“Martha,” said Albert. "After my late grandmother."

“Martha,” said Arthur, smiling. “That’s a nice name.”

“I think so. What about your horse. She’s a real beauty. Is that an Arabian?”

“Yes, sir,” said Arthur, gazing back to where she was tied up at the saloon. “Wild. I broke her myself. Found her up near Lake Isabella."

"Boy, that's far."

"You're telling me. She was so averse to me at first, I basically lived up there for two weeks, trying to get her to like me. It was grueling, but it worked.”

“That’s remarkable,” said Albert. “What is her name?”

“Amelia.”

Albert smiled. “Amelia.”

“You gonna be able to stay out of trouble, Albert?” joked Arthur, walking him up the stairs. “I mean, till I see you next.”

“Of course,” said Albert. “Or, I’ll try.”

“That would be good.”

“When will I see you next?” said Albert.

Arthur thought on it. There was a whole lot of moon out that night, illuminating their eyes. They stopped just short of the door. The hour was late and there was no one else in earshot. “Well, for black bear, I'd take you out to Big Valley.”

"Big Valley, in West Elizabeth?"

"Yes, sir. Beautiful country out there. I think you'll really like it."

“All right,” said Albert, seeming giddy all of a sudden. “Perhaps we could meet in Strawberry, in two weeks? That should give me enough time to get back to St. Denis, get my affairs in order with the gallery, perhaps write my mother again. She’s a bit of worrier.”

“Sounds good,” said Arthur, nodding. He thought that Albert's mother probably ought to worry, given the wayward tendencies of her son. “Two weeks. You wanna meet me at the hotel there? It's a dry town, but you can bribe the proprietor. He's got a speakeasy in the back."

"You're kidding."

"No, sir. Meet me there, in the middle of the day. How’s noon?”

“Noon is perfect.”

“Good,” said Arthur. He opened the door so that Albert could step inside. “It’s been a pleasure, Albert Mason.”

“For me as well, Arthur Morgan. I’ll see you in two weeks. In Strawberry. On purpose this time.”

“Two weeks.” Arthur patted him on the shoulder, gave him a two-finger salute. Albert did the same. It was a bit of an awkward gesture for him but truth be told Albert's particular brand of awkward gestures were endearing to Arthur. That whole man made him feel warmer, like he'd been heated by one whole degree from the inside. It was a trifle confusing, but Arthur was somewhat used to confusion in those days.

He rode his horse out of town about five miles and decided to camp on the river, rather than head back to Horseshoe. He felt like loneliness. He caught a fish and panfried it and ate it with his fingers. He drank water, and he drank more whiskey. Then he took out his journal. He lit the torch from his saddlebag, let it sit there, attracting moths, reminding him of that stagecoach in Valentine, pushing through the mud, and the fine evening he had spent. He didn't write much, but he did sketch a little. He drew Albert Mason, holding his valise and wearing his hat, waiting by the saloon double-doors. He also drew a picture of a mint leaf, floating in gin. On the opposite page, he wrote, I shall die a fool.

Arthur fell asleep flat on his back on his bedroll, too tired and drunk to build a tent. The world had been kind to Albert Mason. That was one very important thing that Arthur learned that night. The world had been kind, and this imbued him with some bright confidence, despite what he might have had you think, and his overall bumbling demeanor. Talking to him was a cleansing experience. It made Arthur remember things. It made him feel things, remember that he could want things. It reminded him that he was still young, and life was strange and full of welcome confusions, like this one.

[politelyintheknow]

10 Best Things you can do in Skiathos (Greece)

Just from the Pelion Peninsula in the northwest Aegean, Skiathos is a concise island enveloped in the pine forest and with seashores to die for. Around the western and south coasts of Skiathos is a continuous string of postcard-worthy bays, interspersed with rocky promontories and supported by a guarded wooded landscape.

Skiathos has taken in younger masses within the last few years, gives many seashores a celebration vibe, but personal privacy isn’t difficult to find either. The island, which presented in the ABBA musical Mamma Mia!, is small enough which you can use an individual bus to bypass from Skiathos Town (Chora), with numbered bus halts positioned close to all the primary seashores.

Let’s explore the best things you can do in Skiathos:

1. Evangelistria Monastery

You can’t overstate the importance of this spot to Greek national identity. The Evangelistria Monastery was founded by several monks from Support Athos in 1794 and quickly became a haven for Greek insurgents within the last many years of Ottoman rule.

In 1807, freedom fighters including Theodoros Kolokotronis, Thymios Vlachavas, and Andreas Miaoulis gathered here to swear an Oath of Independence utilizing a prototype of the existing Greek nationwide flag, with a white cross on the sky blue background.

In the Katholikon (main church) are icons dating to the 1600s and 1700s, when you can also see the museum, which includes vestments, silver and manuscripts, and wooden crosses. But maybe most fascinating of most is the same loom used to weave the first Greek flag.

2. Kastro

In the 14th century, in the face of continuous pirate raids, the administrative center of Skiathos was relocated to the now-abandoned promontory at the northern tip of the island. Today there’s no easy way to attain this aspect as you’ll need a 4×4 for the dirt monitor through a character reserve, or even to catch a vessel from the harbor at Skiathos town, offering the wonderful beach under the promontory.

Following that it’s a hair-raising hike up to the castle, which has been restored. After Greek self-reliance from the Ottomans in the 1830s, the administrative center was moved back again to its current location. But upon this scenic rock and roll will be the remnants of the imposing gate and drawbridge, as well as roads and homes. There’s also a mosque and three churches on the webpage; the largest chapel, Agios Nikolaos is open up and well worth a look, as the mosque is shut to visitors.

you can also check Luxury Hotels in Skiathos Island

3. Skiathos Old Town

Give yourself a couple of hours to have a walking tour of the old town at the Chora, because there’s much to see. You can start at the Bourtzi Fortress, which was built by the Venetians with an islet on the east part of the harbor, and has photogenic vistas of the old slot from its pine-shade terraces.

The harbor’s waterfront is pretty also, with restaurants and cafes packed on the quays next to sparkling pure water. And there’s the maze of limited alleys and stairways in the old town.

They are laid with dark marble paving rocks and fronted by one-of-a-kind shops, galleries and a large selection of restaurants that have furniture under bougainvillea blooms. On Papadiamantis Road can be an outdoor movie theater, and its own most regular testing is Mamma Mia! of course.

4. Lalaria Beach

Only accessible from the water, Lalaria Beach can be visited while circumnavigating the island on a single tour that consumes the Kastro several kilometers to the western. The beach is a pleasure, contained by lofty impassable cliffs that have a natural arch and caves on the east side.

The top is pebbly so that it pays to bring swim shoes with you, and a headwear and water in bottles as there’s not a hint of the beach bar. The browse is moderate, and the waves churn the white sediment in the water to provide it a translucent shine in the sunlight.

Even with vessel plenty of sunbathers being dropped off every short while in summer, there’s enough space on Lalaria Beach for everybody.

5. Mandraki

In an all-natural reserve of low hills cloaked with stone and Aleppo pines, Mandraki can be an undeveloped extend of coastline with three beaches in bays on either side of the cape. They are Xerxes to the western, Elias to the center and the Agistri the tiniest to the east. The busiest is Elias, which is also the biggest, and like Xerxi has a beach pub where you can hire a sunlight lounger and parasol.

Elias also offers more private areas at the much ends, preferred by naturists. All three have fantastic sand, while Elias has a backdrop of low Xerxi and dunes are framed by cliffs. You can reach Mandraki by bus, moving away from stop 23 and walking through the aromatic pine forest.

6. Tsougria

The island of Tsougria is noticeable from the clock tower in Skiathos town is a short boat trip away. Leave early each day and you may move a carefree day idling on its four seashores or hiking in the island’s rocky ridge for a panorama of Skiathos and close by Skopelos.

Tsourgria is uninhabited however in the summertime there’s a pub open up at the beautiful general public beach on the northwest coastline. Unwinding here you can watch the motorboats shuttling back and to Skiathos Town forth, and have a drop in the light blue clear sea.

7. Koukounaries Beach

This kilometer-long sandy beach in a bay on the southwest coast is also in an all-natural park, but is a little more animated than the other beaches up to now and could be typically the most popular on the island. Koukounaries Beach is another interface of demand boat outings and will get occupied, which is okay if you want what to be a little more sociable.

You will find beach bars at intervals, playing music and hiring away sun loungers and glasses for €8 each day. In between is plenty of room for individuals who just want to lie on the sand under the pines. The beach gets the type of dazzling, shallow waters that are safe for nonswimmers and kids.

8. Agios Nikolaos Chapel and Timeclock Tower

At night you’ll see this monument in lights on growth above Chora’s old town. Waking up to the lookout isn’t easy but warrants the countless steps, so when you need to do make it to the very best you’ll have the most satisfactory panorama of the harbor, the white homes of the old town and the mountains inland to the western world.

People linger in the evenings to start to see the sun heading down behind these peaks. Both small cathedral and tower are small but photogenic places, while followers of Mamma Mia! may recognize this location from the movie.

9. Agia Eleni Beach

Walking distance from a lot more frequented Koukounaries Beach, Agia Eleni is a west-facing bay named for the close by a chapel. Traveling on the bus from Chora you can log off at stop 25. Agia Eleni is heavenly sandy bay with the most common rows or sunlight loungers, but also colorful smooth couches, all served with a quirky beach club.

If you get bored of laying on the beach you can lease a canoe, or embark on a walk to see what you will get beyond either end. Towards the north is a cape with a great view of the mainland, and on the south aspect, the coastline gets rockier, with caves on the waterline.

10. Troulos Beach

Within the south coast near a bus stop, 18 can be an enticing sandy bay significantly less than ten kilometers from Skiathos Town. The fine sand at Troulos could be the softest on the island, and the beach gets the personal mild slope and superior drinking water that everybody loves.

And being on the southern coastline the beach is completely protected from the Meltemi north blowing wind that blows in the summer season. A couple of hundred meters just offshore is the dome-shaped islet of Troulonisi, a destination for paddle-boarders and kayakers when the ocean is quite enough.

There’s also banana boating if you want a hurry, or you can simply take it easy under a hand sunshade.

[lovelygishi-blog]

New Post has been published on https://lovelygishi.com/trip-to-mexico-from-big-bend-national-park/

Trip to Mexico from Big Bend National Park

Boquillas del Carmen, known simply as Boquillas [boo-key-us], is a village in northern Mexico, west of the northern part of the Sierra del Carmen mountain range, and at the south-west end of the Rio Grande’s Boquillas Canyon on the southeastern part of Big Bend National Park.

How does this village thrive? How is it like in Boquillas? Join along our journey to this tiny village as we enjoy our visit, delight in the boat rides across the Rio, truck/burro rides to the village, meeting friendly people, good music, and especially great food!

Boquillas del Carmen, Mexico Population: ~200.

Day 1.

Our main trip of the day was to Mexico. We planned on crossing the border around noon just in time for a Mexican lunch. Link had a special request: margarita and tequila. We haven’t done this or maybe it’s the only time we get to do this, so I gave him what he wanted; no harm done.

We drove to Boquillas Crossing and went through Border Patrol/Port of Entry Building, where the ranger gave us brief instructions with some safety tips and of what items are allowed or not to bring back to the United States from Mexico, as some items are considered contraband, and you don’t want to be involved in it. To return to the United States, you need your passport. Boquillas Crossing is administered by the National Park Service.

We exited the building through the door on the left that leads to a trail along the Rio Grande river. Just outside the door, a big fan was running, which was great relief from extreme heat, especially for those who would come back from Mexico before entering the building. Have you ever positioned yourself such that fans blow cold air right on you as you stay put? Maybe it was the inner child pushed by extreme heat, but I found myself doing just that 🙂

The trail is only about 700’ from the Border Patrol Building. In no time we reached the dock where we would cross Mexico from, either by row boat ride ($5 each, round trip), or by crossing the river on foot or swim (if you dare), depending on the water level (free).

For the experience, we rode on the international ferry, a little metal rowboat, for about a minute ride to another country, on the other side of the river which was now in Mexico. On this side, a lot of Mexicans were waiting in groups. The group of donkey/burro owners under their own shed with their animals for transportation, a group of truck drivers sharing the small shed with the boat people. By this time, it was scorching hot. But we brought plenty of water with us.

Boquillas del Carmen village is about a mile away from the river and you have the option of hiking it (free), riding the burro ($5 RT), or riding on rugged and time-tested trucks ($5 each, round-trip).

Because of the extreme desert heat, we rode the truck. The driver was Carmelo, and a rep or guide accompanied us to the village. Carmelo dropped us off, and the rep led us to the town admin/customs to check in and pay $5 each. Carmelo and his friend both carried walkie-talkie to communicate with for when their passengers were ready to leave the village.

Boquillas del Carmen is a 2-restaurant town. Carmelo’s recommended restaurant was the Boquillas restaurant. The rep’s recommendation for best place to have lunch was the Jose Falcon restaurant.

We went to Falcon Restaurant since the rep was with us. The restaurant featured a live singer plucking and strumming his guitar singing Mexican music exactly the same as some Filipino songs, only in different language. Good nostalgic music. Perfect for an afternoon siesta. We were in a ‘hall’ with one side open facing the river with an overlook of the Boquillas Canyon and the Rio Grande river.

Boquillas del Carmen is in the tip of Mexico. The nearest Mexican town is about 200 miles away. It is on this far town that they get their supplies, including the restaurant supplies. Before 9/11, they could just cross the river and buy supplies at the Big Bend Park grocery store in Rio Grande Village. But after then, the entry on this corridor was closed. The village was fatally affected. The border re-opened in April 2013, and the village thrived again. Boquillas has no air conditioning amidst the desert heat, but they got ice in restaurants for the thirsty customers.

So, Link’s margarita was on the rocks, like chunks of cylindrical transparent ice. The food was good, we were full and satisfied. The waiter was fun and friendly. After our lunch, the rep/guide, who understandably works on tip, walked with us around the village to see the houses which were painted in different bright colors for contrast from their desert surroundings. It is vastly a different ‘world’ from its closest neighbor.

Little Mexican children met us to sell their handicrafts. There’s really not much to see except some ruins and the display of their crafts for sale. We saw the walking stick for $10 apiece. They lowered it to $8, but we passed. At this moment, we completely forgot about contraband things.

By the river where the Mexican men make transportation business, there was a curious cute dog covered in dry mud. Life here was so simple but somehow it was heart-wrenching.

The truck driver offered to drive us, for free, to a hot spring on the Mexico side which was supposed to be bigger than the one on the USA side. We accepted the offer, but later we decided against it and crossed back over to USA.

Including the tip to the guitar man, we spent about $60 in Mexico for this trip. Boquillas del Carmen is a town that is totally dependent on tourism to support its less than 300 people. Though Mexican Peso is the currency of the country, Boquillas accept US Dollars no problem, and cash is king.

Upon returning, we scanned our passports on the machine. On my screen, I was instructed to pick up the handset and was told by the immigration officer to face the camera so he could see my face clearly. So apparently, even though the check in kiosk is computerized, an immigration officer over at El Paso, TX is monitoring the border crossing very closely, yet remotely. They are doing a great job!

The Port of Entry building closes early. Should you miss the ‘last call’, there is also a hotel in Boquillas del Carmen to spend the night in.

Couple crossing the river on foot from US to Mexico. Saved $5

Despite the heat, we had a great time, were feeling accomplished, full, and happy! I would recommend this short trip. Overall, it was a great experience meeting friendly people and setting foot in a place that is vastly different from its neighbor that was just across the river, a stone’s throw away.

[legendary-defender-of-fandoms]

Avatar Hunk AU Sneak Peek

So, I wanted to have a few Avatar Hunk stories ready for @hunk-appreciation-week , but I bit off more than I could chew & don’t have any of them done. To compensate, I thought I would share some backstory, Headcanon, story ideas, and other stuff that I want to put in my Avatar Hunk AU.

Part 1 - The Premise

Before I get too far, I need to give credit where credit is due. @avatarpabu97 was the one who originated the idea of Hunk being the new Avatar. I thought it was cute at first, but the more they shared about their Headcanon & the more I thought about it, the more I realized how it was a fantastic idea. It fit with the cycle of the preceding Avatar shows, it gave our favorite sunshine boi a chance to shine, and it could lead to some awesome stories that combine the best of Voltron AND Avatar! @avatarpabu97 had a lot of cool ideas for what kind of Bender everyone would be and who would be where, and our ideas might overlap in some spots. But I had a few ideas of my own for how the Voltron folks would fit in the Avatar universe.

Anyway, the Premise. For my Avatar Hunk AU, it would be set in the world of Avatar about 70-80 years after the events of Legend of Korra. The tech levels would be more advanced than what we have (given their access to Spirit Energy, Bending, etc.), but not quite on, say, Star Trek levels. Korra has died (of old age, or at least peacefully in her home), and the world has started to look for the new Avatar. But given the technological advancements made since Korra’s time, this is seen as more of a side quest by the general public. The White Lotus & the New Air Nation dispatch a few teams, and some ambitious mover producers decide to create game shows to find the new Avatar, but for the rest of the world, life moves on. A new research and development corporation, Galra Tech, starts to make serious advances in harnessing Spirit Energy. The CEO, Zarkon Daibazaal, is a suave businessman who started his company to help people. But having all this power at his disposal leads to corruption, and the chief scientist for his company - his wife, Honerva - has been performing more and more unsettling experiments. They may have plans to invade the Spirit World to reap untold power, conquer the world, yadda yadda yadda. So the Avatar will be needed once more to prevent the exploitation of the Spirit World, another Spirits vs Humans war, and possibly the destruction of the planet? Haven’t planned that far yet.

Part 2 - The Characters

Hunk - Born and raised in Zhao Fu, Tsuyoshi Hershel Seidou Garrett is the only son of Tsuyoshi Garrett, an Earthbender (and a distant descendant of Haru from the original series), and Lisa Seidou, whose family immigrated from the Northern Water Tribe after the Earth Empire dissolved. His nickname was a misnomer, since he was a very small baby, but he quickly grew into it. His parents always knew their child was special (Spirits used to gravitate towards him when he was a baby, he took to Earthbending like a turtle duck to water when he was five, he started Metalbending & helping his father in the family Satomobile shop when he was ten, and he’s always been the sort to end disputes & help those in need), but they wanted Hunk to discover his destiny on his own, let him decide if he should let the world know he is the Avatar. Hunk earns an academic scholarship to the Hiroshi Sato School of Technology & Exploration at Republic City University, where he meets a colorful group of friends & discovers the dangers of Galra Tech’s Spirit Energy experiments. When Hunk starts to realize he’s the Avatar, he’s not sure what to think. I mean, the Avatar is supposed to save the world every other week, isn’t he? And the Avatar’s always been some confident badass who can take out armies by themselves & never backs down from a fight. Hunk wants to help however he can, but he’s not sure he has what it takes to be the Avatar. Until he realizes just how much is on the line, in which case Hunk decides it doesn’t matter if the Spirits made a mistake or if someone else should be the Avatar. He has the ability to help others, and he’ll do whatever he can to save the people he loves.

Gyrgan - Hunk’s animal companion, an Armadillo Lion. Hunk saved him from poachers when he was a cub, and the two have been inseparable ever since. Gyrgan is slow to trust new people, but once he has accepted someone in his life he becomes a giant lap kitty. Threatening those he loves, however, can lead to a death more terrifying than failing an Altean linguistics class. Hunk has taught him proper manners, so he’s not a menace & is permitted to be boarded at RCU. Much like Naga and Appa, he’s huge & can be ridden by Hunk, but typically won’t let others ride.

Lance McClain - A Waterbending mischief maker from Whale Tail Island, Lance and his family move to Zhao Fu when Lance is 12 years old. The two instantly bond over their love of “Nuktuk, Hero of the South” (who, much like Captain America and Wonder Woman, has evolved past his propaganda origins into a pop culture hero with multiple reboots, spinoffs, and Saturday morning cartoons). Lance isn’t quite the scholar Hunk is, but he does manage to get into RCU on a Probending scholarship & is excited to go to his sister Veronica’s alma mater. Until he finds a certain big-eyed mullet boy is on his Probending team & in his classes (not sure how far the Klance stuff is going to go, because I have little writing experience & even less experience with LGBT+ rep. But I want it to keep true to the 30+ years of Klance sexual tension that dates back to GoLion.) Still, when the world starts to fall apart, Lance won’t be left out of the action. (Might also make Lance a descendant of Sokka and Suki, but not sure how to work that into the story)

Katie “Pidge” Holt - The daughter of the head of the Technology department at RCU, Pidge is a child prodigy when it comes to computers. She manages to skip a few grades & get into the Hiroshi Sato School of Technology at the age of 15. Pidge has a pet Owl Cat named Rover who becomes instant besties with Gyrgan. Pidge’s mother was the daughter of Air Acolytes, and Pidge is a skilled Airbender. However, Pidge doesn’t really connect well with others. Until she gets to Computer Algorhithms class and meets Hunk, the first person close to her age who not only understands her techno jargon, but contributes with his own tech knowledge instead of scoffing & calling her a nerd or teacher’s kid. She’s not so sure about his buddy/roommate Lance, but he kind of grows on her & they eventually bond over their love of Space Sword video games. Pidge’s brother Matt was interning at Galra Tech when their experiments in the Spirit World started to spiral out of control, and Pidge will do whatever it takes to bring him home. Even if it means fighting the entirety of the Spirit World.

Keith Kogane - You know how Mako & Bolin had it rough, growing up on the streets after their parents were killed by a Firebender? Now imagine if either one had to do it alone & never knew what happened to their mother because she took off when they were babies. After Keith’s father is killed in a freak industrial accident, the young Firebender falls in with the Blade of Marmora Triad. He’s caught during a raid by Detective Takashi Shirogane and his partner Ulaz, a former Blade, but instead of putting him juvenile detention Shiro decides to give the kid a shot at a new life (maybe he shows mercy to someone the Blades ordered him to kill, or he has impressive Firebending skills, or Shiro’s a sucker for mullets). Keith starts channeling his aggression into Probending, playing against a certain hotshot from Whale Tail Island over the years, and he eventually gets into the Lin Beifong School of Criminal Justice at RCU. He’s less than thrilled to be on the school’s Probending team with Lance, and after Shiro disappears Keith considers dropping out. But when Shiro reappears (backstory below), Keith will put aside his petty rivalry with Lance and help Shiro with taking down Galra Tech once and for all.

Takashi “Shiro” Shirogane - A skilled Metalbender & brilliant detective, Shiro is everything Hunk thinks an Avatar should be. Intuitive, compassionate, a great leader, skilled in a fight - is there any chance Raava can pick this guy to save the world? But one night, Shiro & his partner Ulaz (not sure if they’re just platonic partners or if they’re also partner-partners, also not sure where Adam & Curtis will come in if they exist at all) are sneaking through a Galra Tech laboratory after receiving anonymous tips that Honerva was capturing Spirits to experiment on, an explosion destroys the building. Shiro loses his partner, his arm, and six months of his life (which Honerva May or May not be responsible for). When he finally returns to his Republic City apartment, he’s visibly distraught by the lost time & a vague memory of something horrible coming. Pidge & Hunk work together to make Shiro a prosthetic he controls with Metalbending, at which point Shiro realizes Hunk is the Avatar & warns him about the Spiritpocalypse. Hunk isn’t sure what Shiro expects him to do about it, and Shiro promises to stand by his side in the coming war to defend humanity & avenge Ulaz.

Allura & Coran will also be part of the story, but I haven’t quite figured out their motivations or backstories yet. Allura will be a powerful Healer from the Northern Water Tribe (not sure if she’ll be a Princess or the daughter of Alfor of Altea Industries, a company that was bought out by Galra Tech through shady deals, corporate espionage, and some old friend backstabbing), and Coran will be Varrick’s grandson & heir to Varrick Industries.

Part 3 - The Stories

I’ve only got a couple of plots right now, but more are coming.

1) A New Beginning - this will be a prologue for the series, confirming the death of Avatar Korra & introducing everyone to baby Hunk. We’ll also get to see Tsuyoshi, Lisa, and a bit of their extended family. Expect maximum cuteness. This is the only story I’ve started so far, and I have it all figured out in my head. I just need to transcribe it.

2) The Boy and the Armadillo Lion - this will be how Hunk meets Gyrgan & when he starts to suspect he might be the Avatar. There will be some tough stuff in here regarding poaching, but most of the animal torture will be implied. One of those “this guy needs to be returned to his mother/oh, don’t worry, he’ll be with his mother soon enough” situations. We’ll see “a boy and his future pet” bonding similar to Hiccup & Toothless, lots of fighting & chasing, and Baby’s First Avatar State. Also debating if I want Old Man Meelo to make a cameo. I love the idea of Meelo deciding to be a hermit in the Swamp because the Avatar’s going to need a cooky wise old mentor in the swamp, but it may raise too many questions if he watches Hunk fight off the poachers without doing anything to help. Maybe Hunk will ride through the Swamp on his way to RCU while wrestling with his insecurities about being the Avatar, and after fighting a few Swamp Hallucinations in the form of past Korra baddies Meelo will pop out of nowhere like Rafiki saying something like “You forgot to be the leaf!”

3) A series of vignettes about young Hunk developing his Bending skills. Earthbending sand castles with his dad, figuring out Metalbending while watching him work on his uncle’s racing Satomobile (oh, he has an Uncle Filo who races Satomobiles professionally), thinking he’s using Lavabending to weld a broken pipe (but Tsuyoshi realizes it’s Firebending), healing his friend Lance when he gets scraped up after trying to pull off a Nuktuk dive while their families vacation at Lake Laogai (which, without the Dai Lee hideout, is a fairly popular vacation spot), that sort of thing.