#view toward grand traverse bay

[roseoptics]

Detroit Stone Large trendy gray two-story stone exterior home photo with a hip roof

[antiquatedsimmer]

Eddy and Daniel found themselves comfortably seated on the Harrington couch, the warm glow of the fireplace casting a flickering light across the room. They were eager to discuss their latest venture, their faces reflecting a mix of anticipation and pride.

Daniel's eyes gleamed with excitement as he declared, "Eddy, my dear friend, it is nigh complete!" His hands shot up in the air, emphasizing his enthusiasm and drawing Eddy's undivided attention. With Eddy's curiosity piqued he responded "Is that so?"

Daniel took a swift draw from his cigar, relishing the flavor of the tobacco. "Indeed, my good friend, after months of toil and perseverance, our railway project is edging towards its culmination. The tracks we've laid extend all the way to Brindleton Bay, and presently, our sights are set on linking them together, thus broadening the scope of trade within this very region."

With a puff of smoke from his cigar, Daniel's voice trailed off as he enumerated the array of destinations. "Moonwood, Newcrest, Britechester, Granite Falls..."

Eddy watched Daniel proudly boasting, a familiar sight whenever they met. While Eddy genuinely shared in his friend's accomplishments, he couldn't quite fathom the same level of enthusiasm. In fact, he carried reservations about the repercussions this progress would bring upon their community.

Eddy let his shoulders loosen, his voice tinged with concern as he shared his thoughts. "I'm truly happy for ya, Daniel. You've worked hard, and it shows. But ain't ya concerned 'bout what this'll mean for our community? I fear it might just be a mighty waste of resources. Henford is a vast place with its own small communities, and I doubt folks would flock here for a visit. And even if they did, I can't say I'm fond of the notion of our towns gettin' too crowded. I've always been more at home in the open countryside, not amidst the bustle of a city."

Daniel shook his head, unable to grasp Eddy's perspective. "Edward, I daresay you have difficulty envisioning the transformative potential of this system in dismantling the barriers that confine communities like Finchwick to their small homes. It extends beyond the realm of international trade; it facilitates familial connections, enabling loved ones to traverse distances with greater ease and efficiency."

"No more sluggish steeds dragging wheezing carriages, my good Edward. Picture this: you step onto a grand locomotive, its iron muscles ready to propel you towards your destination. In just a matter of days, you'll find yourself comfortably reunited with your Family, traversing the miles that separate you, all for a mere $2. Remember the joy Brindleton brought you? Well, now's your chance to relive those moments!

Eddy's gaze grew distant as he fell into a moment of contemplation, his mind drifting back to the days of yore, to the cherished memories of his childhood home in Brindleton. Images of the sturdy lighthouse and the rolling waves where he once cast his fishing line danced before his eyes. Yet, as those nostalgic thoughts enveloped him, a bittersweet tide swept over his heart, carrying with it the painful weight of loss, a reminder of what had slipped through his fingers like sand.

"Nah… I reckon not," Eddy responded, his voice carrying a hint of reluctance. "I got too much on my plate right here. And young Silas, bless his heart, he's takin' care of the farm just fine. I reckon it's high time I start puttin' my mind to it and plan another house on this land, so when the boy finds his own love, he'll have a place to call his own."

Daniel reclined in his seat, accepting Eddy's stance with a nod. A brief silence lingered, carrying the weight of their divergent perspectives. While Daniel and Eddy seldom engaged in heated disputes, their contrasting views often clashed. Daniel, an optimist, saw the emergence of industrialization as a beacon of hope, while Eddy approached it cautiously, aware of its potential pitfalls.

"Indeed, I shall put it to good use," Daniel affirmed. "As Jackson matures, I am making preparations for him to engage in on-site employment in Britechester. The cost of transportation by rail is considerably lower than hiring a stagecoach, and it diminishes the likelihood of any untoward incidents, such as robbery, during the journey."

Lost in his thoughts, Eddy gazed briefly out the window. The world appeared so different from his childhood days, evolving with every passing year through technological advancements. It filled him with a sense of unease. Everything he had known since his boyhood seemed to be changing rapidly.

"Indeed, there shall be a magnificent unveiling this coming Saturday, and it would be a pleasure to have you and your family in attendance," Daniel proudly announced.

As Eddy absorbed Daniel's words, his mind wandered, his gaze fixated on the world beyond the window. The landscape before him seemed foreign, transformed by the relentless march of progress and technological marvels. It stirred a disquiet within him, a sense of unease as he witnessed the familiar giving way to the unfamiliar. Everything he had held dear since his boyhood days appeared to be changing at an alarming pace.

"Of course, we shall gladly witness your remarkable achievements, my friend," Eddy responded, his voice trailing off, his thoughts lost in the whirlwind of uncertainties.

[tandrew]

January 2023 - Hellfire Bay to Le Grand Beach, Cape Le Grand National Park, Esperance, Western Australia

The last hike was rough since I was overconfident in my ability to hike without drinking much water. As I started feeling dehydrated, almost right on cue, clouds rolled in and gave us the relief we needed since it was super hot and we were pretty much exposed to the sun the entire time. I didn’t think to fill up my water bottle so I only had half a bottle to begin with. Lesson learned!

We started off with a jog on the beach at Hellfire Bay. When we got to the start of the trail over to Le Grand Beach, it was a very steep climb up and thinking about coming back down was unsettling since one wrong step and I’m sliding all the way down. It seemed steeper than Frenchman Peak but beautiful view of Hellfire Bay! Luckily the rain held out until we got back to Hellfire Bay otherwise those rocks would have been super sketchy to traverse down!

The hike towards Le Grand beach wasn’t as scenic as the hikes earlier in the day and it was also pretty challenging since we had to hike an an angle in many spots so it was rough on the ankles, it was not well marked at some spots so we had to find the cairns, and I was struggling with dehydration so didn’t take so many pictures in between lol. Also Susanna Tan and I had some great very deep conversations too. We found a nice spot on the rocks to enjoy our sandwiches and heineken zeros!

When we got back to Hellfire Bay, we cooled off in the water for a few minutes just before it started to rain and I also realized that someone mentioned the squeaky sand which I finally noticed haha. But the timing worked since we got back to the car just as it started to rain harder.

It was a longer 7.5 mile (12.15 kilometer) round trip hike with 1,095.8 feet (334 meter) elevation gain so it was the most strenuous hike of the 3, but a solid hike to end a solid day. We drove down to the end of the at Rossitier Bay which wasn’t really much to see and stopped by Lucky Bay again to see if maybe the Kangaroos might be out since it was around sunset but no luck. So we called it a day and headed over to Lucky Bay Brewing to end the night!

For the full experience (no login required if viewed on a web browser - just click the links!):

Public Facebook reel: https://www.facebook.com/reel/229447086558246

Public Instagram reel: https://www.instagram.com/reel/CuAqvMpgMGr/

[bobbinonthetundra]

The Wild Wild West

We’ve got the groove down.  When on a road trip complete with two kichens (Seb’s tote and Jillebob’s tote of non-clothing/non-toiletry items), a Nespresso maker, and cooler, in addition to normal luggage, getting in and out of hotel rooms is a bigger than normal deal. But we’ve got loading/unloading the car and getting stuff in and back out of the room down to a science!

The view from our hotel was lovely this morning, with a few squalls over the Little Traverse Bay and a double rainbow as we drove away!

We started the day in downtown Petoskey.  What a lovely town.  In a town full of beautiful, up-scale shops and restaurants, only one (count it one) with a recognizable chain store name (that will not be repeated).  How fabulous to be in a place that is not just a cookie cutter of the next…!  We wandered around and are likely lucky that most places opened only as we were leaving town – too many temptations here!  Sunday breakfast was at the Roast and Toast, seated in the sole outside table. (happy to play it safe as we look toward our pre-Canada admittance COVID tests.)  Yummy veggie/egg wrap for Seb and a breakfast pita for Jillebob.

Our first destination heading out of town was the Tunnel of Trees – a scenic route around the northwest coast of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula.  This did not disappoint.  Spectacular views across Lake Michigan back toward Petoskey and Charlevoix, and then into the wild blue of what looks like an ocean.  The foliage colors seemed a little better than the day before (yay) and it was so fun to check out the spectacular homes along the coast interspersed with compact, vintage homes.  We hit a one-store town, Good Hart, that actually had three stores, and featured a little outdoor market.  Yes, the market was cute but the highlight was the fresh (still warm) cookies from the general store – one salted peanut butter chocolate chip and one maple snickerdoodle.  Ok, so no one ever accused either of us of not liking sweets.

Toward the end of the spectacular coast road, we headed toward Mackinaw City, where the ferry leaves for Mackinac Island.  Alas, we missed one ferry by about two minutes.  But that allowed us time to head over to the one busy place in the off-season desolation of the ferry dock – The Rusted Spoke Brewing Company.  Jill’s selection: “Chin Diaper,” an American IPA brewed in Mackinaw City; Sarah’s choice: grapefruit ale.  Omg, yummy!!!

Fun ferry ride and we landed on the island.  It’s lovely, charming, no cars, horse-drawn carriages, beautiful views, and the icon of the Grand Hotel on the hill.  Hard to say anything bad about it, but it was a bit touristy and closing down for the season.  Sarah’s choice would be to return to Petoskey rather than to Makinac Island.  Jill?   Maybe a stay at the Grand Hotel in the future….

Back on the ferry, we high-tailed it toward, Marquette.  Yay. We made it to the Upper Peninsula (UP)!!  Some beautiful scenery, including our third Great Lake of the trip, Superior.

What a wonderful day, and what a beautiful part of the country. Michigan came through.

No dinner out tonight.  Our nibbles are just right in the hotel room, with a movie on TV and a glass of wine from one of our mobile kitchens.  Ready for the next installment tomorrow

And as a p.s. to yesterday’s post, Sarah wants everyone to know that Jill’s warrior posture yesterday with Hotels.com has gotten us a free hotel room on the way home after the polar bear extravaganza!! Hurrah.

October 24, 2021

[threadsketchier]

ere dawn’s light

To get October kicked off, I’m posting a wee thing I wroted @azalea-scroggs about a month ago.  Just a filler scene for the time Luke spends between his conversation with Vader and being taken up to the Death Star in ROTJ.

The lift door slid shut, cutting off his view of Vader, and Luke let his eyes fall closed in turn, sealing him away from the car and the stormtroopers flanking him.  He hadn't held high expectations of their next face-to-face meeting since Bespin, but the disappointment and frustration still gnawed at his resolve.

They were moving upwards, and a pang of mortal panic seized him as Leia’s words rang through his head.  Luke, run away!  Far away!  This was his last slim hope of escape.  Only two troops escorted him now; he could in theory overpower them with cunning, fight his way out of the turbolift as soon as it stopped, even leap off the landing platform if he had to and let the Force break his fall, dashing away to become just another shadow in the night-cloaked forest, fleeing both his enemies and allies…

The car stopped with a soft clunk, and Luke pried his eyes open and released the breath he’d been holding.  No, he’d made his choice.  No more running and delaying.  His last words to Vader held more bite than the half-hearted protests and declarations he’d received for his pleas.  He wasn’t truly giving up on his father.  The darkness consuming Anakin’s soul was proving difficult to penetrate, but it wasn’t impervious.  The man who met him on this walkway tonight was defeated, a far cry from the savage wraith who’d terrorized and besieged him in Cloud City.  His heart - whatever was left of it - wasn’t in the act, even as he went through the motions.

A lone Lambda shuttle, exactly like the one he and the strike team had arrived with on the moon, occupied the landing platform, open and awaiting.  The two stormtroopers marched him toward it, and four more exited the shuttle to meet them as they approached.  Luke’s mouth stretched in a subtle grim tic they were unlikely to notice.  Definitely no escape attempts now anyway, especially without his lightsaber.

He’d been expecting more rough treatment since being frisked upon his surrender, but to his mild surprise and unease the troops merely gestured for him to take a seat once they led him into the passenger hold.  So sit he did, rather stiffly, waiting for additional restraint that never came.  And then he realized: Vader had to have hand-selected these troops, who were wise enough not to stir a hair on his head unless they were commanded to do so.

If he’d been taken directly to transport, they must be leaving immediately.  Luke took several more slow, deep breaths to try to calm himself inwardly as much he appeared outwardly.  The Emperor both mattered and didn’t.  He was the galaxy’s oppressor, but more intimately, he was his father’s oppressor.  The Alliance was on its way to take care of the former.  His focus was on the latter.

Minutes crawled by without a sign of any change.  Luke recalled Vader’s orders to search the area and his stomach twisted.  Perhaps this would postpone takeoff.  Somehow he doubted this time that Vader was as invested in finding them, but he was still fiercely glad his friends were hidden within the Ewok village for now.  He didn’t need them being harmed and held as bargaining chips again; the very thought wearied his spirit.

A trace of pride kept his spine ramrod straight in the seat to the point of discomfort, and his mind was too fraught in turmoil for him to use the Force for something as trivial as detaching from his bodily sensations.  After what felt like a very long while Luke allowed himself to slump forward slightly with a faint sigh, cuffed hands shifting forward to rest on his knees.

“Impatient to meet your death, Skywalker?” one of the troops nearest to him remarked snidely.

Something about the startling irreverence of that question made Luke feel that he could relax rather than adding to the tension.  After everything he’d been through and was burdened with, dying was the least of his concerns.  Looking unfazed and affecting an air of disinterest, Luke tilted his head upwards to reply, “A little, yes, actually.  I’ve been waiting for four years now.”

A thin crackle that could have been anything from a snort to a click of the tongue issued from the helmet’s comm speaker, and the soldier’s grip tightened around his blaster, but no further provocation came.  The heavy blanket of silence descended on the hold again.  Despite the morbid humor falling flat, the exchange compelled Luke to shake off the smothering sense of anxiety and hostility and allow himself to settle into the Force’s pacifying currents.  If they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, he might as well meditate.

Time shed its veil as his mind slipped free of binders and armed guards and proclamations of destiny.  His father’s presence hung in the near distance like an encroaching storm, its violence subdued and turned inwards upon itself.  With gentle caution Luke dared to brush its edges, his intent whispering into the gale, I’m still here.

Sudden realization lanced through his heart and nearly thrust him out of the meditative state before he let the emotional surge dissipate.  Security was relatively lax because Vader knew he wouldn’t leave.  Seeing his son come forth of his own volition, he was trusting him to carry out his decision.  Trusting, and dreading this confrontation in equal measure.

It doesn’t have to be this way, Father.

The tightly coiled storm finally advanced, drawing nearer, and Luke snapped out of his trance to see a dim wash of ambient lighting reaching the passenger hold - dawn had arrived.  Several hours had to have transpired since he’d lapsed into meditation.  On cue, ponderous footsteps reverberated up the shuttle’s ramp, followed soon afterwards by the respirator.

Luke found himself oddly bereft when he felt the ship embark without Vader bothering to see him.  Perhaps avoidance was easier for him, however temporary it was.

Once airborne, it was a short flight to the Death Star.  As soon as they landed, Vader did finally emerge from the cockpit and dismissed all of the stormtroopers with a curt gesture.  Once more it was only the two of them alone.

One last gasp of hope kept Luke still upon the seat, his gaze compelling his father.  It’s not too late.  We can leave this place, just you and me.

Vader remained impassive, staring back at him, until it became apparent that the moment had passed and he was merely waiting for Luke to submit to the inevitable.  Letting his face harden into a stoic mask, Luke rose at last and walked right past him, striding down the boarding ramp with his shoulders squared and head held high, as if the rows of troops and officers lining the docking bay were his own ranks, and he was traversing the length of the Yavin moon temple’s grand ceremonial chamber again, on his way to accept the honor of sacrifice one final time.

[writeforself]

Hearts of Wolves [1/4]

Brasidas x Reader

A/N: This one is going to be slow, development and writing process both. 

Standing by the Adrestia, at a small harbour in Korinthia, you usher Phoibe onto the ship. You are appointed with the grand task by your step sister, Kassandra, to escort Phoibe safely back to Athens, despite the protest of Phoibe’s, as well as your unfamiliarity with this city you once fought against.

Across the gulf, there stands the legendary Salamis, and beyond lies the great city of Athens. Not long ago you visited Athens for the first time, along with your newly acquainted step sister. It was a troubled time for both of you, so you weren’t in the mood to savour the grandeur of the city. You actually spent the whole time at the Piraeus, gazing at the great wall, and a glimpse of acropolis, from the ship far away.

“I wonder where pater is now.”

After the confrontation between Kassandra and your step-pater, Nikolaos the Wolf of Sparta, he disappeared. As the special guard of his, you witnessed the whole event and asked to travel with Kassandra. Hated to face your step brother Stentor alone, you left Megaris as well, with Kassandra, without a trace. It had been a while since then, sometimes you muse about the reaction Stentor might have. Never were the two of you close, yet after all he had done a decent job being a brother, before pater appointed you.

The roaring waves of the sea, hitting the dock perpetually with a hypnotising rhythm; you ponder on the decisions you had made. Leaving Sparta behind was easy for you; if the story they told were true, you probably weren’t even a Spartan. Nevertheless, there is something you think about when you are on the sea, or in the land afar. A person actually; an acquaintance to be more precise.

“ [Y/N] can I take the helm?” A voice breaks your thought, it is Phoibe. “Sure, why don’t you ask Barnabas to help you get to know Adrestia more first?”

With a squeak of excitement, she runs off like a wind and boards the ship. From a distance, you could see Barnabas standing at the far end of the ship, holding a bowl of wine as always, and being frightened by the sudden energy that Phoibe pours onto him. Yet they soon recognise each other as kindred spirits.

“By the gods.” You hear a familiar voice coming from behind, but out of cautious, you keep your hand closely by the dagger which was hidden carefully around your waist. You have heard he is stationed in Korinth, but you didn’t expect to meet him. You didn’t even anticipate him to remember you. Turning around, you meet with his amber eyes, bright as the chariot of Helios. “It is you!”

“Captain Brasidas,” As soon as you meet his eyes, you shift your gaze to the ground, as if you are bowing out of courteous. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Although you have only met in a brief occasion, his voice left a profound imprint in your mind. He looks much the same as if he is walking out of your memory. Enchanted by his presence you can barely maintain your poise. His hair and beard stand firmly despite the warm sea wind, but the short braid dangling behind evokes a gentle smile on your face. Yet you do not understand the reason behind your delight.

“The ghost child of the wolf.” He quickly draws close to you and gives you a pat on the back, which soon turns into a cordial embrace.The strength he possess transforms into friendliness and livens up your spirits. “Great to meet you again.”

The ghost child, the name that people gave you back in Sparta. They never said that in front of you, only whisper into the winds. Perhaps it was because you were never really around; moving across the fields and hills like a phantom, appearing out of nowhere. They barely approved you existence because of your background and the eccentric bow you carried around. Perhaps it was the reason Nikolaos assigned you as his special guard, to protect him out of conspirators’ sight. He’s gone now, no one left to protect.

Meeting his gaze once more brings nostalgia. The day you met him was a sunny one like today.

***

Before you were appointed as the special guard, you spent your time wandering around the forests and mountains of Lakonia, running across the field like Atlanta. Although each excursion only exchanged scolding from Nikolaos, and scoffing from Stentor, you would always set out for another exploration.

From time to time you had been told of your background again and again--found in the forest outside of Lakonia with the bow by another Spartan general, and was taken under Nikolaos wing after that general died on battlefield. Nikolaos was a great pater; you were fortunate enough to be adopted in a fretful time like that. As for Sparta, they took you in but never as one of their own.

So there you were. Concealed yourself from the eyes of people, yet eager to appreciate this land you were supposed to call home. Across the meadows, down the creeks, along the hills, up to the peaks, all over Lakonia. Stilly, you would crouch in the bushes, watching others undertook the relentless trainings, seeing some of them being torn apart by the ruthless wolves, which always made you run back home and fall into silence for days. Yet if there’s one thing you realized growing up in Sparta, that is it’s better to be torn apart by wolves, than by men.

Sometimes you dwelled on the stories you overheard, about the family Nikolaos once had. A family torn apart with his own hands. You never bothered to ask, because you could see the torment resting deep in his eyes. Like a wolf, too proud to expose his agony, he concealed it deep inside. Sometimes you two would sit beside the bonfire, watching the logs cracked and dismantled; like two injured wolves seeking consolation. He used to say he took you in because he saw himself in you, which you could never grasp with such idea.

One time you reached the border of the city, resting upon the hills near the statues of Castor and Pollux, looking at the vast forest lying far away, which extended beyond horizon. To the east across the glittering sea, along the rocky coastline nestled another colossal forest. Sometimes you muse about the location you were found; Was it on the land of golden crops? Or was it on the land of healing?

You tread further down the hill. The breeze soared up along the elevation; for a moment you felt like an eagle gliding high along the peaks, through the land and across the sea, traversing aimlessly in this boundless world.

“The ghost child of the wolf.” Pulled back from the reverie, you raised your bow to the source of the voice promptly. Despite being taught to act without hesitation, you were grateful you haven’t always been an obedient type. “It’s an honour.”

Not the word you expected to hear from a man being pointed by an arrow. He approached eagerly; after a gracious nod he reached out for a handshake, which did not receive an immediate response. Instead, you withdrew the arrow and took a step back.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” He gave up on the handshake, and placed behind him with grace. Beside Nikolaos, you’ve never seen a man acts in such solemnity. “Plus, I don’t think we’re acquainted.”

Unlike the aggression you usually encountered, his reaction was refreshing, which ignited your curiosity. An unfamiliar sentiment rose inside your bosom, when you saw he bursted into a soft laughter.

“My apology.” He laughed, still sustaining the elegance he possessed. “My name is Brasidas. I have heard a lot about you.” “I’m sure you do.”

You lowered your guard when he introduced himself because you had heard about his outstanding performance during training. But decided to ignore him, you threw the bow back on your back, then made your way further down the slope, and found a perfect spot near the cliff, to luxuriate in the sensational view of the bay and the Aegean Sea. Islands scattered across the azure serenity.  Usually you were alone to relish this tranquility.

“Nikolaos said great things about you.” He chose to join in. You were astounded by how peaceful you felt about his presence, a stimulating contentment, without alienation.

“He does?” Before you could protest, he had already settled comfortably next to you. Peeking at this expression with the corner of your eye, you waited for his answer.

“Yes, a cub with great potential he said.” Not like others’, treating you like an exotic beast, his stare is gentle and genuine. He looked straight ahead, at the coastline, at the cliffs, or at the immeasurable blue, before turning back to you. “What are you doing here?” “Pondering,” Picking up a tiny stone, you threw it off the cliff. “Alone.”

“I’m sorry if you feel bothered.” You saw him turned away, his gaze shifting on the ground. “I just happen to see you here. And want to meet you in person after hearing so much from Nikolaos.”

“Don’t worry.” A subtle smile naturally came upon your lips, which was uncommon for you in the face of a stranger. “It’s an unusual path for a hike though, predators are common in this part.” “It is. But I see you are already familiar with this part.” He replied. “Yes, I come here a lot. I’ve been to every corner in Lakonia, but I like here the best.”

The snowy mountain peaks, the furthest south of Peloponnese, the streams running across the land then into the sea, nothing can compare with the hills that leads to another strange yet familiar landscape.

“The view is quite extraordinary.” He said, stretching his legs in front of him, glancing at the sky. “Yet I feel like you didn’t come here for the view.” “Nikolaos is not lying, your intuition is impressive.” He chuckled. “Why are you here then?” Your tone remained flat. “Guess I will need a hand. Come.”

He jumped up from his seat in such agility as if the wind just lifted him up like a bird ascending. Without a second utterance he walked toward north, down the slope, en route to the forest where Lakonia meets with Arkadia.

And you follow behind, with indecision in mind.

tbc...

[chrysalispen]

ii. sullied, the whole world's fountains;

AO3 Link

In the wake of the primal's fury came the rain.

Hail and icy water, more suited to the autumn months than midsummer, beat down upon the ragtag remnants of the command pavilion, dripping in chilly rivulets from the slick oilcloth of the tents and turning the ground into freezing sludge. The back end of the storm cell that had set a raging blizzard upon the whole of Coerthas had ripped open from the influx of aether, confounding most serious rescue efforts.

The leaders of the realm's city-states and their military commanders huddled beneath the windbreak (for at this point it was little else), each in their turn staring out over the near-opaque haze of mist and smoke that blanketed what remained of the Carteneau Flats.

No one spoke in a voice louder than a murmur, rousing themselves only when messengers entered the area to deliver news. Dalamud's descent had disrupted and disabled most linkpearl communications, so the Grand Companies were in most cases reduced to runners on chocobo relaying messages from post to post.

Though none were thus far willing to say so aloud, most of the assembled were waiting for the storm's fury to lessen sufficiently that the Flats could be safely traversed and the dead could be cleared from the blasted wastes below. Any observer passing might notice that no voices were raised-- but just as was the case among the rank and file, the tension was so thick one could practically cut it.

Presently an elezen man in the bright yellow of the Twin Serpents knelt before Kan-E-Senna, proffering a sealed envelope. Conversation among the Padjal's circle faded from a subdued buzz to silence as they watched her take the document, crack open the seal, and unfold the parchment.

Pain twisted its way across her face as she read its contents, tilting the corners of her lips into a trembling downward arch.

"Seedseer?" Raubahn Aldynn said gently.

The big Ala Mhigan had a voice that carried and a laugh she could pick out in a room of thousands, but even he had been reduced by sorrow and shock to a shell of himself, forced to watch the endless parade of death along with the rest of them: the corses of friends and countrymen and adventurers who had fought beneath his banner, bundled into sackcloth and laid on a cart. There was some small hope for those who had been in the drop zone, but it was very small indeed.

He tried again.

"What news from the Twelveswood?"

Kan-E-Senna released a sigh that carried the weight of an entire nation.

"The Twelveswood burns," she said. "And Gridania fares little better. Fully half the city was destroyed. This missive is from Brother E-Sumi-Yan; he and the others go to quell the Greenwrath as best they are able. The Shroud will become nigh-uninhabitable in short order, I fear."

"Bloodydamned imperials," Raubahn swore, slamming one heavy fist on the nearby table. After a moment to collect himself, he continued in a quieter tone: "Will it spread, do you think? The fire?"

"The Wailers have protocols to build firebreaks. They are deploying 'round the large settlements." She folded the parchment and tucked it into her robes. "The worst of it is near the border with Mor Dhona, but this rain may serve to hold it at bay---provided the wind does not change course."

"If we need to deploy-"

"We have no one left here to spare as it is. I will have Vorsaile send people back to the Shroud as we are able, but we must needs take stock of what numbers remain." She turned to the runner, her kind smile strained at the edges. "Send word back to Bowlord Levin: Pray have the Black Boars aid in evacuations, and bolster all defenses at the firebreaks. They must hold, at all costs."

Timidly the youngster queried:

"What of the Garleans? They-"

"Will cause us no mischief now. The imperials have their own worries, likely to match our own. Now go, with all haste."

Hastily sketching a salute, the runner scurried out of the pavilion and back towards the post where he'd tied off his chocobo. She waited until he was out of eyesight before sinking into her chair and burying her face in her hands.

"Would that Louisoix's binding had worked," she murmured. "We won the day, but the cost..."

"I know."

"What should become of us all, if the Black Wolf--"

She didn't need to finish her question. They had brought their combined strength to bear against one, one imperial legion, and it was all the Grand Companies had been able to do just to hold them at Carteneau while the adventurers (which ones? her mind cried, overtaxed and frustrated and on the verge of panic. which adventurers?) had confronted Nael van Darnus at Rivenroad.

All here were painfully aware that the Eorzean Alliance had fought the Empire to a draw only because the XIVth Imperial Legion had elected not to take the field alongside her steel and magitek-clad brethren. Should they now choose to take advantage of the decimation Dalamud had wrought, Eorzea was in no position to offer even token resistance.

How will we recover? We have barely the means to see to the pieces that are left, much less-

Kan-E-Senna forced herself to push that thought away.

Time enough later to worry about Gaius van Baelsar. As she had said to the boy, the Black Wolf had his own problems, and she would not compound their woes by inviting trouble.

"Our own numbers were badly culled by the primal, and I don't doubt that Nanamo will have a damage report of her own for me soon," Raubahn said, into the prolonged silence. "But if there is aught the Flames can do to help, you have merely to say the word. U'ldah repays her debts. You know that."

"I know, General. Thank you." Her hands dropped into her lap, where they fidgeted anxiously for lack of Claustrum's smooth, reassuring grip. She'd propped the staff against the side of the tent where it stood still alongside the assortment of weapons from the others. "...I will be taking a unit into the Flats at cockcrow to search for survivors and heal the wounded."

"The storm will make it slow going."

"Even so, it is the least I can do. I would not sit here in relative comfort whilst others die in our names."

He did not protest further; both of them knew it would fall upon deaf ears.

"Very well. Merlwyb and I will take count of our people and our supplies while you do that," he said, glancing across the tents to where Admiral Bloefhiswyn stood in hushed conversation with her storm marshals. "We do have one more important matter to discuss before we adjourn tonight, and that's what to do with any prisoners."

"We are taking imperial prisoners if able, yes? That was what we decided?"

Raubahn grimaced. Her question was pointed, and for good reason; the argument on this point had been much louder when it had actually happened, and Kan-E-Senna had won only because Louisoix Leveilleur and the others had backed her (no doubt hoping for further intelligence-gathering), and now-

Now the wise old Sharlayan was gone.

Thal's balls, he thought dismally. So many faces gone or missing since the drop. And no time to take stock of the dead right now, much less scrape together the personnel for search parties.

"Aye, that's what we decided, right enough. You already know my opinion of it and Merlwyb's likewise, but we gave our word and we'll not go back on it now. She's passed the order along down her ranks and I've passed it down mine. For better or worse, if we find any of the enemy alive, we'll take them into custody where possible."

"Good."

"Mind you, I've told them if there's any too far gone or too hostile-" He stopped at her pained expression. "...I know, I know. But you are well aware these are likelihoods, Kan-E, and I'd rather not risk getting more of our people killed than we already have."

"Don't see what the point is in taking prisoners," Merlwyb said flatly, joining them at the table at last. Her storm-grey eyes fairly snapped with ire and her gait was a long and decisive stride; just as Raubahn's laugh could be heard in a crowd, Admiral Bloefhiswyn's very presence could fill a room on its own.

"What do you mean?"

"It's a waste of manpower, if we're just going to have them all swing from the hangman's noose the second they get back to the cities," she continued, leaning her weight against the other side of the war table with one hip and folding her arms across her chest. "I suppose it's not very honorable of us, but lining up the VIIth Legion on a gibbet is as good a warning shot as any to fire across van Baelsar's bow."

"No, Admiral," Kan-E-Senna said firmly. "I will not be a party to any such thing. No public executions."

Her blunt statement of dissent, as calm as it was quiet, cut through the agitated chatter of the gathering. As ever, she rarely raised her voice, but then she rarely found it necessary. Though the Padjal appeared young and delicate, all assembled in this room knew that the impression was a false one.

Even so, Merlwyb's expression grew positively thunderous.

"The White Raven dropped a swiving moon on our heads and we're supposed to what--let his forces frolic through the fields all the way back to Garlemald? To regroup so they can finish the job? You've seen the devastation!"

"I will be receiving a very close and personal view of it tomorrow morning. Far more than I shall ever want to see." She looked at them all in turn, her leaf-green eyes solemn. "I still say no. These people are prisoners of war and will be treated accordingly."

"War criminals, more like," the roegadyn snapped. She shoved her seat backwards in a gesture of frustration and braced her arms on the table's surface as she leaned forward. "And the distinction hardly matters."

"Seedseer, as much as I'd like to argue otherwise, she has the right of it. 'Tis not like the people of the realm will see it the way you do." Raubahn's rough-hewn face was pale, drawn, and haggard, for all that his words were carefully measured. "Should the enemy not suffer some consequence for the havoc they have wrought, we will be seen as ineffective--if not outright sympathetic to the Empire. Well you know that could cause trouble for all of us down the line."

"The majority of these soldiers were conscripts given little choice in the matter. To force them to-"

"People are going to expect-"

"...To force conscripts, Merlwyb," she repeated patiently over the angry interjection, "to pay with their lives for a circumstance they could not control goes beyond mere dishonor. It would be naught but cruelty, not to mention the very barbarism of which the Empire accuses us so freely. Such an act would only play into their propaganda."

"If Limsa gave a tinker's damn about the Empire's opinions of any of us," came the flat, matter-of-fact response, "we'd not have spent the last score of years and more harrying their patrols on open water."

She'd half expected that answer and couldn't help a smile. Still, it faded quickly as she returned to the matter at hand.

"Very well, then can we not agree there has been more than enough bloodshed on Nael van Darnus' account? On both sides?"

"Surely you don't believe the VIIth would have shown any of us the same compassion?"

"Of course they wouldn't ha-"

"Or," Merlwyb continued, "that the people suffering and dying for this folly will be satisfied with anything short of Garlean blood? Reparations must be made."

"And they will be made. But not like this, I beg you. Both of you." Kan-E-Senna cast a glance over Raubahn's shoulder, peering through the partially open tent flap to the cratered wasteland that had once been such an open, fertile field. Wreckage and earth were still burning in places below the cliffsides despite the pouring rain. "I harbor no more love for the Empire than either of you. But I look to what must be done in the wake of this disaster. What our people will need most desperately now, and in the coming days and weeks, is food. Shelter. Medical attention. What they do not need is a violent public spectacle, no matter how much their anger demands it."

"Then what do you propose?"

"Work-release, of course," she said simply, as if the answer were obvious. "We make of them wards of the city-states and set them to a labor of our choosing, then free them once their time has been served. They can help with rebuilding efforts. I suspect we shall need all the hands and backs we can find, and now is not the time to be selective."

Silence fell over the tent, then-- but Merlwyb was finally offering a slow nod of acknowledgement.

"A certain justice in that," she said, her concession somewhat gruff but no longer heavy with outrage. "They helped break Eorzea, so their punishment would be to help fix it."

Kan-E-Senna was far from ignorant of the particulars of statesmanship, and she knew that they should at least understand that aspect of her proposal, if naught else. As she'd hoped, it had struck true. The Admiral was, if not exactly mollified, a bit less eager for vengeance, at least in the immediate sense.

"That said, it's not likely that all of the prisoners are going to be conscripts," Raubahn pointed out. "There'll be purebloods among them too- true Garleans, not just the poor sods forced to fight under the ivory banner. Most of that lot aren't going to be grateful or cooperative no matter what we do, and I can't say I'm comfortable with the notion of a bunch of zealots walking free."

"I said nothing about letting any of them walk free, much less those like to remain loyal to the Empire regardless of circumstance." Kan-E-Senna left out a soft exhalation, relief lessening the furrowed lines that worry and fatigue had carved into an otherwise youthful face. "However, even in their case I do not think it fair-minded to condemn all for the obstinacy of a few. We will do what needs must, of course, but I would not put them all to the sword sight unseen."

The big man shook his head, but his expression was one of capitulation. Merlwyb wore a wry smile.

"I think you're being dangerously softhearted," she said. "But for the sake of argument, I suppose we can make the attempt."

"An attempt is all I ask. Despite our differences, they too are people." Kan-E-Senna's answering smile was serene. "And if I have learned naught else, it is that sometimes people can surprise you."

~*~

"Miserable bloody weather," Bryngeim Ahrmbraena muttered.

With an annoyed sigh the Seawolf woman braced one heavy boot against a mud-covered rock and wiped away a mixture of sweat, grime, and rainwater from her brow. In this weather about all the gesture did was move the dirt around her face. Mor Dhona's humidity was harsh enough in midsummer, but she'd vastly preferred the cooling canopy of the rainforest to the blasted waste it had become in so short a time.

As she took a moment to catch her breath, she watched the faces of the half-dozen men and women who followed her, their own faces pale and pinched with exhaustion -- all of them were running on next to no sleep, herself included -- and squinted into the smoke and mist and the sheets of cold rain to scry for any signs of life. For the last four bells, every now and then someone would catch a movement out of the corner of one eye only to be disappointed when it was just a battle standard or the bloodied ruff of a dead chocobo that had caught the northerly winds.

"Ma'am?" asked the yellow-clad Duskwight archer at her side, taking note of her scowl. Bryngeim glanced back over at him, then once again to the sorry lot trudging at her back, and wiped another handful of cold water from her face before adjusting the heavy axe resting on her shoulder.

"Ah, 'tis naught, Idront, pay me no mind. I was woolgathering for a moment. You haven't seen anything?"

The man's brow furrowed and he shook his head. Drops of cold rainwater flickered off the corners of his ears with the motion, but he barely seemed to notice. "No, ma'am. Nothing yet. Might be a good idea to spread the search out a bit."

"Hm. See if we can find anyone we might have missed? Not a bad idea."

"Yes'm. There's a sector a few yalms off-" he gestured to the vague suggestion of a shape through the mist, "-that isn't tagged yet."

It had been her idea to take a strip of bright-colored cloth from... repurposed Grand Company tabards, tie them to a piece of wood or any other bit of debris that might serve as a marker, and thrust them into the ground at set intervals to mark areas that had already been searched and cleared.

Some had thought it ghoulish, but to Bryngeim's mind the dead were hardly able to make use of the fabric; better they be used to enable the survival of the living.

"All right. Just keep your eyes open. Don't stray from line of sight." For all they knew the enemy was still out there, looking for likely 'savages' to cull. "Call if you need us. And if you come across anyone too far gone..."

She trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence. Idront looked away from her, the protrusion in his throat bobbing visibly when he swallowed at the implication of her words- but he gave a short, resolute nod before striding off into the wet haze. While they all agreed that it would be the height of cruelty to give anyone false hope, that didn't mean any of them relished the idea of putting down one of their own.

Of all those who had survived the crimson moon's descent, a few hundred survivors among the combined Grand Company units were able-bodied enough to take on active duty. Bryngeim's captain in the Foreign Levy had relinquished his command; his last act had been to suggest that each squad should take quadrants of those portions of the field that were still passable and search for survivors.

The surviving commanders in the Maelstrom had enthusiastically agreed to the notion, and for the last twenty-seven bells they'd been sending units out in shifts. What had truly amazed her was the way all of them, without really much discussion, had cobbled together what functioning units they could until further notice.

Thus far, they'd only managed to clear a small segment of the area a quarter-malm beyond the cliff where the interim camp had been struck. All of the reformed units were now taking turns looking for more survivors, with mostly middling success. They were to check every corse on the field for signs of life, without exception. Many allies had been trapped underneath destroyed machina, or beneath the dead themselves: too injured to walk under their own power but perhaps still able to be saved by the few remaining healers if their hurts were tended quickly enough.

It was dirty, grim, and thankless work, for all it was necessary. Every minute of every bell counted: every breath spent in idleness a breath that might be stolen from an injured ally awaiting rescue.

And further searches were becoming nigh impossible, now that the weather had taken such a poor turn. The temperature had plummeted in the space of the last eight bells, and a supercell had blown over Silvertear Lake, part of a massive front that scouts said was dumping snow on Coerthas in the middle of the damned summer, seemingly out of nowhere.

Worse, the storm had broken open over the Flats on the latter side of their shift. Had there been a better outcome they'd all be back at the campground seeking shelter in the mess pavilion with a pint and a bowl of whatever currently passed for rations until the worst of the storm had passed. But the sky wasn't going to stop pissing rain just because she didn't like it.

In the meantime, night was falling fast and the haze from the rain and lingering smoke had made visibility even worse.

By the Navigator, we'd be that lucky to find even one person as things are now-

There was a tug on her sleeve.

"Oi, Bryn."

"Hn?"

K'luhia Zhisi, a fellow privateer in the Limsan navy and sergeant as of twelve bells past via dead man's boots, was leaning in a conspiratorial sort of fashion towards her. The rogue's gaze drifted briefly towards the newcomers to their group before they settled on her friend's face.

"Guess I should've asked before, but... ye never said what the higher-ups wantin' us to do with the ruffmans?"

"Eh?"

"Garleans," she clarified. "Should we find any still breathin'. Are we supposed to... you know..."

Bryngeim faltered.

"Ah. That."

"Aye," K'luhia said with somewhat exaggerated patience, "that."

Shite. Obviously she'd meant to say something to the others as part of their briefing, since it was just as likely they'd find survivors from the enemy ranks as their own and they all needed to be prepared for that eventuality. But in the rush and the unending grind of the search and her haphazard attempts to fill her superior's shoes, compounded by encroaching exhaustion, she'd just... well.

Godsdamn it all, she'd forgotten to brief them about prisoners. Of all the basic things she could have forgot-

Twelve, L'sazha, why'd you have to go and get yourself killed?

Bryngeim pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head with a weariness that was in no wise an exaggeration, pushing past her grief. She had her orders regarding the imperial soldiers, all right---and she misliked them heartily, and she knew the others were like to favor them even less, but there was no help for it now.

"Brass says put down any that're too hostile or too wounded, but otherwise we're to take prisoners back to the camp and hold them until they can be moved."

As expected, a fierce scowl creased her underling's brow, nearly matching her own. "What- why?"

"You never mind the 'why', Lu. Ain't ours to be asking."

"The hells are we saving 'em for?!" K'luhia fumed, her ears flattened against her head with her displeasure. "They're murderers, thousands of times over! They deserve worse than death! If I were in charge I'd-"

"Sergeant." She saw the woman's twitching tail and ignored it. "You have your orders. Don't make me repeat them."

The rogue made something like a feral growl in the back of her throat but otherwise kept her retort to herself, sheathing the dagger in her right hand with an almost savage thrust.

In truth, Bryngeim wished she could agree aloud, but doing so would only undermine what little authority she had. She could not fault her subordinate for her anger. The breadth of her own grief and fury seemed nigh boundless and she didn't for a moment think she was the only one.

How many good men and women had they lost? Her own captain and best friend lay dying slowly and painfully in the Alliance's makeshift infirmary, his body burned nigh beyond recognition by Bahamut's unholy fires, beyond saving even by magical means, and he was but one of many. Scores more had died to the Empire's damnable war machine. Already there were rumors trickling down from the command pavilions that debris from the fallen Dalamud had laid waste to entire villages, that parts of the Twelveswood were on fire, that Limsa had partially collapsed in on itself--even noncombatants hadn't been safe.

How many more were they going to lose? To weather? To time?

"Lu, look-" she began, but before she could continue there was a shout some few yalms distant:

"Ma'am! Captain Ahrmbraena, ma'am, come quickly!"

[newstyletours]

Exploring India on a Royal Enfield motorcycle- part 2 continued:

Day five:

Alleppey to Thekkady - today we head inland from the coast to find some mountains. Eating breakfast we looked out of the window to the rear of the premises to find the Indian version of a motorcycle CBT. Some poles placed in the ground and some tentative weaving by new riders helping them prepare for their venture out on to the Indian highway. Not only were there virgin bikers but also learner car drivers practising their reversing in to bays marked again with poles pushed in to the ground. Amongst this were a group of boys playing a game of rounders. Chaos but there must be some order to it all!!

Leaving town this morning was as usual hectic and it appears that there is no need to stop for a red light at a railway crossing until the barriers come down. If you do then you get gesticulated at in a friendly manner to encourage you to carry on. The other drivers are only trying to be helpful. Petrol tanks fuelled up we then had to cross the main road to travel back in the direction we had travelled from. When you've got a space in the traffic on your right pull out and don't worry about the stream of traffic on your left. Once you've moved off you'll find a gap to filter in to and you'll just blend in with the rest.

We crossed some flat plains that were mainly arable areas before heading to the mountains and seeing the first of the tea plantations. Some of the roads were good and some were not so good, but it was a pleasant ride across the mountains and the temperature did drop a little as you ascended.

Arriving at Greenwoods Leisure Resort we were given a customary welcome of a string of cadomen seeds placed around the neck and applying tilak on the forehead. Just the one problem this evening at this splendid hotel and that is no alcohol tonight as it does not have a bar. Alcohol is regulated by the government and in certain areas can only be bought from licensed liquor stores after you have been authorised to purchase the same in an effort to cut down alcohol abuse. The lovely food did make up for it, despite the Indian gentlemen on the next table making a fuss and sending his meal back whilst the staff entertained his two unruly toddlers whilst mum and dad were on their mobile phones.

Day six:

Thekkady to Munnar

Riding higher in to the mountains of the Western Ghats we have some nice well surfaced roads through the Indian jungle. Plenty of lush vegetation and monkeys have been spotted whilst en route.

The mudguard bolts on one of the Enfields have decided to shake themselves loose but it took four to fix the problem - one to do the work and four to watch - a bit like British council workers - must be another legacy we left.

Further on up in to the tea plantations they are creating a super highway. The road has gone from a single track mountain road to a two lane carriageway. The only problem is that they are still building it. Nothing to worry about because you just have to dodge the excavators, lorries, rutted roads, loose gravel, etc., etc. But this is India. No health and safety here as we experienced a little later in the journey where there were men up on the mountainside knocking loose rocks off, but they did have a rope to hold on to. Halted on our journey whilst they cleared the road take off even on this mountain road was like a formula one grande prix start.

All in all a good days riding despite some of the roads. We are staying for two days at The Silver Tips - a themed Bollywood Hotel.

Day seven:

Staying at the same hotel tonight we have a ride out to the Eravikulum National Park and Chinnar Wildlife Sanctuary. Some beautiful scenery riding through the tea plantations and some beautiful colours on the vegetation. Cool up on the hills but very hot again in the bottom of the valley. Quite a few monkeys were spotted today and one snake slithering off the road in to a nearby hiding place.

Day eight:

Today we rode from Munnar to Kodaikanal. We climb down the mountain from Munnar using the stretch of road that is a continual length of roadworks that we passed on the way up. We then rode along the base of the valley where temperatures were in excess of 30 degrees before heading in to the southern part of the Ghat Mountains. We also changed provinces crossing from the Kerala Province in to the Tamil Province. It appears that the roadworks here have been completed and the road across the mountains was like an Alpine road with good road surfaces and plenty of hairpin bends. Could have done with a bit more power than the Enfield gives on these sort of roads. A little later on we manage to creep up towards sixty miles per hour for the first time in the trip with roads a lot wider and smoother. We then headed back in to the mountains to climb up to Kodaikanal sitting at 6998 feet. So they say it was an old American mountain station and it has been left with a legacy of mercury poisoning as a thermometer factory was based here, and like everything else, things were just dumped here and mercury found its way in to the watercourse. Some splendid scenery whilst climbing and our journey was only halted by a troop of monkeys that decided to slow the traffic by playing in the roadway. A heavy thunderstorm accompanied by the customary power cut and plenty of rain in the evening accounts for the lush jungle type vegetation that we have passed through today.

Day nine:

A long day in the saddle with 250 kilometres to travel - the longest day of the trip and these Enfield saddles aren't the most comfortable. From Kodaikanal we travel to Ooty, another mountain station based at 7350 feet a glove sea level.

A great day started off traversing some more mountain scenery. Narrow roads and twisty bends. Superb views over the plain below and an altercation with a monkey trying to gain access to my tank bag.

Dropping down off the mountains it was again very hot on the plain but with good roads we were able to keep,a breeze going through the jackets. Finishing off we climbed again to Ooty, our destination for the night. Climbing the mountain road was a bit like the whacky races. Plenty of traffic and plenty of overtaking Indian style. An exhilarating ride to day the least. On one hairpin we were faced with an oncoming bus followed by another one. We passed the first one but the second one had to stop on our side of the road facing us because of the traffic ahead of him. He just beckoned us to go up his nearside and overtake the traffic behind him on the nearside before returning to our side of the road. Anything goes because this is India.

Motorcycle is the main form of transport in India and riding with helmets, jackets and gloves is the exception here. The biggest bikes are generally the 350cc Enfields but we have seen a couple of Triumphs and a Harley Davidson or two. When stopped for a break earlier we saw the milkman and three generations of one family all on one motorcycle. Nothing better than taking the mother in law out on the bike for a Sunday afternoon ride!!

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Wednesday 4 July 1838

6 ¾

10 40

were to have been off at 8 – could not get our passport till 9 – very fine morning – breakfast at 8 ¼ left Josephine – took George, and A- and I (with merely our night things, a change of linen and our journal books in one sac de nuit) off at 9 50 in a calêche and 3 horses for St. Jean de Luz having our passport visaed for Spain at the French mairie, and at our own consulate and that of Spain – A- and I both in good spirits – A- had taken of letter paper to date to her sister from St. Sebastien – excellent road – very pretty interesting drive – the mountains fine on our left and in less than an hour about 10 ¾ the sea fine on our right – at 11 20 passed the poste aux chevaux at Bidart (1 ½ poste) and Tamarisk hedges – at St. Jean de Luz (1 ½ p. more) chez M. Junca, maitre de poste aux chevaux, hotel de la poste, at 12 50 – gave him the letter from our host M. Theodore Détroyat à Bayonne, begged him to arrange all about our passport – not safe to go by land – must go by a sea – in a steamer if there happened to be one – if not there might be a boat going – or we might hire one – M. Junca un petit homme vif – sent off a woman to see about a boat – the boats not here, but ½ hour off – ordered a mutton cutlet for A- and she having

SH:7/ML/E/21/0139

 fastened her door, I went into the nice little town for ¼ hour – singular church – one large lofty vaulted space – the large organ and large organ-loft to contain the clergy at the west end and the high altar in a richly-covered gilded bay or apse at the east end – 3 oak ballustred oak-pillar supported galleries on each side – the 1st gallery perhaps 5 yards from the ground (the floor boarded) and the 2 above about 4 yards each from the lower gallery and from each other and about 2 or 3 yards perhaps from the square of the roof – called at the poste aux letters – the courier goes Fridays and Tuesdays but now goes by land – so that the idea of crossing with the courier is at an end – on my returning found A- had put on stocking for fear of monsieur how unlucky on my return A- had had her cutlet, and M. Junca had heard of a Patron de Chaloupe (Captain of a boat) just going to start for St. Sebastian with a little cargo and would return on Friday – ended by agreeing to give him 50/. for a boat to ourselves to return with us tomorrow or if we chose to stay till Friday to give him 55/. – Corrigo [or Conigo] Eguia, Patron de Chaloupe a Spaniard but très honnete [honnête ] homme that M. Junca knew well and could count upon – we could not be better – to be ready in ½ hour – A- and I walked down to the church to spend the time there – she made a little sketch of the exterior while I stood by watching a man making linen-listing sandal-soles, and a woman sitting by him serving on the bit of upper-linen (coarse string stitched together by button-hole stitch) to cover the toes – Mr. Junca came to see us embark on the quai in the grande place –

Embark at St. Jean de Luz

written out Monday eight

on one side the house where the d. of Wellington spent 2 or 3 months – on another the old chateau like house while Louis xvi. lodged and on another the house where the infante of Spain his bride Marie Thérèse lodged – A- seeing no rowers hoped there were rowers – yes! four – she had not thought the boat was so small (a little chaloupe about the size of a Scarbro’ cobble) – however we embarked at 2 – there is always a little surf at the entrance of the little harbour – I saw A- was nervous – our little sail made us lean a little on one side every now and then and there was little bit of up and down – A- grasped my hand – said she could not bear it – would return – there was no danger – the afternoon was beautiful – the little wind or air was in our favour and it was a pity poor A-‘s nerves were not stronger – but I saw she was right to return – our captain could only speak Spanish – I had difficulty in making him understand that he must put in at Choco (the fort of ) I really could not make him understand to turn back – but by dint of ‘timore – ella – morire – io –pagare – intrate [rientrate]’ pointing to the fort of Socoa (pronounced as if Choco (tschoco)) I got him to put in there – there was no time to deliberate – besides our 4 rowers we had a stripling boy and a lad about 12 or 13 on board – left the latter to go back with A- and carry her cloak and the travelling bag – took out merely my night-chemise and cap and 50 francs and left all the rest with A- except my umbrella and parasol and 2 cloaks – asked her if she would like me not to go – said if she had least wish for me to stay, I would – no! she had rather I went – in 5 minutes poor A- was landed, and left, and I was re-embarked and off at 2 35 – In a moment I had lost sight of her – and I was pitching in the bay of [?] in a small open boat with a Spanish smuggler (for such is Corrigo) and 3 Spanish rowers and one old French basque rower and my servant George! – about ½ dozen words of French were all our crew could muster and about as Many English (‘good bye – very quick’) – in 40 minutes (at 3 ¼) Andaye (pronounced Andāiah) in sight (a village or little town – with a little tower (church tower or steeple?) and at 3 35 lost sight of Fontarabia (Fontarrābbĭa) [Hondarribia? ]nearer the sea than Andaye and on high ground – looking like a convent, or fort, or what? Irun (could hardly distinguish the building) forms the apex of the triangle between the two (at Andaye and Fontaribia) at the foot of the high 3 or 4 pointed torso or crest of mountain that is so striking from the top of Bayonne cathedral – at 3 35 re-embarked at Socoa – in 40 minutes (3 ¼) Andaye in sight – lost sight of Fontarabia at 3 35 – and ten minutes before this had had the 1st distant glimpse of St. Sebastian or rather the high tower (fort) on the top of the hill on the west of the harbour – the tower of Biarrits’ (pronounced Bēeăris) closes the wide bay towards Bayonne – and the rocky pointe de Figuieras [Figueres?] shuts out the embouchure of the Bidassoa (on which are Andaye and Fontaribia) – Sick at 5 20 – fine as is the afternoon and I quite warm the sea here seems to me as swelling as it was the night we went to Antwerp – land at 6 ¼ - having passed the citadel-rock and high conical little rock doubled the island and entered the harbour to the westwards of it between it and the tower fort – 2 English steamers in the service of the queen of Spain lying at anchor – [?] up to the jetties under the west side of the town, and landed by stairs so narrow, deep, and rough one could hardly get up – at the Fonda (n°5 Plaza ricja (place vielle)  reuve Inciarte) in 10 minutes at 6 35 – queer dirty looking place Corrigo introduced me to the especial care of the people – I could not tell which was the mistress – several women  sat together at a large table full of washed but apparently ungot up linen – the daughter (Luisa) could speak French – asked her to send someone with me to see the town and citadel, and to let me have dinner – she said she would go with me herself and sent a woman to shew me my room – it was au 3me but lofty, and large enough – one common chair and ditto table and ditto bedstead, no curtains – no look of comfort – I was down again among the women in a few minutes but had to wait till young lady was dressed (1/2 hour) when she and Madama appeared in their mantillas quite dressed for promenade – the old lady was one who had been driven from the country – lost all she had and come into the ville, and was at the Fonda I could not make out on what terms – but the young lady could not trust herself with me and George without a madama – I said I was sorry they had made so much toilette and that I really was ashamed of my travelling costume – However the young lady aetatis 18 looked very well pleased and out we sallied – to the church – one large lofty domed space unbroken by anything save the large organ and its large loft at the west end – the clergy (now 21) sat or officiated the organ loft – the bay or apse of the high altar one mass of gilt carving – and a lessen altar on each side of it, transept-wise – imposing looking interior – large odd heavy old plain building outside with 2 low west towers – then to the citadel very few soldiers – saw perhaps a dozen – several people walking along the traverse walks along the rocky hill side – towards the sea one or 2 tombs – that and among 2 [?] of Sir Oliver de Lancy railed off – I went up to read the inscriptions but a solider called me back – not allowed to go! the sea-view very fine from one side – the tower as if laid down upon a map on the other – the grand place (arcaded) and another place and one or 2 straight streets all round round them seemed to compose the ville – 3 convents destroyed by the carlists (the girl said) and houses in all directions unroofed

SH:7/ML/E/21/0140

and made unhabitable by them (for fear of xtians should take shelter in them) gave all around a look of ruin – one whole village just on this side the river on the road to Hernani quite destroyed – could go very safely to Hernani now – no carlists between here and there – could also go to Passages – but no farther – asked the girl to get me a guide to Hernani in the morning – determined to be off at 6 and back in time to breakfast and embark at 11 – out from 7  5 to about before 9 when I had seen all there was to see – had to wait a little for dinner – they seemed to expect George to dine with me, but on my saying it was not selon [?] habitude, he fined in the kitchen or somewhere, and I told the young Louisa to come and sit by me or I should be triste – I had soup, ham, chicken and potatoes – I dined on the 1st and a little cheese and bread, nothing else looking tolerable – finding no chance of a guide who could speak word of anything but Spanish took a man to shew me the way (not far) and off about 9 20 to our consul – not at home – would return at 11 to supper – this would not do – at the moment 2 English officers went upstairs – spoke to one them – said what I was come for, and begged to have a solider to accompany me in the morning – the officer very civil – Lieutenant of the artillery as I afterwards found – promised me a solider at 6 tomorrow am – returned to the fonda and went upstairs with the fille to see my bed prepared – ready by 9 ¾ - very fine day – doubted for a moment whether to undress – my sheets not feeling very dry – took them off

[zhemyna]

Priorities//Drabble

A thing I wrote for @removethewallinourhearts for Christmas. We’ve been calling it ‘The Behemoth’, it’s sixteen pages of our dumbass precious ship.

The light streaming through the windows that day was almost silver. Silver and blue. Winter storms were always silver and blue, she mused, with low fluffy clouds of light grey. The kind that reflected light back after dark and turned them a strange sort of orange. It had been snowing off and on all week, small spits and blustery flurries, leaving a layer of snow almost eight inches thick on the ground with the threat of more still to come floating above.

Zhemyna looked up from her paperwork, a small stack sent to her by her parliamentary council in Paleugmeddi to review and send back with comments, and looked out the window to assess the weather for a moment. Though the inside of the house was warmed by a modern commercial heating system, she could still feel the chill wafting off the big curved bay window that took up this corner of house. A glance was given toward a spot in the wall next to the window, a discoloration of semi-new plaster that had once been the hole for a fireplace. She was glad for the loss of most of the fireplaces in the house with the advent of modernized heating systems, though she would have to close the curtains soon; so much glass counteracted the heat just enough that it did little to heat the room itself.

She looked down to the report with an almost withered defeat, then checked the clock on her wall that was ticking the time merrily along and decided she needed a break. Setting her pen in the closing folder to hold her place, she stood, turned, and closed the heavy brocade curtains over the window. By the time she returned, the darkened office would be as warm as snuggling into bed. The overhead lights were flicked off, a single small desk lamp left on for her to see by, and the door shut as she left and clicked her way off toward the day kitchen.

Someone had brewed a fresh pot of coffee some time earlier, of which the Nation was grateful of. A clean mug was pulled from the hooks just above the machine, inspected out of habit from days long since passed, before the dark steaming drink was poured, black and earthy. Hot drinks were good on cold days, and with the mug in hand, she turned toward the event kitchen and subsequently the dining hall at the back of the house.

More like an atrium, the expansive dining hall was encased on its back wall and arched roof in glass, thick and reinforced panes that acted with air pockets between to keep the weather outside from infiltrating into the temperature inside. It kept the room warm in winter and chill at the height of summer despite being mostly constructed of glass.

It had started snowing again, big lazy flakes starting down from the low clouds above. She settled back against the grand raw-wood table to watch it as it floated to land peacefully on the old snowfall, not hearing so much as simply knowing when her own peace was disturbed.

"I see the snow has returned."

It was always easy to tell when the Head of House was in the room, if not by her authoritative presence changing the atmosphere itself then by the way she always announced herself verbally on entry. A stout woman, short and broad about the shoulders and hips, Almyra carried herself as though she commanded an army. In terms of the sizable house staff, she might as well have.

The Nation simply nodded to the statement, partially in greeting and partially in affirmation. "Yes, it has. I probably would not have noticed had the winter chill not penetrated the window in my den."

"I will let maintenance know the window insulation needs checking." Almyra assured her and receiving a nod and noise of confirmation from the taller woman before falling quiet.

The shorter Prussian woman moved around to stand beside Zhemyna. They watched the snow fall in silence for a time, the only sounds the ambient rumble of the heating system and the occasional sip of coffee. The snowfall increased in volume, blotting out the barn and stables on the other end of the backyard, beyond the courtyard, from view.

"Did you let him out?"

The sudden break of the quiet caused Zhemyna to start, though she would never have admitted to it. She pulled the mug down from her lips and looked toward Almyra, who was pointing discretely to the courtyard. It took a moment to see through the visual noise that was the heavy snowfall, picking out the outline of another person.

She recognized the build, the height, and the albinism that was Gilbert walking with quick light steps over the footpaths through the rose garden, channels carved by shoveling earlier now clad with snowed divots. Even if she couldn't quite pick him out, a bright yellow splotch nestled in the light-colored fur lining of his puffy white winter jacket gave him away.

She let out a small sigh of relative relief before taking the delayed drink of her coffee, uttering a slightly-muffled and amused reply of, "No. I did not. Probably snuck out through the greenhouse."

Almyra made a contemplative noise in her throat, looking skyward before resuming her vigilance of the courtyard. "It's snowing hard now. Do you think he knows of the alarm system?" she asked. There was a small hint of concern tugging at her voice. "It would be truly awful to lose the young Master, don't you think."

Zhemyna shook her head casually, a visual response to match the verbal. "I highly doubt he needs one. There is not much trouble he can get into in the backyard."

Almyra sighed and shook her head slowly to one side. "If you say so, Mistress. But I doubt it's wise to let an albino out into a budding flurry, as such we get, without an alarm on them." She squinted, leaning forward just slightly to see through the gloom and curtain of snowfall. "Especially when they decide to go toppling over the side of the basalt shelf like he just did."

Zhemyna paused with the mug to her lips, looking in the general direction Gilbert had been moving toward. While the path he took was indeed toward the natural basalt-created terraces, he might have diverged slightly. It was admittedly very difficult to see with so much snow in the air. "I am sure he is alright. No proper military general of his caliber goes about without some idea of the terrain."

"Well, he would have decent scope of the terrain if he could see it, I'm sure." Almyra replied haughtily.

Zhemyna offered a small snort of laughter into her cup as she took another drink. "To be perfectly honest, he just does not like you, so calling him blind because he bumps into the walls periodically to get around you is hardly fair."

"I was referring to his use of glasses, Mistress. Surely those giant things haven't escaped your gaze." came the smug response.

Zhemyna wobbled her head in a sort of half-acceptance. If anyone in the house could get away with such scoldings, it was certainly the Head of House. "I will give you that. But that does not detract from the idea that he has traversed and patrolled the grounds numerously over the last several years."

"Has he ever traversed it in the snow, though."

It was not so much a question as a flat observation. The tall Nation realized that although Almyra wasn't openly showing much affection or emotion toward Gilbert, she sounded a little worried in the undertone. Well, the snow was starting to get thicker and heavier...

"Oh for the love of above and below..." she muttered, looking toward the Head of House. "Would it make you feel better if I went to check on him?"

There was a second of silence, a sort of smugness emanating from the shorter Prussian giving all the answer that was required. Zhemyna sighed, looking at the coffee mug in her hand. "Alright. You win, I will go and check on him. Please bring me my winter-wear, if you would, Almyra."

She ceased being surprised that her Head of House seemed to teleport wherever she went. In the time it took for the Nation to finish her cup's contents and set it on the table, the shorter woman had been to the coat closet at the front of the house and returned with the requested wear. Rather than using her presence to announce herself, the old brown cloak she carried with her did plenty of that. Sewn along the peppered white fox fur hem was a string of large silvery jingle bells, documenting the head-maid's trek through the house with a garish cacophony echoing through the corridors, the glass-covered chamber of the atrium reverberating the higher tones back and changing the sound just enough to notice. The bells clanged raucously as Almyra draped the wool cloak and the heavy silver longcoat on the back of one of the dining chairs, handing the taller Nation a pair of winter boots first. She slid into them and laced up with a practiced ease, closing and zipping the outer lace guards to keep snow out of them.

"I do apologize for the cloak, I know it's a bit old-fashioned," Almyra started, handing over the gloves next. "But I couldn't find any of the smaller strings of bells."

"Any bells in this weather is better than no bells." Zhemyna replied, pulling on and fastening the gloves tightly around her wrist, pointing in a wordless demand for the longcoat next. "I prefer the cloak, really. You can hear that thing for miles, I swear my life and soul on it."

Almyra complied with the request, handing the coat to her. "I would rather prefer you didn't swear your life and soul on anything, Mistress. Doing so might break this country into pieces."

"And then you would all be South." The chuckle that escaped at the bad joke was just as dark, gloved fingers closing buttons one after the other on the longcoat once it was settled on her. A few small button or zipper-based adjustments and the coat fit neatly and warmly, a small indicating nod of her head given for the last bit of the ensemble.

"Precisely." That word was almost too bright, receiving a raised brow as the cloak was pulled loudly upward and handed to the taller Nation.

It was silent as she swirled it up and across her shoulders, fastening it at her throat and fluffing it. The fluffing of the collar did little to keep the bells as quiet as before, they chimed brightly until the fur was just puffy enough to her liking she could stop. With a decisive nod of approval, she made her way toward the backdoors leading from the atrium into the courtyard below, Almyra moving with a practiced grace ahead of her to open the door. The cold air through the open door was such a momentary shock when it hit her that it took her breath away, a sharp draw in to prepare her lungs for the change.

"If I do not return in two hours, assume I am lost and send a search party." she stated before taking a step into the cold outdoors.

"Most certainly." Almyra assured, watching the towering Nation sweep passed her and out the door, down the steps to the ground below.

The door was clicked shut, drowning out the ambient thrum of the heating system and leaving Zhemyna in the chill and near silent outdoors. The house, with its rusty red outer walls and the polished swamp-wood as trim, was vibrant against the silver-tinted world around it, a splash of color against the white sparkling snow.

With a visible puff of breath that moved the fur near her mouth, she started the trek through the courtyard. The only sounds to escape the muffled wintery quiet were the light crunch of her footsteps in the snow and the bright jingling of the bells adorning the old cloak. Thankfully, the footpaths were clearly marked, and she had them all memorized otherwise. She followed them passed ghostly rosebushes, cut and covered in plastic for the winter months and piled with snow like wraiths rising from the white down. Down garden steps and around the central fountain, turned off and insulated for the harsh winter temperatures, she finally met up with Gilbert's steadily-disappearing boot prints, offering up a sigh as to how she had been talked into this before turning to follow the trail.

Shapes loomed out of the curtain of snowfall, fuzzy silhouettes until she reached them. Fences were first and a closer look at the others proved to be the barns and stables. He had been by the paddocks, probably due to poor visibility given the prints veered off unsteadily to the left and followed the fence-line. She made her way alongside his trail, making her own set of prints next to his. There were a few spots where he lost footing, she noted the smears and shallow chasms between prints and avoided the places carefully.

It wasn't long before she saw Paleugmeddi and smelled the tingling scent of mint-reminiscent brine from the sea. Or rather, saw the glow of the city, even at midday. Individual streets and structures were still obscured from view, but warm city lights still blazed brilliantly in the haze, offering a beacon to any lost on the craggy moors. She was glad to see it; if something happened and she did become lost, at least she could find her way to the capital and call in to let the house know she was alright and safe.

She arrived at the first basalt shelf, noting with a begrudging sort of amusement that Gilbert had indeed gone over the edge of it to the natural terrace below. Though given his print at the edge, with one hand in the snow and the rest of his lower body upsetting it in a fine mold of his crouch, it was easy to surmise that he hadn't toppled over the edge so much as simply jumped. She looked down, carefully bending over the void to see if she could find him by sight alone. It was a good eight or nine feet to the base, probably less given the cushioning layer of snow. In the afternoon gloom, she could clearly make out the sharp edges of where he landed and the tiny fresh piles around him, upset from the upper edge of the shelf at his jump down.

She cupped a hand to her mouth from under her warm cloak, calling out his name to see if he would answer. Nothing was returned, no verbal acknowledgements, no crunching snow. Not even a flash of his red eyes looking in her general direction. The only thing she heard in response was her shifting weight making the snow under her groan in protest.

Rather than follow his example, she determined jumping was not ideal for her. She stepped away from the edge of the natural wall and began the longer trek around it, knowing there was a gradual slope at the other end she used regularly to climb down this side of her hill. It was more treacherous in this weather, however, and after the third or fourth time her foot slipped on it, she regretted not following the albino's example and simply jumping over the edge. A small muttering of contempt was given to the bells, chiming sharply as though admonishing her for going the long way around.

She came to the landing against the wall, noting with some appreciation how the basalt created a space where the snow blown by a southern wind didn't fall quite as heavily. A pocket where the volume was halved, though still falling in enough quantity to cause long-distance sighting issues. She could see a little more clearly, the splash in the powder where Gilbert had landed, the faint prints in the snow around it. In fact, she hadn't noticed it from above, but there was a veritable confusion of his prints all over on the terrace, punctuated by sweeping streaks and canyons carved in the frozen crystalline landscape, trampling the snowpack down considerably. There was no rhyme or reason to it, it was simply everywhere.

Had there been any large predatory animals in North Prussia, she may have worried somewhat; they did have friendly foxes and deer and other such commonplace fauna, but nothing substantially large. It was this revelation that she doubted he had been assaulted by anything and figured he was trying to distract from something. She ran to the next edge of the terrace, looking over the wall carefully. There were no noticeable indentations below, the snow looking fresh and untouched from where she stood. Satisfied with the thought that he hadn't gone further than that level, she turned back toward the center of the jumble to try to sort it out.

She didn't have to wait for long.

Before she had a chance to think on what to do next, his trademark snickering hiss echoed across the terrace, an ominous harbinger of whatever mischief he'd concocted. She stood up straight, quick enough the bells gave out a merry tinkling.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

The German's voice roared into the space, slicing through the snowy quiet like cannon fire. Rather than trying to pinpoint where it was coming from, she reflexively pulled the cloak up and over her head in time to see the first two indents, hear the thud and splash of powdery projectiles as they collided with the heavy wool. She chanced a peek around the fur hem after a few seconds of silence and caught sight of him finally. Had it not been for the frosted darker background of the basalt wall behind him, she likely would have missed him; he was clad mostly in white, save for the grey-flecked synthetic fur of his puffy winter coat.

As soon as she laid eyes on him, he made a noise that sounded something like a strangled 'oop!' and ducked down behind a crudely packed wall of snow about waist-height. She was astounded, rising to stand and assess where it was exactly this hidden snowfort of his lay. She should have seen him from above, but that brief glance was enough to tell her that he had nestled himself just out of sight from where he jumped down. Had she looked further along the edge, she might have caught sight of his machinations, but she hadn't. Simply moved away from it. She'd set herself up for this by not being more observant, this was her fault.

She stood up again, quickly, and ran back the way she had come as soon as the bells started jingling. Behind her was a constant noise of 'paf!paf!paf!' as one snowball after another was aimed and thrown with a surprising amount of accuracy, accompanied by a symphony of jovial snickering. She might have been impressed if she wasn't concentrating on staying ahead of the onslaught long enough to get out of range.

"Honestly. Who wears bells to a stealth fight! It's impractical!" he yelled out to her when he realized none of his missiles were even remotely close to hitting their target any longer.

"They are an age-old survival technique. I was not informed this would be a stealth fight, only that you were going to get yourself lost." she yelled back, turning to face him again from across the terrace. "As such, I am perfectly dressed for the task I set out to do. It is not my fault your communication skills need work."

"My communication skills are just fine! It's your kooky traditions that need work."

She shook her head and took a few slow steps forward. The movement kept the bells from moving too much and the packed snow made hardly any crunch beneath her. "At least my 'kooky traditions' have saved lives in the time they have been in use."

He appeared to not hear her, or at least not acknowledge her reply, for there was no retort. She took a couple more steps toward his fort, attempting to get close enough she could quietly make a snowball and hit him with it, to end it before it began and return to the warm confines of the house. It seemed the cloak had another idea in mind, however, catching on the roughened snow at her feet and inciting the bells to riot.

She started as he stood up suddenly, those startling red eyes finding her almost immediately. Not that she would admit it startled her at all, even if asked. They stared at each other for a moment, as though he were surprised she was as close as she was before his face split in a devious crooked smirk. He raised a hand to sight down, the other pulled behind his head with a snowball of his own at the ready.

As soon as she saw it, her reflexes kicked in and caused her to backtrack as quickly as possible with a wild cacophony of melodic jingling bells. They proved to be her downfall, one of them slipping effortlessly between her calves and tangling itself around a leg, pulling the woolen cloak taut and her shoulders and neck with it. It wasn't long before she found herself on her back on the ground, dazed and staring up at the sky.

Gilbert had stepped over his barricade as soon as she went down, coming into view standing over her. He bent a little forward so he could see her better, blocking out some of the snow like a living umbrella. There was a twinge of concern on his face, seen in the furrowed brows and twisted mouth.

"If that's how they help people, I'm amazed there's not more dead." he stated. "You alright?"

It took a moment for her to catch up with herself again, but she still managed to answer him with a clear, "Jia..."

His expression changed in an instant from one of slight worry to the devious grin as he straightened back upright, his armed arm pulling back with the other still sighting for her face. "Gut. Because I still have a snowball with your name on it."

Despite the world settling from spinning, she put her hands up defensively in an attempt to disrupt his aim. "Gilbert Beilschmidt, if you hit me with that, I swear to gods above and below that you will be sleeping on the couch!"

He paused to think, his arm barely having started the swing before the threat. He let it fall back to his side, the grin fading to a look of dramatic thinking. It took him all of a couple seconds before he'd made up his mind, raising his firing arm again.

"At least the couch is comfy."

The swing was completed, a comically characteristic splat as the half-melted snowball managed to barely clip a guarding finger and broke apart over her head. As soon as the sting of the cold seeped into her face, her expression curled and distorted, horror giving way to something hateful. Her lips pulled back to bare teeth with a roar of vehement vengeance rather than anything remotely intelligible, the expulsion of which caused her German companion to take a few steps back out of arm's reach. The bemused smirk on his face told her this was exactly what he was after, however. For some reason she couldn't quite explain, it only made her angrier at him.

It took her a moment to properly formulate anything remotely like words. When she did, it came first in a torrent of profanity, Prussian slang of such subjects no man or woman would have dared to utter in any age, modern or otherwise. Her hands flew to the ties of the cloak, fingers fumbling with the bows and knots and buttons. As soon as she had it open, she rolled up on her feet and advanced on her assailant, shoulders squared and head held low in a show of threat.

Gilbert was laughing as he expelled an, "Oh shit!" and beat a hasty retreat back toward his snowfort. Zhemyna had veered off for a pile of untouched snow at the base of the rock wall, bending down to scoop a handful and pack it into a ball, sighting his running form not far from her. His cackle was still ringing off the walls, giving the space its own mirth to match his. Changing the terrain to be his own.

She skid to a stop and threw the snowball at him in time to watch as he leaped up and over the forward wall of his fort, diving behind it and using the barrier to shield himself from her counterattack. The ball flew true, thrown with such force that it embedded itself a fair way into the packed snow of the wall with a dull crackling thud, a faint network of fractures spreading across the surface from the impact. The action itself was therapeutic, slightly lessening her need for revenge at being attacked.

She heard him scuff snow with a start on contact, his white-haired head popping up enough to bend over the edge and look down at the projectile meant for him. "Holy shit..." he muttered before looking back up toward her. "What the Hell was in that one! Rocks?"

She took a few steps forward, focusing on the ball she threw and ignoring when the albino ducked back down out of sight. A glint of hazy light revealed smooth shards scattered among the crumbling white powder. "Oh. Oops. A little ice seems to have gotten mixed in that one. Sorry."

"'Oops'?" he reiterated, slightly muffled from behind his veil of snow. "I throw snow at you and you try to take my head off with ice and all you can say is fucking 'oops'!?" His accusations were counterpointed with a string of agitated chirping. "Yeah! Yeah, you tell her how uncool that was!"

She bent down, scooping a handful of powder and after inspecting it properly, began patting it into shape while Gilbird continued on its tweeting tirade with Gilbert adding in the occasional affirmative. "Well. I did say I was sorry." she finally interjected, inspecting the packed ball of snow in her hand before taking a few steps closer to the fort and choosing her next words carefully. "I highly doubt you have any idea what your bird is actually saying. Sounds like a bunch of unintelligible tweeting to me."

If indignation had a name, it was Gilbert. He popped up like a jack-in-the-box the instant he realized he'd been insulted even slightly, a dust of accumulated snow fluttering from the fur of his coat with the huffing inhale of breath. A small smirk of smug amusement quirked its way across her face at the mental image of him puffing in much the same way the little yellow bird on his shoulder was.

"Oh like Hell I don-"

His retort was stopped short by the snowball she had carefully crafted finding its mark and splattering across his face, causing the bird on his shoulder to flutter its tiny wings with a sharp angry twittering. It took everything to stifle a giggle bubbling in her chest while he wiped the remains of the missile off his face, the strain in her voice evident. "That one was powder. I made sure of it."

She caught sight of his red eyes long enough to turn and run, glaring but with a softer touch of playfulness. She heard him bound back over his barricade and give chase, letting loose a joyful pent laugh that left music in the air in her wake. The scuff of boots in the snow behind her as she ran back toward the slope she had followed onto the terrace, the splash of powdery ammunition on her heels mingling with his own cackling laughter.

Her target was an old gnarled pine that had rooted on the hillside near the exit, dark and polished with ice, a sharp contrast against its silvery surroundings and glittering snow. She ran toward it, glad she had left the cumbersome bell-cloak behind. Her plans to turn the little scuffle into the stealth fight he wanted would have been severely hindered by it. Even if she could feel the wind biting more than before against her face and partially exposed neck and perhaps slightly regretted leaving it behind for that.

She ducked behind the tree's trunk in time to hear the splash of snow against it, right where her head had been no more than a second before. She pulled herself close to the wood and chanced a peek around it to see where her adversary was. He wasn't very far from her and as soon as their eyes locked, he made a dramatic display of a pitcher's wind-up before throwing a small ball in her direction and starting after it at a brisk walk.

She hid quickly again to let the snowball go whizzing passed and splatter against the slope nearby before making a bolt up the incline herself once she was sure he knew she was hiding there. This would provide an excellent distraction while she made her way to the top of the hill again. To do what was still a mystery.

Knowing Gilbert, there was a key to this. Something that once stopped would end the whole fight. Or once captured. She managed her way around the top of the slope, slid once on the curve that followed the edge of the basalt wall before regaining traction as the realization hit her.

His fort...

She caught sight of him on the lower terrace darting around the trunk with a new snowball at the ready and stopping, the swirl of his white hair as he looked around the tree almost like the snow itself. Left, right, around the curve of the wall where the slope began to rise, and then up. Even though her footsteps were muffled, she was still visible against the sky and the house, her dark trailing mane like a signal pointing in her direction. She knew when he saw her, could hear the muffled call of, "Oh no you don't!" before she caught a brief glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye. No doubt, it was him running after her.

Dealing with Prussian winters helped aide her now in the race for the snowfort. Especially since the terrace below had been nearly trampled flat or shoveled and formed into the fort and its substantial arsenal stores, leaving Gilbert with mostly-flat terrain compared to her substantial snowpack. It wasn't long before she heard him crunch along practically at her side, a driving incentive to keep her moving.

The fort came into view within a few seconds, pale blue shadows giving away the crude curve of the walls and the stockpile of snowballs neatly stacked against the wall on one side. She could feel the burn in her legs and in her lungs as she tried to breathe in cold sea-tinged air, forcing a last burst of power into her stride despite creeping fatigue, veering for the ledge. She caught sight of her opponent bending forward for a final shot of speed when she put her foot down only to hear the ground snap and felt it give way under her. Only one thought crossed her mind as she inhaled sharply at the surprise and watched helplessly as the top of the basalt shelf went flying passed her; This might hurt...

It was not as painful as she was expecting. Besides the stinging wet cold of snow against her skin, her landing was cushioned by the once-neat pile of snowballs against the back wall of the fort, sending an impressive cloud of powder into the air. The ice sheet she had cracked and dislodged from above had brought down a small avalanche around it, partially burying her as she thudded upside down against the back wall of the terrace and narrowly missed cracking her head on the ground. She stayed in place to rest and catch her breath, too tired to move for the time being, her breath exiting in what could have been tangible puffs mixed with the snow she had displaced.

Through the glittering cloud and her own stream of heavy worked breath, she saw him slow to a walk and step back inside the half-buried remains of his fort, coming to a crouch next to her with his chin rested in the palm of one hand. His eyes mirrored the bemused grin wending its way across his face as he observed the devastation she had wrought before landing on her. She was sprawled upside down amid a partially flattened pile of what used to be perfectly formed and stacked snowballs, so close to the back wall of the terrace that she could feel the extra waft of cold air from the stone. It was a moment more before he spoke up, likely catching his own breath.

"You know, that might have been more impressive if you'd landed on your feet." The joviality in his face fueled the equally-amused tone of voice, a small huff of air given toward the faintest of laughs. "Now, I would have landed on my feet. But I guess we can't all be as awesome as I am, ja?"

The short rest had done her good enough to move again, which was good since she could feel the snow melting and starting to soak into the clothing under the coat, where it had infiltrated on her disastrous landing. She moved, untangling herself as best she could from the remains of the avalanche and snowballs to roll over and hold her upper torso above the mess. "Well. I did take out your ammunitions, so I would call that a victory. A small one, but small victories are better than none at all."

He loosed a small uneven humming at her revelation, reaching forward to absently dust away a small bit of caking wet snow across her shoulders. "Mmmmmmmmnein. This is why I handle the military and you don't." He shifted his crouch for better stability, leaning a little more forward to take hold of her upper arms and, with her help, pull her out of the powdery mess she had been stuck in. "But! You are my wife, so I can overlook a few discrepancies. Six out of ten for planning and motive, four off for pisspoor execution."

"I feel honored." she snarked, sarcasm lacing her tone as she used his help to shift to a proper sitting position. "Though, I am certain it is still a better score than your brother would have gotten."

The snort Gilbert expelled veiled his face momentarily behind breath-vapor. She could have sworn it echoed off the basalt. "Germany is a soldier. Such sloppy work would be admonished, yes. You are a farmer. It's different."

She let him continue dusting her clean, putting her hands on her hips defiantly. "I do not see how that makes it any different. I fight just as well as any soldier."

Bait, which he ate up like a hungry fish at a line. "Nein! You have no formal training, it is very different." He grabbed one of her wrists, extended the arm attached without resistance to brush the clinging patches of white from it, resting it across one of his shoulders when done and beginning on the other one in similar fashion. "You have ferocity, but it's unrefined."

Her other arm, now cleaned of any snow, was plopped on his other shoulder, disrupting Gilbird to flutter up to the top of the albino's head and puff in annoyance. She offered the bird an apologetic glance before locking her wrists together behind the German's head, her green eyes resuming contact with his red. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

He shrugged, a brief raise of his shoulders in response before he rested his hands on her hips and pulled her a little closer to him, her embrace tightening lightly around him and guiding his upper torso and head nearer to her. "Take it as you will, it's not an insult." he told her.

The lopsided grin he shared as he settled his forehead against hers drew a smile of her own, accompanied by a little musical laugh that soon played duet to his own trademark snicker. The tip of her nose poked his and he responded by rubbing it on hers, laughter shared between them.

His attention returned to the pile of snow that had once been his prized arsenal. "I suppose we should find something else to do then, since your heavy ass wrought unwarranted devastation on my snowfort."

"'Unwarranted'!?" she huffed, putting her hands on her hips. A pout was awarded him at the poke of her weight, her left arm brought up to flex for inspection. "I may be heavy, but I have well earned such heaviness, thank you kindly."

Though it was difficult to see the corded outline of muscle through the heavy shirts and longcoat sleeve, he still loosed an approving hum to match the off-balance smirk making its way across one half of his face. "Ja, ja, I get it. Put the guns away before you shoot someone's eye out. Like mine, since they're in the line of fire."

It was a little poke, an appreciative teasing. One she took in stride as they rubbed noses a second time, putting both hands on his shoulders. "I would much rather kiss you, you know..."

"I know. It's so hard to keep yourself from me, but even I admit it's a bit too cold to let you kiss this flawlessness. Might freeze our lips together. Try explaining that to your hag."

"She is not a hag, she is Head of House and does not mind what happens between married couples. Besides, there are more interesting ways to be frozen together."

His cold-reddened cheeks appeared to grow brighter, not much of a feat against his pale skin. She didn't need to be told where it was his mind had wandered, his mouth opening to retort but stopping as he looked skyward. It wasn't an unfounded silence, as the both of them noticed that the ambient breeze from the south had stopped. It was like the snowflakes in the air were suspended above the ground, strings of glitter in the silvery-blue quiet, eerie in the way the world seemed to stop moving entirely save for their consistent puffs of breath.

It took a short moment for Zhemyna to remember what it meant, a shiver of intuitive memory up her spine as she slipped her way to her feet and grasped at Gilbert's jacket on the way, a silent signal to get him to follow her as she started a quick jog across the terrace. Gilbird flitted down into the space between the albino's coat and himself at the back of the jacket, disappearing completely from view. Gilbert was not far behind her, catching up and keeping pace as they reached the place she had left the bell-ridden cloak of before.

"Grab the cloak and pass it here, please." It was more a demand than a request, her accent shifting from the upward perpetual-questioning to the downward revelationary inflection.

"Why me, not you?"

"Because you are closer to the ground than I am."

A snort escaped him at that, a muttered, "Not my fault you're a damned sentient tree..."

"Gilbert!"

"Alright, alright, I'll get the abomination of noise. Don't have a conniption."

He bent down to grab hold of the darker garment, a quick shake of it as he hauled it up causing the bells to ring more clearly in the still cold air. The motion carried through to toss it toward her, and she caught it without much trouble as they made it across the ledge to the path leading to the top of the hill.

The sirens sheered the silence like a knife, slicing through the cold and ringing against the basalt shelves of the estate's hill as though trying to warn the ground itself. Gilbert slowed down a little to look toward the blob of light that was Paleugmeddi. He'd barely gotten a, "What the hell...?" out when the sirens were drowned out by a dull roar.

Zhemyna didn't have to tell him to run toward the house, watching as he started bolting to the best of his ability through snowpack up to his knees as soon as the wall of snow started blotting out the lights on the far end of the city below. The external lights on the main stables guided them toward it, following the fence-line back toward the house. She managed to tie the cloak closed again with tight knots, unaware of how cold she had been until the warm woolen confines covered her again.

The stables were reached, the manor's external lights glinted through the gloom as the next point of reference, the roaring of the wind and snow growing behind them to a deafening echo amplified by the closeness of the estate's buildings. Glowing white splotches beneath the snow in the rose garden betrayed the path lights had been flicked on, little pools gleaming and glittering. She almost tripped on one of the outlying lamps, a spray of illuminated snow into the carved channels for the path through the garden courtyard as she stumbled into the open. It hurt to breathe, her lungs painfully devouring icy air, her legs like frozen weights. Another burst of glittering light flew passed her, Gilbert having finished bounding through the thick snowpack and stumbling a few steps to catch his bearings before running ahead of her.

The wind began to quicken and swirl the snow in the air into a flurried ballet, the harbinger noise of the wind encompassing. She caught her step to run without stumbling, stomping excess snow from her legs and fueled passed the point of exhaustion by the stormy onslaught behind her, nipping the edges of the cloak's fox-fur hem like a hungry dragon woken from a long sleep and drowning out the bright chime of the bells. She looked briefly over her shoulder to see the first wisping tendrils of the snow wall bearing down on them, riding the forward wind of the flash blizzard to crest the obstacle that was her estate's hill.

She looked back ahead, locating her fellow Nation as he navigated the winding paths through the back garden toward the atrium. One back door was open, a glowing invitation of warmth and safety. He took whatever shortcut he could, including scrambling over the fountain to the tier above. It appeared an effortless move at first, though he was slow in regaining his feet at the top. It was a split second, but there was fatigue in his movements and she was gaining ground on him due to it. She would overtake him soon and if she didn't do something, he would be left to the elements in her wake.

The wind sucked back around her ankles, pulling fresh snowfall with it like water before a tsunami. She yelled his name, surprised she could hear herself and even more surprised when he proved he could as well. He turned around sharply at the sound, taking a few stumbling steps backward and accompanied by what she took as some expletive spit into being at the sight of the storm.

Before he had a chance to turn back around, she scaled the steps at the side of the fountain and closed the distance to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and sweeping him off the ground without resistance. She couldn't hear what exactly he was yelling in her ear above the roar of the wind and snow as she ran for the open back door. A few good long strides closed the distance enough she was able to fling the albino through the threshold into the arms of a few waiting maids, without a doubt rallied by Almyra. She tripped up the steps and into the golden warmth of the atrium, hitting the wooden floor with a thud of her body and the bright jingling of the heavy bells.

A pair of stout maids manning the open doors pushed them closed and latched them in place with the frame bolts, setting a sturdy support bar across them in time for the ferocious wall of wind and snow to strike. It hit the house with a loud groaning shriek and covering the atrium glass in a solid sheet of white, the doors rattling violently in their frames.

Instinctively, she put her arms above her head to shield it from the conditions, though relaxed as soon as she felt a hand at her back. Heavy, yet comforting and warm. She looked up, memories of being buried beneath flash blizzards dissipating with the sight of Gilbert crouched next to her with that lopsided grin and glittering red eyes, his face flushed in a mixture of the biting cold and exertion. He didn't say anything about the concern he was feeling, but it was there in the way his features creased just slightly. The knit of his brow, the faint twist in the corner of his grin. A familiarity she had come to read well.

"Guess you trust me pretty well, eh?"

She recognized the joke as his sign of checking on her, and answered it accordingly once her breathing had evened out. "I suppose I did throw you rather far." His face softened, his body relaxing at the verbal assurances that she was alright, offering an arm for her to pull herself to sit. "That was quite a scramble. Are you alright?"

He loosed a low confident laugh, his fingers making short work of the ties holding the cloak tight around her neck as she took his proffered arm and sat up. "Of course, I'm alright! It'll take much more than a bit of weather to keep down this much concentrated awe-HEY!"

"Goodness me, you are both soaked through." Almyra interrupted, having dropped a towel on the boastful albino's head and was working it to dry him off, despite his loudly German protests. "Maatil."

One of the maids nearby turned to face the older woman in response.

"Have the kitchens brew a pot of coffee to be taken to the upper reading lounge. Make sure the fireplace is running." The Head of House ceased ruffling Gilbert's head with the towel as the maid addressed left to do the tasks set. "There you are, young Master. Damp, not wet."

"'Young Master', my ass. I wasn't even damp!" came the disgruntled muffle from under the towel as he reached up to pull it down, looking more raggled than usual and drawing a small bit of laughter from the taller Nation.

Almyra nodded sternly at the glare he gave her, but ignored him otherwise. She bent and picked up the cloak, draping it over an arm with a bright clamour. "Feel free to leave your effects here in the atrium, Mistress. Maatil should have the fireplace upstairs going."

"We will. Thank you, Almyra." Zhemyna told her, listening as the shorter Prussian woman left the room, the jingling cloak drowning out Gilbert's chirp of, "Hag!" after her.

"Head of House." Zhemyna corrected, working at removing her boots before standing and making short work of the gloves and overcoat. A tsk was awarded as she noticed her skirt and the collar of her blouse were indeed wet. It seeped halfway up the fabric and muted the colors in the fine embroidery along the hems, mixing them into the darkened white cloth behind. "It seems I was a bit soaked through from this endeavour..."

Gilbert offered a snort as he left his own gloves neatly on the table, removing his puffy winter jacket and draping it with meticulous propriety across the back of one chair, working at his boots. Gilbird sprang back into existence from its hiding place to perch back on his head, fluffing up in an attempt to get comfortable before sighing down into his hair. "And yet, the old biddy ruffles my beautiful head and forgoes you and your sopping wetness. It's completely unfair, where's the justice!"

"Well, calling her a hag probably does not get you on her 'People To Look Forward To' list." she told him, wringing the water out of the bottom of her skirts so she wouldn't drip across the rest of the house.

He shrugged, artfully dodging the small puddles she made around herself. "I call it as I see it. She has been nothing but a hag to me, therefore she remains a hag." The wind rose in volume outside the whitened atrium, leaving no visual of the outside world but plenty of audio to imagine the whiteout it must have been. He looked toward the veiled glass dome, then over his shoulder to the corridor into the house. "...I heard something about the reading lounge?"

She took a long step to cross her small puddles, receiving his scoff of, "Show-off..." as she made her way after him. She decided to ignore it, focusing on the inquiry of events to come as she joined him. "Yes. Fresh coffee and the fireplace."

He waited until she was next to him to begin the trek through the manor's halls toward the stairs to the second floor. "Gut. I look forward to finally warming up."

"Hopefully with company." she suggested, receiving a chortle of what she took as confirmation in return.

The first steps padded along the wood floor of the hall beyond, muted to barely pats as they transitioned from bare wood to thin hardy carpet of green and gold, echoed still in the ebony framing along the walls. They were practically in unison, Zhemyna with her elegant sweeping stride alongside Gilbert with his strutting march. Who was leading, none could tell, only that their steps matched near perfectly, their arms close enough to brush and touch on each pass.

Lightly, she poked at his lower arm on a pass, her fingertips brushing the pale skin along the curve of the muscle, a silent request for his hand. He offered her a brief glance, remaining silent while he raised his hand to wrap around hers.

Her hands were cold, but the shock of his frigid fingers clasping around hers reminded her not everyone was suited to the chill of winters on the Baltic seaboard. A twinge of a thought flitted through her mind as she wondered how it was he had survived it to begin with if he grew so frozen even when bundled. A question for another time. Slowly, she extended her fingers in his grasp, twined them between his and squeezed. It felt good to feel him squeeze back, a sign of comfort, of stability.

Stability that was soon coming to an end.

He tilted his head up to look her in the eye, a grin beginning to split his face again and paired with the devious glimmer behind his red eyes. The mischievous snicker that was loosed made her momentarily regret asking to hold his hand, the jolt as he bounced a half-step and took off running through the hall almost knocking her over with a choked noise of surprise. It took a couple steps for her to catch pace with him without tripping over herself or the rug, any semblance of apprehension melted away to join in his revelry at being inside the warmer confines of the manor, next to each other.

Down the hall, around the seating area outside her office, into the south lounge. The walls sang in the wake of their trek, the polished ebony capturing their joint laughter and ringing it back so it felt like the house was taking part in their joviality. A shared space made just for them, speaking comforts only they would understand even through the howling wind and snow outside.

The front doors in the entry hall were rattling in their frame as they made their way to the stairs. She glanced at them and slowed, pulling her hand from his to check the frame-bolts out of habit. On seeing that both the frame-bolts and the deadbolt locks were in place, she turned up the stairs with small hopes Gilbert hadn't run the whole flight as he usually did, leaving her a gap to close. Her hand made for the banister, instinctively routine, but stopped before it made contact. Her progress was halted before she put a foot down on the first step, but not by the fact that the albino Nation had planted himself firmly on the step above, effectively blocking the way up.

It was his hands, a little warmer than before but still chilly to the touch, gently touching her head at her jawline and making her gasp at the intrusion of such cold against her warm skin. His lips, level with hers through use of the stairs, pressed to hers. The surprise of it made her stop, the yearn of her heart for such contact that made her push back and return it. The pull away from him was slow, leaving her pulse pounding and her cheeks hot, though the renewed flush across his proved it was not one-sided.

She offered him a smirk of her own, recognizing and not drawing attention to the fact that he had to use the stairs to achieve being level to her. "Really."

A noncommittal shrug was given her in response, his own grin breaking through once more. "You wanted one, but it was too cold. Now that it's not, I figured it was a good time to deliver."

It was admittedly hard to keep the smile from spreading across her face at that, the low laugh that escaped. "I am blessed to have such a diligent devoted husband."

He loosed his hissing snicker, obviously pleased with the small amount of praise she paid him. "Only the best."

Such an open response, though she figured that it was likely in arrogance. She liked to think it was for her, a hidden message of affection. One she returned as openly as she had received, planting a small peck of a returned kiss to his bottom lip adoringly. "The fireplace should be lit by now, and I am sure there are blankets and coffee cups with our names on them."

He moved back, turning around to climb the stairs, his hand rested on the polished raw-wood of the banister as she placed hers on it and followed him up. "Hm. Isn't hot chocolate more traditional for post-snowplay?"

"Only when both parties can relax. I still have work to finish, but you can make a special request to the attending maid, if you want. I am sure Maatil would not mind getting you hot chocolate."

He tsked, turning his head at the sound of her admittance to eventually making her way back to the daily grind he'd schemed to pull her away from. "And here I thought I could keep you all day."

She loosed a derisive little laugh. "It needs to be done, as I know you understand, but I will still stay and warm up with you for a bit. And your punishment is officially redacted. We can spend the night together instead. All night."

"Yeah, okay." He sounded hurt by the news of her having to leave before his demeanour shifted drastically. He had barely put a foot down on the landing when he declared, "First one to the reading lounge gets all the blankets!"

There was a flurry of movement as all facades dropped, a mixture of their laughter as they ran the rest of the way up the stairs to the third floor. The manor documented their journey through its plastered halls, the ebony holding fast to their energy and echoing it back, making even the smallest nooks and crannies a little brighter in their wake despite the storm outside scratching at the windows and doors as though pleading for entry.

The wind died finally, a swirling rattle of the southeasterly blusters fighting among the seaward blizzards that lasted hours. Zhemyna was reminded of old stories about storm-birds who fought for dominance, the shrieking of the winds colliding and the loud scratching of icy talons on hardy plastering and thick glass windows tempered for the weather. She could only imagine what it looked like outside the big bay window behind the still-closed heavy brocade curtains in her office.

Eventually, the southern wind won out, leaving her alone outside the occasional maid checking in to see that her coffee cup was refilled. Such treatment had ended more than two hours ago, meaning only one thing. The staff had left the main manor for their quarters on the grounds now that they could brave the weather again. Even after the snow and blizzard'ing earlier in the day, Prussians were too stubborn to let even foot traffic be hampered for long. She suspected the groundskeepers had carved new paths in the drifts and packs to assure access to all parts of the estate. Which left the main manor in a state of heavy silence outside her cracked office door.

Even Gilbert seemed to be relatively silent, which on its own could be worrying. He hadn't made a noise since wishing her fond work ethics after the usual dinner battle campaigns had ended and they split ways, but no one came to her with any updates on the albino's shenanigans. Nor had she heard any noise that would make her worry for the well-being of her house. Or her husband.

The dim golden glow of the desk lamp was just enough light for her, finding the overhead light caused headaches to form when she worked under it too long. The folder of expansion commentary was laid out neatly as before, the scratch of her pen's tip across the final papers only slightly muted by the ticking of the clock on the wall or the sip of steaming coffee from her mug. A scrawl of her signature along the bottom line of the last page was given and, with a heaving sigh, she closed the folder and returned the pen to its base under the lamp.

A glance at the clock on the wall told her she had been at it long enough, ticking dangerously close to one. A brief peek between the curtains to glimpse the outside assured it was indeed one in the morning, the clouds hanging low and glowing eerie orange, streetlights in Paleugmeddi reflected against the heavy overcast.

With a low grumble, she stood up and grabbed the mug and folder from her desk, flicking the desk light off and moving toward the sliver of light through the cracked door to the hallway. She drank down the rest of the cold coffee, unsurprised when it did nothing except taste awful, letting the creeping fatigue gathering throughout the night weigh her down while gathering a film on the back of her throat. Bed was calling, and Gilbert was probably already asleep.

"So much for that promise." she huffed under her breath as she made her way to the kitchen first to put the mug in the sink, then across the hall to the entry to drop the folder into its appropriate mailing sheath above the decorative table under the stairs. It would be noticed and delivered to parliament by the mail-drivers who arrived in the morning.

The sound of the heavy paper shuffing across the metal container and clanging loud enough to echo through the empty foyer drew another noise from the front lounge closest to her office. A shuffle of fabric on upholstery, rubbing against it with weight behind it. It made her pause, stopping and looking over her shoulder toward the lounge before moving to check on it. Best case scenario, it was the Puuki of the first floor making small mischief as the house-spirits were wont to do. Worst case, it was an intruder, though she had no idea why any mortal in their right mind would intrude on a known Nation's property.

She barely made it to the archway when a voice issued from the room beyond, grating coarseness on a tired half-slurred German accent. A relief, at any stretch. "Issat you?”

She entered the room to spot the Puuki she had originally considered peering curiously from the hall beyond the other entrance, though it scuttled out of sight again to whichever end it wanted. It was best not to question the motives or intent of hobgoblins. Her attention shifted as she rounded the furniture to the center of the room to find Gilbert stretched along the length of the sofa and looking like he had just woken up.

A sleepy crooked grin began spreading its way across his face at the sight of her. "Ah yes. Is you." He added as he stretched himself out in full, barely half-awake, "Done or just a break?”

"I am ... finished." The confusion was more than evident on her voice, feeling her face twist to match it. "Why are you not in bed? I told you such punishment was a joke and should not be taken seriously.”

"Nein. I disobeyed a direct order from command, and appropriate reprimand should be taken. No matter how stupid it seemed at the time." he told her, almost bemused at her confusion. He made a show of snuggling down into the cushions beneath him, one arm behind his head and closing his eyes. "Redacting punishments only says that the offending behaviour is alright to keep doing, it is not a good means to curb it. So go to bed, North. I will be a couch-dweller tonight.”

She looked toward the entrance she had come from, toward the entryway and subsequent stairway to the floors above. She could easily walk up the stairs and go through the nighttime routines without him, snuggle into the big warm bed, and sleep the rest of the night. But sleep was tugging too hard at her for her to properly navigate the stairs, she felt. And although the bed was warm, the lack of company after sharing it for so long made it seem so cold and uninviting...

"Well. Since you are being so impossibly regimental at the moment, I suppose I will have to change such disciplinary measures to suit me.”

"Wha-oof!"He cracked an eye open in time to feel her carefully land across him, nuzzling a leg and an arm between him and the sofa back and burrowing herself against him. "Mein Gott, woman, what are you eating!”

"Do not bring my weight into this, this is your own fault." she admonished him, a twinge of playfulness tugging at her weary tone. "I know I will not get your stubborn ass to sleep next to me, so you will have to put up with me sleeping on you. Besides." Her voice lessened into a pout. "That bed is far too big and far too lonely to sleep in by oneself.”

The snort he unleashed echoed through his chest into the ear she had resting against him. "That almost gave me constipation, it was so damned cheesy.”

"I do apologize for your metaphoric innards." she poked, letting herself relax and hearing him pretend to wheeze beneath her. "Now, either you are coming to bed, or I will stay right here with you. There is no in-between.”

He made a noise that was somewhere between thinking and disgruntlement before flopping back in apparent defeat. "Fine. Fine, you can stay there. But if any part of me is still asleep when I wake up, I'm blaming you.”

She laughed, hearing the same reverberated in the ear still against him, then yawned. "I can take that, I suppose...”

He settled back against the sofa, resting his free hand against one of her shoulders, rolling a low rattling chuckle at her admittance. "Small victories. Good night, North.”

The weariness she had been staving off through the exchange finally caught up to her, stopping any processes that might have formulated even the most basic of words. The numbness of sleep took hold, tugged at her to the rhythm of his breathing and his pulse beneath her ear. On the border of sleep, she was only vaguely aware of his hand moving, his fingers lightly brushing rogue locks of her hair back from her face. She felt more than heard his final words in the last waking seconds, vibrating with the lethargic croak of someone else on the verge of sleep through him and into her. Letting his voice add the necessary feeling of security.

"Mein liebling...”

[thehikingviking]

Tuolumne Peak (10,845 ft) and Mt Hoffman (10,850 ft) via May Lake Road

When I was in high school I attempted Mt Hoffman from Highway 120 with my friend Jeff and my other friend’s mom Kelly. Jeff stopped near the base of the mountain due to knee pain but Ms. Kelly and I continued up the southeastern slopes. Thunderstorms began to move in as we approached the summit plateau. Back then I wasn’t so concerned with standing atop the true high point, so we started down the mountain prematurely as we watched lightning strike in the distance to the east. Once I saw lightning strike to my west, I realized that the storm had shifted to our location. A fearful descent ensued and we all ran down to the treeline. As we walked through the forest, I became fearful of a nearby grouse call, assuming it was a bear grunting. I was still inexperienced in the mountains and had no one to teach me otherwise at the time. The low pitched guttural call seemed more fit for a large mammal rather than a mountain chicken. With bear on the brain, we continued down the trail until I saw one. My senses were at an all time high, but I definitely saw a bear sized animal run down the trail in front of me and climb up the inside of a hollowed out tree. Since I was first down the trail, I was the only one to see it, and none of us wanted to further investigate. Upon reflecting on that moment, something didn’t seem right. It didn’t exactly walk like a bear, and I don’t feel its a bear’s natural instinct to climb up the inside of a tree. It was also too big to be a marmot. Several months later I researched other possibilities, and the animal that seemed to match what I saw was the wolverine, which was hunted to extinction in the Sierra Nevada around 1922.

A decade later I found an article showing that a wolverine was caught on a game cam near Truckee, CA in the Sierra Nevada around 100 miles north of my sighting. Could the animal I saw during the thunderstorm have been an extremely rare and threatened Sierra Nevada wolverine? I have no way of knowing for sure, but I’m inclined to think I did.

I wasn’t able to summit Mt Hoffman that day, but I’ve kept my eye on the peak ever since just waiting for the right time to go back. I planned to combine Mt Hoffman with Tuolumne Peak, and I even investigated adding The Bowmaiden to our loop. This unofficially named peak lies along the ridgeline between Mt Hoffman and Tuolumne Peak. Asaka and I drove into Yosemite after dark and drove to the May Lake Trailhead where we slept in the back of the Jeep.

We woke up to a cold October morning. The pond next to the parking lot was frozen over. I walked over to the bathroom and while inside heard a car drive through the parking lot. When I got back to the car, Asaka told me that a ranger came by and yelled at her for sleeping in the car. This made me very upset; I am very anti ranger and anti national park, and it was probably good that I was in the bathroom because I would have given him a piece of my mind. We left the parking lot and began up the May Lake Trail. Half Dome was visible off in the distance.

Mt Hoffman was also visible from the get go. This would be our last peak of the day, however.

We passed by May Lake and the High Sierra Camp continuing along the trail through a small meadow.

We left the trail here and continued up a shallow gully up the southern slopes of Tuolumne Peak.

Route finding was trivial as the open granite slopes were easy to follow. Tuolumne Meadows became more and more visible the higher we climbed.

The summit was along the northeastern edge of a knife ridge. We found a class 3 route which took us to the top of the ridge prematurely.

From atop the knife ridge, we carefully traversed northeast to the less interesting true summit. I helped Asaka on a couple moves. I noticed an orange trekking pole down below which must have been dropped by someone in the past.

The summit had some pine shrubs growing on top. To the southwest were Mt Starr King, Half Dome and Mt Hoffman.

To the northwest was the unnamed Peak 10606.

To the north was the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne. There were also peaks such as Piute Mountain and Pettit Peak visible.

To the east were Mt Conness, Mt Dana and Mt Gibbs. Tuolumne Meadows and Lembert Dome were seen in the lower elevations.

To the southeast were Mt Lyell and Mt Maclure.

To the south was the Clark Range.

I was happy to have completed the first objective with relative ease. It was still early in the day, so we continued southwest along the ridgeline. Our next objective was The Bowmaiden, and visiting the summit seemed like only a minor effort.

The knife edge of Tuolumne Peak looked impressive from below.

According to my Peakbagger app, The Bowmaiden was listed as the point to the right of the lake. A previous trip report traversed the top of the connecting ridgeline mentioning minor difficulties.

Down below was Tenaya Lake.

Glacial scars covered the granite slopes ahead of me.

While my trip report said the ridge was easy to follow, it looked a tad difficult. I did not want to push my luck, so we dropped down a hundred feet or so and hiked beneath the serrated ridgeline. This extra effort made me feel safe. We continued up the class 2 southern slopes until reaching the summit. At the top we found a summit register left by Bob Burd.

To the northeast was Tuolumne Peak.

To the east were Tuolumne Meadows.

To the south was May Lake.

To the west was Mt Hoffman, our final peak.

The Bowmaiden was listed as having 313 feet of prominence, however I do not believe it was the most prominent point along the ridge. Slightly further southwest was Point 10627. It was on the way, so we made sure to hike up and over this point. 

The top of Point 10627 was not as dramatic as The Bowmaiden, however looking back towards the northeast it appeared slightly higher. Climbing both points gave me peace of mind.

Right below me, May Lake looked inviting.

We had one big drop remaining in between us and Mt Hoffman. The snow which was nonexistent up to this point could make the final climb interesting.

To the west was the Yosemite Creek Drainage.

We got down to the saddle quickly. The trip report I had mentioned climbing straight up the NE ridge. I kept in mind the snowy section to the left, which looked like a second option if the ridge became too difficult. 

Hoffman Turret, a seldom climbed pinnacle, was no longer hidden. I wondered when the last time Lake 9820 had been fished.

I aimed for the northeast ridge climbing up large blocks of granite.

It looked challenging, and it ended up being a little more than I bargained for. Upon re-reading the trip report, I learned that it was class 3-4, but with the lingering snow, I decided it was not worth climbing.

We backed off and traversed to the easier northeast slopes.

Footing was a little tricky with the snow, but our new route was no more than class 2.

We eventually made it atop the summit plateau. It looked more like a beach than a mountain top.

After a short walk, the summit finally came in view.

We encountered a use trail at the base and scrambled to the top.

To the south were Clouds Rest and the Clark Range.

To the southeast was the highest peak in Yosemite, Mt Lyell.

To the east was Tioga Pass.

To the northeast was Tuolumne Peak.

To the north was Tower Peak.

To the west Highway 120 snaked though the forest.

Yosemite Valley was clearly visible. Half Dome, North Dome and Sentinel Dome were all discernible.

The intriguing unnamed lake lay below.

The weather was quite different from the last time I had been here. It was an amazingly blue October day. We enjoyed the outing quite a bit, but since it was autumn, the sun would be setting early. We took off down the standard route. Hoffman’s Thumb stood menacingly aside from the peak.

The descent was very quick with the loose sandy slopes beneath our feet. The use trail took us towards May Lake. The whole time I kept an eye out for the tree from my memory. If I could find the same tree, maybe I could better decipher if a bear really could indeed climb up the inside of it.

I reached the lake yet didn’t come across the tree from my memory. Alas, I guess I will never know for sure.

By this time it was starting to get cold. We walked through the High Sierra camp, happy with the fact we would be sleeping in our own warm bed tonight. One last view of Cathedral Peak just a short distance away topped of a very enjoyable hike.

We drove back to the Bay Area that night, thankful for the shorter than normal drive and happy that we were able to visit the Sierras this late in the season. Somewhere near Oakdale we observed what apparently was a SpaceX rocket launch.

[transformersdawn]

Primalism

Welcome to Cybertron: Primalism Edition

Primalism is the most common term for the worship of the Thirteen Primes as the direct descendants of Primus. Also known as the Way of the Thirteen, it is the most prominent religion on Cybertron. It is the unofficial state religion, permeating almost every level of government.

The Way of the Thirteen holds that millions of years ago Primus created the Thirteen Primes as his divine children. So imbued with his might, they were able to reform him in Cybertron and place it in orbit around the triple sun. And so they lived in peace on it for untold ages.

But then came Unicron, drawn in by the brightness of their sun and the warmth of Primus’s spark at Cybertron’s heart. For Unicron was cold and dark, an endless pit from which nothing escaped. And it hungered.

The Thirteen arrayed themselves in glory and power, girded with armor from Solus’s forge and weapons from Liege Maximo’s wit and bolstered in each other’s strength. They took to the darkness of space out past the triple sun’s furthest orbiter, where the soft black between the stars turned to shattered teeth of shadow. And they knew it could not be allowed to go further.

Prima drew on the brightness of his spark and lit the monster up, blinding it. Solus Prime drew on the strength of her arm and hit the monster, breaking its teeth. Alpha Trion drew on the depth of his knowledge and saw the monster move, warning his fellows. Liege Maximo drew on the sharpness of their glossa and stung the monster, burning its ears. Onyx Prime drew on the swiftness of his claws and slashed open the monster, spilling its blood. Vector Prime drew on steadiness of their gears and snared the monster, freezing it in time. Nexus Prime drew on the unity of his many beings and struck the monster, cracking its face. Quintus Prime drew on the seething of their life and spread it around the monster, bolstering their siblings. Autonomous drew on the vastness of his being and grappled the monster, holding its attacks at bay. Alchemist Prime drew on the energy of her breath and cast it into the monster, setting it aflame. Logos Prime drew on the speed of their voice and slung it around the monster, confusing it. Micronus Prime drew on the lightness of her step and climbed the monster, drawing attention to its weaknesses. And Megatronus drew on the savagery of his being and stabbed the heart of the monster, slaying it.

Unicron flailed and thrashed against the power of the Thirteen but it was to no avail. Slain, it floated into the distant stars, never to be seen again.

The Thirteen returned to Cybertron and told Primus of their great deed. And they rejoiced in their victory, for it was good. But all joy is ephemeral and eventually they resettled on Cybertron’s surface. They became involved in their own projects, building and planning and shaping Cybertron’s surface.

Until Prima called a meeting. They all traveled to the north, until going any further would take them south again, and Prima told them of his plan. He wished to venture to the heart of the world and confer once more with their creator for he had a vision for their world. A vision of bustling cities and golden light. A vision of people. And with Primus’s blessing he would make it so.

And all of the Thirteen looked amongst themselves and after much discussion they all agreed to go with Prima, for all wanted a part in this grand future that Prima had seen. As one they traversed the twisting internals of Cybertron, deeper and deeper. And at the heart of the world, they forged the first Cybertronians.

Once more, the surface of Cybertron echoed with rejoicing. Each of the Thirteen stood at the head of a new tribe and it was good. They taught their new followers all they knew, how to survive on this world and how to build vast wonders and how to change their shapes. The Thirteen loved their children, for we are their children, and in turn their children loved them. But all joy is ephemeral.

A darkness was growing within Megatronus. He had been swallowed by Unicron and this allowed him to strike the final blow against the monster, but it left a taint on his spark. He grew hungry. So he gathered his followers and began preparing to take to the stars. To take the stars. And his siblings looked on in fear as the brother they knew, loud and always eager for a fight but always tempered with deep honor, turned sharp and cruel.

They convened a council to confront him. To turn him away from this path. But Unicron’s hold was deep and strong and they could not shake it. Here, Megatronus turned against the Thirteen. War came to Cybertron. And it raged across its surface as the Primes tried to remove one of their own.

It was Prima who finally caught Megatronus and they clashed as no two beings could ever clash again. For vorns, they fought, the suns rising and setting around them. Equally matched in prowess, it was Cybertron itself that turned the tide. At the height of their frenzy, a portion of the planet fell away from Megatronus’s feet. Tears fell from Prima’s face as he lunged, driving his sword through Megatronus’s spark.

But the victory was hollow. Prima collapsed from his wounds. The remaining Primes gathered, battered and shaking. All of them had taken an unimaginable toll during the fight. But Prima had one wish. That in his death they would find a way to repair the torn surface of Cybertron and its inhabitants. Together, they took his spark and reforged it into the Matrix of Leadership. This final gift they gave to the Cybertronians, the knowledge of how to rebuild, before they each passed in turn from their wounds.

Thus was created the first Prime, who took the title in their honor, and led Cybertron to a new peace.

Worship

Followers of the Thirteen revere all of them as divine but most only take one or two as patrons. Either beings that speak to them or what they wish to be, they seek to live their lives in a way that would make their Prime proud. Followers of Solus tend to go into the arts or manufacturing, followers of Liege Maximo tend to go into politics, followers of Alchemist tend to go into research, etc.

All followers hold Prima in highest esteem, as the strongest and oldest of the Thirteen and slayer of Megatronus, the Fallen.

Worship of Megatronus is contentious. Many followers follow him as he was before he was cast out, as an honorable warrior who stood firm and fierce for what he believed. He is popular among gladiators for he is a patron of fighters. But some do follow him as conqueror, the one of the Thirteen who reached out and grabbed what he wanted with no hesitation, or in his form as First Herald of Unicron. Some sects hold that he wasn’t corrupted at all, that he was a lone voice of dissent against the growing decadence and power of the other Primes, Prima in particular. These worshippers keep their beliefs quiet, for it is heresy in the optics of most mechs.

Occasionally Liege Maximo is cast as Megatronus’s accomplice. The Unicron whispered to them and turned their silver tongue to sowing discord and unrest among their siblings. This is a very hotly debated view as Liege Maximo is a popular patron. Especially among people who like to debate.

Different Primes have more or less organized worship. Liege Maximo’s followers don’t have any sort of central place of worship or clergy. Much of any sort of organized worship is the sharing of stories and testing the skill of debaters in contests of skill. Sometimes they use swords.

Solus Prime’s worship is very centered on the making and sharing of things. Worship might be in learning a new art form or creating something for the community or teaching others your skills.

I’m planning on writing some profiles for the Primes, I’ll expand on their specific modes of worship for each in them.

Various Notes

Some cities or sects have different lists of Primes, swapping some of them out for other deities or figures of import. But the ones listed in the myth above are the ‘official’ Primes according the members of the Orthodox Primalists, the largest sect of Primalism.

Iacon is the holiest city of Primalism as it sits at the north pole, where the Primes convened before creating Cybertronians.

Primalism holds that the Prime is the Cybertronian embodiment of Prima. This leads to much of the governmental bias towards Primalism.

[phoebehalliwell]

Socks & Starting Anew

req: could you please write a fic about penny and allen in 1940s

summary: penny, searching for meaning, purpose, or hell, maybe just a little adventure, leaves boston to return to her ancestral home in san francisco, where, with the proper guidance, she’ll find a life all of her own.

a/n: oops it’s long than expected sooo uhh (pt 1/3)

Winter 1945

Allen chose to stay. After the war ended, he saw many fellow shipbuilders pack up and head out, back to their small hometowns, to rejoin with a wife they had left, a little baby now a bustling toddler, or even just a high school sweetheart still flaunting a promise ring. Allen could have gone back home - he was sure people remembered him - but no one was waiting for him. So he chose to stay. There was something about the city of San Francisco that called to him, inexplicably; the great energy of discovery, youth, passion, that seemed to hang in the air, thick as the fog. He couldn’t go back home now - the idea of travelling north, buying some land, and settling down with some chickens and a temperate wife had never felt more foreign to him. No, he would stay in the city. Something was waiting for him here.

Spring 1946

It was time for a change. Penny had no gift for premonition but she knew something grand waited in her future, she just had to find it. It was actually her father who suggested she return to the old family home and take up with Cousin Pearl. Penny had always wanted to visit the house - she has studied it rigorously as a child, begging her mother to take her so she could see the Nexus herself. Her mother refused, of course. She hadn’t set foot in the house since some unspeakable disaster in the 20’s (unspeakable as it might have been, Penny still knew what had happened that February so many years ago; a curious mind and an unbreakable will had led Penny to uncover many things she shouldn’t have). So, she packed her bags and sent a telegram to one miss P. Bowen at 1329 Prescott Street, and was on a train the next morning.

Three days later Penny landed at the train platform in San Francisco, almost immediately tripping over a cat. She apologized to the creature and continued on, beginning the trek to the manor (Cousin Pearl refused to drive under any circumstances, but Penny didn’t mind the fresh air). She hadn’t made it three steps before the cat places itself in her path yet again, wrapping its way around her legs. She attempted to nudge it to the side to no avail.

The cat, black with white markings on the chest and legs, peered up at her with big eyes, meowing softly.

“Oh, no.”

Meow.

“No!”

Penny bent down, putting herself at level with the cat, matching its wide eyed gaze with a much sterner look of her own. “Look at me.” She pointed her finger at the cat. “I am not in the market for a familiar. I do not want guidance, I do not need guidance, and I am not willing to take up the responsibilities of pet ownership. Understand?”

The cat responded by softly licking Penny’s finger.

Penny scowled. “You’re disgusting.”

She tried to shove the cat away with her hand, but it just pushed its head against her, working its way into a pet.

“Incorrigible,” Penny muttered, standing up sharply and walking away from the train station.

The cat called out to her, but she didn’t turn back. Then, a man called out to her.

“Hey! Is this your cat?”

Penny turned back to see a man with cropped auburn hair holding the familiar. It snuggled up to him.

“No,” she responded, “it’s yours!”

Cousin Pearl wasn’t happy Penny was late - it wasn’t like she had planned anything - she just anticipated punctuality. To be fair, so did Penny, until she encountered the rolling hills of San Francisco. She had seen the post cards and the photos, sure, but nothing could have prepared her for the hike had just accomplished with two suitcases and kitten heels. Sweaty, tired, and aching, all she really wanted to do was lay down, but Pearl had other plans.

Penny wasn’t going to be living in the manor for free, that was for sure. Pearl wasn’t charging her rent, she wouldn’t do that to family, but from the second Penny had stepped on that train in Boston she had secured herself a job as Pearl’s assistant.

“It isn’t easy running the best portrait studio in the Bay, as I’m sure you can assume, and I do not get my reputation from slacking off.” Pearl began moving from room to room, adjusting items that she viewed to be askew. “People come here because they know they will get beautiful, quality photos in a clean and efficient manner.” Pearl kept talking to her as she walked; Penny quickly moved to follow her, abandoning her bags in the foyer. “This means keeping the house clean, and not leaving your personal belongings everywhere.”

She paused at this line, looking Penny up and down.

Penny’s eyes widened as she remembered her luggage sitting near the front door. “Sorry. Um, if you don’t mind, where is my room? Just so I know where to keep everything.”

Pearl turned on a heel, heading towards the stairs. “Of course,” she said, not turning back, “right this way.”

Penny quickly darted into the foyer to grab her bags, rolling the two large suitcases to the base of the stairs. She paused, sizing them up. She had just conquered the many hills of San Francisco, if she took another step upwards her legs might give out.

Pearl had already reached the upstairs floor; she could hear the faint click of a door opening and Pearl saying “This room will be yours,” as if Penny was there to see which one she was referring too.

Penny stared down her challenger, stepping onto the first step and hauling up one suitcase alongside her. She frowned at the other one, moving to lift it, but then rolling her eyes instead.

She swung her arms forward, and the suitcases moved themselves up the first landing, and with a turn of the wrist, rotated, and then a final movement, and they carried themselves to the top of the stairs. Penny smiled, darting up to join them.

Pearl was already watching as Penny reunited with her possessions on the second floor. “Well,” she said, “ I guess that brings us to the second over of business. Before each of my appointments we go extra lengths to secure the house against demonic attacks, a method which you will soon be in charge of, so it’s important you pay attention.” Pearl began traversing the length of this hallway, headed towards yet another flight of stairs, these presumably leading up to the attic. 

Penny looked into the room whose door was left ajar - her room, she assumed. It was quaint, with pastel wallpaper and framed photos of old family members. On the bed were extra linens and another comforter, all folded neatly and left for her. Penny flicked her wrist, and her suitcases rolled into the room, and, with a tiny wiggle of the fingers, managed to close the door behind them. Penny smiled, satisfied, then picked up the pace yet again to rejoin Pearl.

Pearl stood in front of a book, large, skinny, with a green leather binding and a large triquetra in the center. “This is our book of shadows. The protection spell used before each booking is here,” Pearl indicates a page very plainly labelled “Protection Spell”, then flips to another page, this one labelled “Lunar Cycle Protection Spell”, “and this is the protection spell I cast every full moon. Understood?”

“Is that it?” Penny tried not to sound underwhelmed, but it didn’t quite work.

Pearl didn’t judge her, surprisingly, but instead nodded solemnly. “Warren magic hasn’t been quite the same since Polly. She took her toll on the book.”

Penny nodded, unsure if she should try to comfort Pearl. She didn’t have to decide; Pearl quickly snapped out of her melancholy.

“But I’d rather see it lost to the world than in the hands of some demonic bastard.” She shut the book, turning to Penny. “You must be tired after all your travelling. Why don’t you rest? We’re starting bright and early tomorrow.”

Penny smiled, relieved, and pulled Pearl into a hug. “I’ll be ready.”

[robertkstone]

2016 Nissan Titan XD Pro-4X Diesel Long-Term Verdict

After more than 30,000 miles with our long-term 2016 Nissan Titan Crew Cab XD Pro-4X with the available 5.0-liter Cummins turbodiesel V-8, we have developed a love-hate relationship with the big yellow truck. In most cases the Titan XD proved useful, but we did find some capability shortcomings and a few ongoing issues.

The 2016 Nissan Titan XD represents the first attempt by a non-American automaker to offer a full-size pickup larger than a half-ton. With the realization that a niche market segment exists between the traditional light-duty half-ton and heavy-duty three-quarter-ton pickups, Nissan aimed for something in between. The automaker benchmarked 10-year-old domestic three-quarter-ton pickups for the (unofficially called) eXtra Duty Titan. Unfortunately, modern half-ton pickups have already surpassed that benchmark—at least in payload capacity.

In our third Titan XD update, associate editor Scott Evans compared the Titan’s payload specs to the midsize Chevrolet Colorado and full-size Ford F-150 and F-250 Super Duty pickups. Although Evans was able to use the Titan XD for the majority of his landscaping needs, he did need to rent a Ford F-250 for the truly heavy-duty chores. “It might not haul like a domestic heavy-duty,” Evans wrote, “but what it can haul, it hauls well.”

That’s not to say that the Cummins-powered Nissan Titan XD didn’t prove useful. Not long after inheriting the Titan XD, I began the first of many adventures helping friends move both long and short distances. I was even given the opportunity to tow a couple of vehicles long-distance. The 5.0-liter Cummins 32-valve DOHC turbodiesel V-8 makes 310 hp at 3,200 rpm and 555 lb-ft of torque at 1,600 rpm and is backed by an Aisin six-speed automatic transmission.

On two separate occasions I used the Titan XD for towing: first a 2014 Jeep Patriot and later a 2002 Saturn Ion. With a maximum towing capacity of 12,037 pounds for a Cummins-powered four-wheel-drive Titan XD, neither of the compact vehicles and tow dolly combos came close to half of the XD’s max tow rating. In fact, even from a dead stop, the XD didn’t even notice the cars hooked onto the back. I kept an eye on my rearview mirrors to ensure the cars were still attached.

For comparison, when I used our previous long-term 2014 Ram 1500 EcoDiesel to tow my newly purchased 1984 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme Brougham, I noticed a slight tug upon initial start before effortlessly getting up to speed. The Ram with its 3.0-liter EcoDiesel V-6 (240 hp at 3,200 rpm and 420 lb-ft at 2.000 rpm) has a max tow rating of 8,550 pounds. Although the Cutlass’ midsize body-on-frame platform (and tandem trailer combo) were much heavier than the compact vehicles I towed with the Titan XD, for frequent towing chores, the Titan XD might have the advantage over the half-ton Ram.

In addition to towing long distances, the Titan XD proved useful for hauling over both long and short distances. The rear crew cab was routinely packed to the ceiling with boxes and odds and ends while the bed was stuffed with either furniture or appliances—sometimes both. The bed offers lots of useful tie-down points, including adjustable hooks along the top of the bed.

Although the Titan Boxes were useful for storing ratchet straps, bungee cords, and a tow hitch, they did eat up lots of real estate in the bed. Fortunately, they are removable. Just four bolts (two star bolts at each end and two socket heads inside the lockable compartment) hold the Titan Boxes to the bed sides. They were easy to remove and fairly easy to replace, thanks to my trusty rubber mallet used to line the bolt holes up. Note: With the Titan Box hinges mounted toward the inside of the bed, the lid can be difficult to open when the bed was full.

The Titan XD Pro-4X was also used for fun. After taking the big yellow pickup off-road with the factory-equipped General Grabber APT tires, we swapped them out for a set of all-new Continental TerrainContact A/T off-road tires and headed back to the dirt. Although all this tire swapping was for a tire comparison, off-road driving in the Pro-4X felt more like play than work. Motor Trend hot shoe Randy Pobst also borrowed the Titan XD to haul his 1975 Honda XL350 motorcycle from Los Angeles up to Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca.

With the odometer showing more than 30,000 miles, we took our Titan XD in for its third service, which consisted of an oil and filter change, a tire rotation, a battery service, a new air filter, a new cabin air filter, a new radiator cap, new wiper blades, a coolant system service, an air-conditioning service, fuel conditioner, and a brake inspection. Total cost of the third service came to $532.99. While at the dealership, we had the reoccurring issues checked out. The total cost of service for the year came to $1,506. Our 2016 Chevrolet Colorado Z71 diesel long-termer cost about $563 for service over the same time frame, and our 2014 Ram 1500 EcoDiesel cost $775.

We also were informed that the power steering fluid was low. The tech drained and filled the power steering fluid and checked the system lock to lock, which seemed to clear up the binding and moaning coming from the steering system. Additionally, the infotainment system was updated to fix the Bluetooth glitch that caused a piercing sound to come through the speakers just before the system rebooted (the issue only happened during lengthy phone calls). The infotainment update also fixed the system’s flickering backlighting. The intermittent passenger seat-belt light issue (where the light turned on several hours into drive, even when the passenger seat was empty) was not repeatable. These issues never recurred during our remaining time with the Titan.

Over the course of 31,521 miles, the 2016 Nissan Titan XD Crew Cab Pro-4X with the Cummins turbodiesel averaged 15.2 mpg. Those miles weren’t easy. During that time, the Titan XD slogged its way through the daily Los Angeles commute (one to two hours each way), made the trek out to the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas, traveled up to Central California and the Bay Area multiple times, and traversed the Rocky Mountains seven times. Six trips were up to Salt Lake City (with a loaded bed and rear cab each time, plus two trips towing), and once we made our way to northern Colorado during a severe snow storm.

Despite the aforementioned issues, the Titan XD eagerly tackled every job we threw at it. Although the Titan XD is targeted at the slim market segment of consumers needing something in between a half-ton and a three-quarter-ton, we would likely opt for a modern half-ton pickup if we needed to haul more than 1,600 pounds regularly, or a modern three-quarter-ton pickup if we needed to tow more than six tons on a regular basis.

If our primary need was to routinely tow less than six tons and occasionally help friends move, we wouldn’t hesitate to give the Nissan Titan XD with the Cummins turbodiesel a permanent spot in our personal garage.

More on our long-term Nissan Titan XD here:

Arrival

Update 1: Riding High

Update 2: Road Trips and Long Hauls

Update 3: To Haul, Or Not To Haul

Update 4: Adopting the Titan

Update 5: Towing the Distance

Our Car SERVICE LIFE 13 mo / 31,521 mi BASE PRICE $52,165 OPTIONS PRO-4X Convenience Package ($3,310: Heated leather seats, remote adjustable driver seat w/memory), PRO-4X Luxury Package ($1,510: Ventilated front seats, Around View Monitor with Moving Object Detection, Titan box), PRO-4X Utility and Audio Package ($1,100: parking sensors, Utili-Track cargo management, tailgate illumination, Rockford Fosgate audio system); premium paint ($395), electric tailgate lock ($345), splash guards ($235) PRICE AS TESTED $59,060 AVG ECON/CO2 15.2 mpg / 1.46 lb/mi PROBLEM AREAS Bluetooth connection, front suspension squeak, steering moan MAINTENANCE COST $1,506 (8-DEF refill; 3-oil change, inspection, tire rotation; 2-air filter, in-cabin air filter; 1-fuel filter, brake fluid flush, coolant flush) NORMAL-WEAR COST $30.25 (windshield wipers) 3-YEAR RESIDUAL VALUE* $41,100 RECALLS None *IntelliChoice data; assumes 42,000 miles at the end of 3-years

2016 Nissan Titan XD Pro-4X 4WD POWERTRAIN/CHASSIS DRIVETRAIN LAYOUT Front-engine, 4WD ENGINE TYPE Turbodiesel, 90-deg V-8, iron block/alum heads VALVETRAIN DOHC, 4 valves/cyl DISPLACEMENT 304.9 cu in/4,997 cc COMPRESSION RATIO 16.3:1 POWER (SAE NET) 310 hp @ 3,200 rpm TORQUE (SAE NET) 555 lb-ft @ 1,600 rpm REDLINE 4,200 rpm WEIGHT TO POWER 23.7 lb/hp TRANSMISSION 6-speed automatic AXLE/FINAL-DRIVE RATIO 3.92:1/2.48:1/2.72:1 SUSPENSION, FRONT; REAR Control arms, coil springs, anti-roll bar; live axle, leaf springs, anti-roll bar STEERING RATIO 19.1:1 TURNS LOCK-TO-LOCK 3.8 BRAKES, F; R 14.2-in vented disc; 14.4-in vented disc, ABS WHEELS 7.5 x 18 in, cast aluminum TIRES LT275/65R18 (123/120R) General Grabber APT DIMENSIONS WHEELBASE 151.6 in TRACK, F/R 68.6/68.6 in LENGTH x WIDTH x HEIGHT 243.6 x 80.7 x 78.4 in TURNING CIRCLE 53.8 ft CURB WEIGHT 7,340 lb WEIGHT DIST, F/R 59/41% SEATING CAPACITY 5 HEADROOM, F/R 41.0/40.4 in LEGROOM, F/R 41.8/38.5 in SHOULDER ROOM, F/R 63.3/63.6 in PICKUP BOX L x W x H 78.7 x 61.7 x 20.8 in CARGO VOLUME 59.3 cu ft WIDTH BET WHEELHOUSES 50.0 in PAYLOAD CAPACITY 1,650 lb TOWING CAPACITY 12,037 lb TEST DATA ACCELERATION TO MPH from PerformanceJunk WP Feed 3 http://ift.tt/2GlYe6U via IFTTT

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Huge glazed gable frames sea view at Vaughn McQuarrie's Anzac Bay House

Architect Vaughn McQuarrie has completed a house on New Zealand's Waiheke Island that features fully glazed gable ends, and a helical staircase connecting an open-plan ground floor with mezzanines above.

McQuarrie based the design of Anzac Bay House on the simple gabled form of a traditional boatshed, which is appropriate to its setting next to the sheltered cove.

Internally, the architect wanted to create an open feel, with a capacious living area occupying the majority of the ground floor and a series of additional functional spaces arranged around its edges.

"The concept for the house was to create a central grand space surrounded by smaller spaces," McQuarrie explained, "somewhat like a church in the centre of a small village."

The large living space is facilitated by a pair of parallel precast-concrete walls that form the building's main structure, and support a lightweight pitched roof.

Steel I-beams fixed to the walls on either side brace the structure and are traversed by a series of perpendicular wooden rafters held in place by criss-crossing struts.

The exposed structure is complemented by bare walls made from a lightweight precast concrete material called Litecrete, which contains pumice aggregate that improves its thermal performance.

"[The Litecrete panels] in combination with exposed steel beams and timber floor beams allow the primary structure of the main space to become the finished fabric," the architect explained.

The house is entered from a lane that extends from the street along the side of an old stone wall separating it from the neighbouring property.

A large door that opens directly into the main living area is positioned adjacent to a white helical staircase and beneath a bridge connecting the two mezzanine platforms at either end of the house.

An office is accommodated on the mezzanine looking out towards the street, while the master suite is positioned at the rear of the building to provide the necessary privacy.

Both gable ends are fully glazed and incorporate windows at the centre that open outwards to allow fresh air to circulate.

A series of single-storey structures arranged around the main space contains services areas and wood-panelled guest bedrooms.

A kitchen containing a large island unit is positioned at one end of the open-plan room, with a dining table at the centre and a lounge at the opposite end.

Folding glass doors at the rear of the building open onto a deck that extends around the corner of the living space and provides views down to the sea.

McQuarrie worked in the UK for a decade before relocating his practice to the island off the coast of Auckland, where he has also designed a concrete and timber cottage set among mature gardens.

Photography is by Simon Devitt.

Related story

Vaughn McQuarrie completes island cottage overlooking New Zealand's Hauraki Gulf

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Superior National A Remote Golf Gem

There is seaside golf, there is lakeside golf, and then there is Lake Superior golf. And that means a round at Superior National near the tiny winter ski village of Lutsen, Minnesota, on the largest of the Great Lakes’ wild and beguiling north coast.

The seventh hole on the River Nine at Superior National, Lutsen, Minnesota

It’s the only full-length course — two nines open now and another by fall 2017 — between Two Harbors, some 60 miles to the southwest down Highway 61, and Thunder Bay, Canada, about 100 miles northeast. The window to play Superior National is small — late April to mid-October — but summer weather makes up for it. Temperatures reach the high 70s to low 80s well into August, with lower humidity than downstate, and on a recent Golf Tips visit, skies were blessedly blue. Shorts-wearing golfers were out in force, soaking up the sun as they made their way through tumbling corridors of bright turf and dense North Woods on the lower reaches of the Sawtooth Mountain Range. They reveled in the vast lake views and chattering wildlife, from chipmunks to deer. They grabbed hot dogs and burgers at the turn between the Mountain Nine, which vaults toward the ski slopes visible from the first tee, and the newly renovated River Nine, which hugs the Poplar River for most of its run and traverses it on the sweet par 3 second hole — waterfall right, green beyond and pure Minnesota beauty all around. One couple came all the way from California to play the course with their Minnesotan friends. After all, golf is a rare bird in these parts — especially golf that is anything but Midwest flat, with elevation changes you’d find in Colorado or the Sierra —  so the chance to enjoy its charms and challenges for a few hours between, say, hikes on the Superior Trail or a fishing excursion onto the lake itself — shouldn’t be ignored.

The River Nine's second hole crosses the Poplar River

But wait, there’s more: A third nine, the Canyon, is in the final throes of a re-do; it also takes full advantage of the dramatic landscape and will give visiting golfers enough hole-to-hole variety to fill a multi-day stay at a nearby B&B or resort — Lutsen Resort is right across the road and the popular art-and-restaurant enclave of Grand Marais is 20 minutes away.

The course’s owners brought in Texas-based but Midwest-bred Jeffrey Brauer to oversee the River and Canyon nines’ $4.6 million renovation. Best known for his award-winning work at three other Northern Minnesota gems — The Wilderness at Fortune Bay in Tower and both Giants Ridge Courses in Biwabik, all a couple hours’ trek west via off-the-grid state highways — Brauer’s team widened fairways, increased green sizes, built five new tees on each nine and filled bunkers with bright white Ohio sand. It all adds up to a friendlier golf experience, but by no means a pushover. Tee shots to the proper side of landing areas are vital to keep a ball from bounding into dense foliage, and to leave a favorable approach angle. And once you’re on the green — many of them elevated or tucked into tight, forested corners — reading them is, again, akin to mountain golf, with putts almost invariably breaking to the lake. The upside? That huge, glacier-formed body, which contains 10 percent of the world’s fresh water, is always easy to locate.

In a part of Minnesota where outdoor recreation reigns for thousands of visitors each year, Superior National satisfies that golf itch most of us can’t escape no matter how deep into the woods we go. Its remoteness just makes it that much more attractive.

Greens fees for 18 holes with cart range from $45 to $69 depending on season and stay-play packages with a dozen nearby resorts, hotels and lodges are available.

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Also In Northern Minnesota

The Wilderness at Fortune Bay, Tower

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The Quarry at Giants Ridge, Biwabik

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Lakeview National Golf Course, Two Harbors

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The post Superior National A Remote Golf Gem appeared first on Golf Tips Magazine.

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