westwhere | in the cold, cold ground

1. Having a refreshed ass is important.

While she was by no means an expert in the matter, Lily thought she had selected a fairly excellent donkey for the trip. Bronson, as she’d come to call him was as full of personality and temperamental as any donkey, but apart from the odd time when he wanted a break and abruptly stopped until his needs were seen to, he trooped along with the rest of the party’s mounts, stalwart and dependable. Initially, he’d taken far too much of a liking to the cardigan she always wore, but once they seemed to come to an accord on how clothes weren’t food Lily had grown rather fond of him in quite a short time.

Believing that she was learning to pick up on the signs that a wave of stubbornness was about to come on she navigated Bronson off to the safe side of the trail at the first sign of a sulk, in an attempt to appease her new friend. Obviously still inexperienced with the finer points of steering the donkey she managed to get them both to a secure place where she could dismount out of the caravan’s way. Once back on her feet Lily rummaged through the smaller bag she carried within the larger one on her shoulder and pulled out the bucket she had transfigured the first time Bronson decided to be moody.

Using her wand to fill the bucket with clean water she let the donkey drink its fill before looking up at the next passing rider, her head tilted as she lifted the bucket in offering. “Does your ride need?”

2a. On the middle watch

The blood rain had to be worse than those voices on the wind back at the farmhouse. While the voices had made it almost impossible to sleep, the rain was just vile. And waking up to it, before having to make her way to the fire for the sake of keeping the watch was utterly grotesque. Lily used every charm she could think of to keep it away while she darted to the shelter where the fire was burning.

Once she was in the clear she made short work of scourgifying the blood off her shoes, shifting from one foot to the next beside the fire, glowering tiredly at the bottoms of her sneakers as she checked them over. Of all the reasons that anyone might be called upon to wake up in the middle of the night, to stand by a fire outdoors (however under something she might have been) while it rained blood and left the world stinking of it - had to be the worst of them all.

“Want me to get your shoes too?” Lily whispered, looking over at the other volunteer for this chunk of the night. Though she was being helpful, that revolted frown on her face didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. “I’ve half a mind to offer to stay until it’s over,” she continued softly. “Or set up closer to where we’re meant to keep watch next time just to avoid having to touch any of it.”

2b. On the morning watch ( info )

Just as dawn had begun to break and make the sky go light against the ebbing blood rain Lily’s gaze drifted towards Arha listening to the distant song of the witches, studying him as she too focused on the far-off voices. Arha and his men were fascinating - she had seen ghosts at school, but these were a very different sort of spirit.

Their existence seemed somehow choppier than the ghosts at Hogwarts. The way they appeared to come and go, sometimes looking different after they reappeared - it was as though they were shuffling in and out of existence at random instead of going straight through it like the living members of the caravan.

And it all made her intently curious. Glancing towards the other watch volunteer Lily tilted her head in the direction of Arha, her eyes widening imploringly as she looked at her companion for that particular stretch of the night.

“Has the song changed, do you think? He’s always focused but he seems somehow more so on it.” They were supposed to talk as little as possible, and for the most part, she tried her best to keep to that, but the night was long, and sometimes an observation was too tempting not to make. Lily looked back to Arha, squinting as she listened attentively to the voices on the wind, wondering if the other volunteer noticed a change too. She hoped it wasn’t just that she was getting tired already. The day hadn’t even begun.

3. Big Scooby-Doo Vibes ( for other characters that have also gone through one of the carved walls and straight into weirdness )

After getting caught by one of the rock wall’s carved figures and pulled into something wholly unanticipated she had paid extra special attention to the group’s surroundings, as well as the whispers that occasionally went up among the travelers with the caravan that it had happened again.

She had heard that another in the group had had a similar experience while idly listening to just such a conversation between an older man and his wife - one telling the other about how he’d seen one of the riders getting caught by a sculpture because they’d gotten too close.

Clumsily, but trying to be cool about it - Lily steered Bronson the donkey into step beside the group member who best fit the description of the one mentioned in the two travelers’ conversation, her expression both curious and concerned.

“Did one of the walls catch you too?” Mindful of the warning to speak as little as possible she kept her voice low, leaning across to try and keep the question as quiet as she could, aware of how she was a prime example that there might be eavesdroppers afoot. “The same thing happened to me, if you’re up to talking about what you saw I’d be very keen to listen.”

The morning watch: barely two incense sticks before the hour of dawns' breaking and the natural rise of Gusu Lan. The sun forgets itself, drifts in a slow crawl down the canyon's fractured spread, red-paced like a child trailing gift of mellow dirt and clay on kitchens' tile to catch the rim of his mother's skirts. Warmth blooms, each breath of woken light a shuddered, grotesque exhalation between teeth of looming rock, the shine of their rubble splintered — and the canyon lives.

And Lan Wangji, stirred to the sedate riot of rain, punching down his tent linens, stands alongside it. The red storms taper with each hour, and lo, but watch him, a stain of ghastly white silks, each day stabbed by heavens' incisors and the blood that washes itself, no sooner than midday's broken. Watch him find his fire and bring his pail, and his waters within them, set to heat until the first boil — to the gasped, if indifferent admiration of phantasms that watch him, baleful and dark and their fingers lingered on whatever instrument of cookery Lan Wangji neglects beside himself, when he crouches to start work on their provisions.

No matter the day, the trouble, the — company, his son will wake soon, and his son must feed, and so the millet bubbles, water whistling, and peppers burn evenly against the camp flame. Let their flesh burst and their seeds tan, let the taste ripen. One bowl for Lan Wangji, plain, and another for Sizhui, a third of the peppers' burden triaged, and the third cup, filled to excess, crowned in spice — let it not be said they do not feed Wei Ying.

He comes to stand before the girl, and he knows her, face drawn and pale and young, the sketch of it tender — age will cut you, fine and crisp. Neither speak, while he avails himself of the morning rites, until she breaks silence, and he peers over as the canyon walls strain to listen, and a hundred hungry eyes of dead things follow his interest. Has the song changed?

One heartbeat, then the next. The cauldron crackles, begging fresh reprieve of water, lest the grain should burn. He pours another cup's fill, stirs agreeably, ignoring the teeth-gritting, sinewy invitation of the song that stretches between them, invasive like a young feline. In the end, the routine's spoiled: he pours the first bowl, and, under the vigil of greying ghosts, makes his offer of it to the girl, some pepper and oil on its periphery. Enough yet in his cauldron to feed two mouths more.

"It will not keep." The rain red, the glare of the dead men's livened eyes, like fire stoked and quickened — until it shrivels and lessens itself, back to bones of ember. "Ghost marks are warning or memory."

Both, transient.

The scent of Lan Wangji’s cooking is a welcome reprieve from the tinny odor that lingers in the breeze. The blood rain was an illusion, and she knew it would go away (not knowing that it would on the first night had been the most harrowing experience thus far) but Lily loathed it all the same. It was ghastly. Even in the dim light of the fire, she could see the way it dripped thickly off everything beyond the shelter of the canopy, the tents, an illusion maybe but one strong enough to leave the world morbidly perfumed. The distinct, familiar scent of bell pepper offered a kind of respite Lily would have never found in the smell of food she didn’t expect to eat. In a landscape like this one, it was rather nice.

Not expecting the offered dish of food, the wide appreciative smile that crossed her face when he held out a bowl for her was sincere and bright, more suited for the sunny greenhouses of the school she’d left behind her than here, surrounded by all these ghosts. “Thank you.”

The change in the cooking fire caught her eye, and she didn’t take her eyes off of it when he spoke, though her head nodded slowly in agreement. “This time I think it’s memories.” Lily paused, looking around her before she added in a whisper. “And something else, too. It’s too scattered to be just a memory.”

Drawing the bowl towards herself she held it with both hands, glad for the warmth. “Is your son better?” Looking back to him over the rim of her bowl, her thoughtful, but cheerful expression dimmed down to concern. She had been glad to make bandages but had not heard more about what happened to the injured.

Edited 2021-07-01 13:06 (UTC)

The girl will feed, for all she does not feast. Wangji can ask no more of her, soft-handed and reedy in the way of growing bodies, adolescentine, spreading the sketch of their shape like underwater weeds. Foolish oversight: it strikes him, blinks and a staggered nod after, that he should have poured her a deeper bowl.

Embers brokering peace, crackling as they settle beneath the morning fire. He stirs and prods ash with the soot-drenched length of an old, blunted sword that the caravan has repurposed for a poker.

"He will heal." Scratches of unspoken truth: But he has not, yet. "His play has suffered."

Fingered grazed by disaster, the flesh minced and scarred. The bone, at least, unhurt, and what is bruised may yet flourish, what is injured and stabbed may heal again. All that breaks, mends, to lessened elasticity. To marks, and the boy will wear his youth, his innocence, his lacklustre skill engraved on his make for all the days laid out before him.

The second bowl, then, filling with the spill of one ladle's fill, and another, and a third. For Sizhui, with unguarded affection. Unbidden, he reaches out and spares another scoop of millet in Lily's portion as well. Let Wei Ying wait for his breakfast, as Lan Wangji starts fresh congee to thicken once again. The young, first.

"Gratitude." Then, softened, "Sizhui will convey his thanks as well."

It wasn't the first time she had considered the plight of Lan Wangji's son, and how his run-in with the undead had left him unable to play music. The thought was painful. To be able to create, well, anything, but not capable of it because of injury struck Lily as a kind of profound loss. She frowned at him, lowering her bowl.

"It's my hope to find supplies and make him something that will help him heal further when we reach the end of this leg of our journey. " There were a good number of potions Lily thought would be of use to their group, the ones that healed chief among them. She was not certain what she would be able to find after reaching Taravast, but the rumored presence of magic in the city gave her hope that she would be able to find something useful, for his son’s lingering injuries, and the rest of the group.

Watching Lan Wangji as he filled another bowl before extending the full ladle out to her, she smiled again, extending her arm to hold her bowl out. “You’ve managed to make millet tolerable, something I didn’t think was possible,” Lily looked down at her replenished bowl as she drew it back towards her. She didn’t go back to eating straight away, looking around them instead, watching the soldiers for a moment before returning her focus to Lan Wangji, her voice quieter when she spoke. “Do you know much of spirits? These aren’t at all like the sort at school.”

"Gratitude," he offers like alms unto waiting hands, empty and cored of warmth. Alone, Sizhui's wounds will rest and stitch themselves together, flesh seeking morsels of fellow flesh, bone and sinew. He is a child, prone to a child's sicknesses, the immortality of creatures too ignorant to know themselves short of invulnerable. Too soft.

But then, she flatters in the way of girls taught to coax kindness of men with words, to turn their vanity against them — and Lan Wangji opens, like sunflowers to light, and pretends the easiness of courtesy that his brother excels at. A nod, where the smile falters, sheen stale.

Dust flickers on his fingers, the chipped, gravelly base of his bowl. He swivels it, loose-gestured when he leans to transplant a ladle of Wei Ying's millet into the girl's potion. Let him eat of Lan Wangji's share.

"They are residue." This, in the tempered voice of the master professor, remembering the dusk days of the jingshi at work, tea and damp and the errant hope of disciples, bright-eyed and at a loss, to receive their teachings in Hanguang-Jun's private quarters. Spirit of mischievous courtesy, the girl asks as they would ask.

"That which remains in the wake of feeling." A pause, ill-measured, his mouth dry. "Resent. Loyalty. Longing."

Two of these matters, easily invoked by the infantry. The third — and his eyes skirt them — perhaps. "If they understand us disparate from their suffering, they leave us be."

Despite the grim subject, she was glad to find someone who seemed to speak from a place of knowledge as far as their spectral escorts went, even if what he had to say cast their existence in dimmer light. Resentment, she suspected, could be a very binding thing. She had seen the living become ensnared and galvanized by it, but the dead had no chance to live for anything else anymore, and perhaps among their ranks it festered deeply.

Studying him gravely Lily looked down at her food, prodding a bit of paper before speaking again.

"Do they suffer greatly?" And then, her thoughts on where she had come from, "do all who are like them?" She would use this time keeping watch to learn everything she could, if he was willing to impart what he knew and indulge her questions. Even as she asked two, four more sprouted up in her mind, and she was the sort of person who would risk having to eat cold millet if it meant having a few more answer than she began the evening with.

Strange learning to dole out in unmeasured increments, like teaching a child the first taste of spice, however scant. A thing governed by terror and instinct, and Lan Wangji's head tipping with the feline curiosity of an animal finally appraising a challenge.

The girl Lily, studious. Well brokered. "Some suffer. Some merely long."

Haunt their burial grounds and the lands of their betrothal, their marriage, their death bed. Seek out their children as they grow tall and long like ears of wheat, slanted in starting summer's wind.

"These are unnatural." He grants softly and refills the belly of his cauldron with millet grain and water fresh, and starts the long stir of new rations, for every layer (upon layer upon much-needed layer) of flesh on Wei Ying's bone. "Spirits with individual awareness, yet governed by the will of one."

Wei Wuxian lowers his flute, quirking up his brows. "Mm, not necessary. It'll be gone come morning anyway." Bathed in blood for an evening was unpleasant, but also not the worst when it was a passing sort of illusion. Not the right terming for it, perhaps, but whatever magic fueled the lukewarm rain would return the world to rights within a handful and some of hours.

He pats the log being used as a seat, with the banked fire at their backs. Looking out into the rain and to where the ghost army camps, he clucks his tongue. "An umbrella, that's what we're lacking in abundance. Let's see about making a few, ah? That would be useful!"

It was without question the most blood she'd seen in one place, and it was deeply unsettling. Straightening up once the last bit of blood had been removed from the sides of her shoes Lily shook her head. "While it's here it drives me absolutely bonkers. Your music helps. Music's definitely the thing I miss the most about home."

Crossing to where he sat Lily sat on the opposite end of the log he'd been using, looking out at the bleak landscape. "An umbrella?" She nodded, suddenly thoughtful and thoroughly distracted from how morbid she found their surroundings by the prospect of a new project.

"We could do, if we can find a decent enough stick for a handle I could try to make it into a whole umbrella, maybe a bit of good material, blood-proof like those tents." Turning to look towards the rest of the encampment she wrinkled her nose some at the sight. "It makes a person wonder who's blood it's all meant to be," she added offhandedly.

"Sticks I can manage," he says with a thoughtful cant to his head, a finger tapping his chin. "Material might be more of a negotiation. If we don't mind paying through the nose in one way or another, our fine caravan leader might be of assistance."

He smiles, not commenting any further on his thoughts about said caravan leader. Instead, he considers her offhand remark.

"Theirs, I'd imagine." He nods his head toward the increasingly listless collection of ghost soldiers. "Though it's cool enough it might be nothing more than metaphor. Perhaps from the singing." This is a different form of... if he's going to stay neutral, than illusion compared to any he's seen before. Even here, in his months spanning longer and longer.

Pulling her bag into her lap, Lily fished through the larger one, reaching into the little makeup bag she kept concealed inside. Procuring a handful of dried leaves gathered from back around the farm she set them on the log between them, dividing them into two before using her wand to make both piles into cups of tea.

Lifting her cup and leaving the other for Wei Wuxian to take as he liked, she looked back to him with a thoughtful frown. "Raining metaphors," she said quietly, her gaze drifting in the direction of the ghostly soldiers as she considered the idea.

"If that's true then, I think they must be in a lot of pain." Lily's expression darkened and she looked back at Wei Wuxian, her thoughts lingering on the tombs she had seen after one of the carvings in the walls had gotten hold of her. "When I went into the wall one of the tombs I saw began to bleed, too. It can't have been unrelated to the rain." As she spoke her voice became softer and softer, obviously concerned that one of the spectral soldiers would hear her and she would inadvertently cause some sort of strife for the group, or for the spirits as a result.

Edited 2021-07-08 03:27 (UTC)

He blinks at the transformation; he knows she can do things like this, but it's still enchanting every time. Clapping his hands softly, given the mandate on sound, he smiles, dipping his head to her.

"My endless gratitude, Miss Lily!" Picking up the cup left to him, he looks sideways, out at the soldiers.

"They may... or they may not be remembering it." Still, the skies bleed for them, and what Lily says about the walls pulls his attention. Now that people have been kidnapped and released, his initial panic when Sizhui and Catra had been in the same situation. "You're doing okay after that?" Which, she was, but he didn't know how to ask how she was doing when it's been years since he's truly had juniors to look after, and none of the ones here were part of a structure that defined how they interacted.

Following the line of his gaze back to the soldiers Lily tilted her head from side to side in consideration. "They may, and then they may not recall at all." She had tried to be covert while working spells, but far more often than was prudent, she forgot herself. "I ought to be more careful - no matter how much I needed a cup of tea, though-"

Cutting herself off Lily shifted in her seat, moving close enough to be able to speak in a whisper and be heard by only him before continuing, cradling her cup of tea in her hand. "They seem a bit more out of time than the ghosts at school, do you know what I mean?" Lily's eyes narrowed as she considered how to articulate what it was she meant by that. "As though they're moving through certain events, regardless of what happens, rather than being more," she considered Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor house. "Aware, I suppose - that certain events may not still be happening." Nick knew very well that he was dead, and while it was certainly rude to bring it up (which was why she hadn't yet attempted to broach the topic with any of the soldiers - manners mattered after all) he was aware that time had marched on, and the students of the school came and went with it. These ghosts seemed almost like sentient recordings, after a fashion - but she had a feeling Wei Wuxian would not get that particular simile should she attempt to make it.

Taking a sip of tea she smiled warmly at the question. "That's kind of you to ask, I'm quite alright - nothing sought to harm me in the walls, which, considering the ordeal we've just come from back at the farm, was an almost lovely improvement - though it left me with pages and questions, not unlike most of this experience thus far."

He listened to her with a hinted at smile on his lips, inclining his head her way only to say, "I have no idea what the ghosts of your school are like, to be fair." So no, he didn't know, because he had no real sense of ghosts having much tracking of time. Those in Yiling certainly hadn't, only the intensifying of their resentment as more time passed, until a hundred years worth for the oldest hundreds murdered echoed louder than anything else around. "But if it's as you say, then yes, to some extent they're unaware of time passing, or the cycle they're caught within."

He watches the soldiers, most of them tucked into their own tents, a few walking perimeter watches in the blood rain.

"I'm glad you're all right, Miss Lily. And now I'm also curious about your pages and questions, though I don't doubt we share some number of them." He takes another slow, savouring sip of tea. "What are your thoughts, at this point? What did you see in that temple of stone?"

Eleven flashed an embarrassed smile; he'd been near enough to overhear the riders, too.

"Ah, yeah." He glanced down at his horse and gave the mare's neck a soothing rub. That it had happened to Lily as well proved more worry than comfort. "But um, there isn't much to tell.. It was a large, stone hall with sculpted walls and an empty coffin."

Eleven shifted for something tucked into his belt, then reached to hand a delicate, worn scrap of paper across to her. "All I found there were a few of these."

A drawing of an eye with a sun as its pupil.

Edited 2021-07-02 19:24 (UTC)

Covering her mouth in surprise as she studied the old piece of paper he had carefully handed over she muttered a quiet 'goodness gracious' against her fingers. Lily gave both the front and the back of the paper Eleven had given her to see a proper once over before holding it out for him to take, the wheels in her mind already turning.

"Would you mind letting me copy that into my notebook later, I'd do it now but," she glanced down at the donkey and back at him. "While you've clearly noticed what a master horseman I am," she began, her eyes creasing in amusement, well-aware that the only reason she was sitting up straight in the saddle was because of his advice. "I've yet to master note-taking and riding - much to my detriment I'm quite sure."

Though she had gotten better about looking less like a gangly, awkward mess while riding Bronson, Lily was still rather clumsy as she tried to lean closer to Eleven, speaking in a whisper. "I'll show you my notes when we stop too if you like. I wrote down everything I saw."

It had been terrifying, but it had been utterly fascinating. Stopping in the middle of a silent room with ancient tombs to write down absolutely every detail had been the natural course of action to Lily.

Edited 2021-07-08 23:53 (UTC)

Eleven smiled and laughed shortly. He took the sheaf back to tuck away again. His smile shifted to something a little more puzzled as she leaned close, and he watched to be sure she straightened properly again before responding.

"That sounds interesting," he said mildly, curious, though not half as enthusiastic about it as she seemed to be. He'd spent the time in that mostly empty tomb in quiet distress, feeling incredibly stupid and worried an undead would surface at any moment for daring to trespass.

Still, if she had more information about the mystery, he was intrigued enough to wonder if the tiny piece he'd collected had anything to offer a greater picture.

"I'd been drawn in by the pictures on the stone.. Wondering if they could offer any insight into the divine forces that might exist in this world."

Nodding as he questioned the forces at work in this world Lily wished she wasn't riding a donkey and could rifle through her notes. "I've wondered the same, though this place is a puzzle unto itself I believe." It was like something out of a novel, and she had given her experience in the walls a lot of thought, wondering what it could have meant.

"I think the room you were pulled into belonged to someone important, I was taken somewhere with many coffins, but you were taken to a place with only one. Were there carvings where you were?"

She frowned, remembering one of the coffins she had been shown. "There was paper in mine too, a small booklet of poetry, I wasn't brave enough to take it."

"Yes," he said, blinking surprise. He'd spent the longest looking at them with a lack of else to do. "They looked like blessings for the afterlife."

Someone important. Yes, he supposed that may well be true, if there had been a collection of others. Eleven cast a glance in the direction of their wayward ghost companions with a considering frown. Might it be..?

"Perhaps they weren't terribly effective.."

Catching the way Eleven's gaze seemed to drift towards their less corporeal escort Lily's head tilted as she considered the possibility of a connection. It would make some sense, based on what she knew from the term she had gotten to take Ghoul Studies, but the thought was rather sad. These soldiers marching past their final resting places, seeming to be totally unaware that their walk was apparently all for naught.

"Perhaps not," Lily looked back to her friend, tilting her head a bit as she eyed him pensively.

"Do you also think that–" not daring to finish her sentence, even if there were no ghosts directly nearby she looked to the side at a few of them before turning back to him, hoping he caught her meaning.

Eleven tipped his head, following her attention with a faint frown. His brows creased when she didn't continue, apparently mindful of present company, but the meaning she'd intended failed to reconcile as more than a guess.

"I'm not sure I follow," he admitted with a bit of a shrug. "But if it's true, I wonder if there's anything that can be done.."

Xie Lian is actually remarkably clean for someone who went through the blood rain wearing white robes. He used his bamboo hat to shelter himself, mostly, and he only has a few splashes here and there.

He shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it. It's not real. Ghosts do things like that. They like a little bit of drama, but it's not actually there, most of the time."

"The ones at school were quite dramatic," Lily agreed with a little sigh, brightening some to see it was Xie Lian who was sharing this leg of the watch with her. He was good company, and generally very insightful, two things she appreciated, especially here in this mad world.

"Have you spoken much to them?" She inclined her head towards a small contingent of ghosts, lingering just off to the side by some rocks, seemingly unphased by the rain.

"Ah... well, after the thing with the food, they don't really want to get close to me anymore."

Which is a shame, because if anyone is well equipped to communicate with ghosts, it's Xie Lian. he's been around them for ages, and he's used to treating them just as politely as he does people unless they do something bad. But now ...

"I think a few of them vanished and now they're scared of me."

"Scared?" Lily blinked in surprise at Xie Lian, glancing around to see if any of the ghostly soldiers lingered about. "Have you spoken to many ghosts before? I didn't think it was possible for them to be scared of some soup." She had heard of cooking going terribly wrong - especially out in the open as they were, but not quite so wrong that it would deter someone already dead.

"Do the people in your home brew potions? I suspect you might have a knack for making at least a few I know." Quite a few of the ones she'd learned at school required something of an unconventional touch - and based on the reactions to his cooking, she suspected he might have just that.

I know a lot of ghosts. But I don't think I've ever scared any with my cooking before.

[He definitely has, but he doesn't know it, shhhh.]

Hmmm, I don't think people in the heavens make potions. Maybe more magic pills and elixirs? But that's never really been my strong point.

Do people do that where you're from too? Make magic decoctions?

Edited 2021-07-13 05:27 (UTC)

The heavens? Is that where you're from?

[ While they had talked many times, Lily had yet to get the specifics of Xie Lian's origin, and based on the small remark he made, they sounded fascinating. ]

Yes, we learned how to make all sorts of potions at the school I attended. If I can find supplies in Taravast I hope to help the group with them, if I can.

Well, I guess? It's not where I'm from originally, but I suppose it's a sort of home base now.

[It's still a bit of a new situation, truly.]

... Does that mean you are a witch, too? You should be careful. they don't seem to hold witches and magic practitioners in high regard in general.

[ She smiled brightly when he confirmed for her. ]

That sounds as though it would be a beautiful place to get to live.

[ In truth, her mind had gone immediately to pastel cities made out of clouds - with sort of a Mount Olympus feel to everything. Regardless of whether or not that was accurate - it sounded bloody lovely anyway.

Lily looked around, ensuring they were a safe distance from any of Arha's men before nodding at his question and spoke quietly. ]

I am, that's what they call people who can use magic where I come from, and I've noticed. It's a bit worrying if I'm honest.

Hahahaha, yes. Uhm.

[Let him. Not extol about how beautiful the heavens are. It sure looks beautiful on the surface, until you start digging.]

I guess I'm lucky they don't want to stay around me. But yes, they seem to really not like any kind of supernatural powers. Make sure not to agitate them too much.

Surprisingly, Patricia seemed fairly calm about riding Bronson in Lily’s arms until Regulus returned from his trip into the carved walls of the mountain pass. She had let herself fall to the back of the caravan, waiting for him to return from wherever the sculpture took him, Patricia, in her lap as she sat sideways on a rather handsome donkey. While she was unclear whether or not minding his cat was part of their arrangement, it was difficult to mind its company.

Keeping one hand on the reins while the other scratched Patricia lightly behind the ears, enjoying the deep purr the gestured elicited she turned her head when she heard the sound of approaching hooves, looking over at Regulus. “I like your cat,” she began rather casually.

“Are you alright? Where did you go?” She hadn’t seen it for herself to know he’d been taken into the walls, but given the circumstances of the trip thus far, she thought it was a fair suspicion to have. Lily supposed it was better than being hit by one of those bones the harpies seemed to have with them at times.

Steering her donkey a little closer Lily shifted, still holding Patricia securely but leaving room for Regulus to take his cat back.

Edited 2021-06-28 03:44 (UTC)

Making herself available to take one of the watch shifts as often she was able to was one of the ways Lily had found to be helpful while the group traveled. Apart from the blood rain, she didn’t mind sitting up at night. It had given her time to think about the strange puzzle they’d found themselves in - by way of ghostly escort, and it gave her a chance to study those escorts while they milled around in the periphery, keeping what she thought might be a watch of their own.

When Hendrik approached Lily was left to assume that this would be who was meant to keep the watch with her for that particular stretch of night, and she gave him a smile and a wave before turning to toss another log on the fire. She had seen him during the siege on the farm though obviously, hadn’t had much of an opportunity to introduce herself or have a chat while being deluged with the undead.

“We’ve yet to meet, really, haven’t we?” She began, looking back towards the man. “I’m Lily, are you here to keep watch with me?”

Traveling with this spectral army didn't faze Hendrik. He'd fought against undead things back home and all manners of monsters so seeing such things was nothing new to him. Fortunately this time they weren't enemies, they were allies. It was an odd thing to think about really and he puzzled over it at times, recalling the events back home. However, even if they didn't bother him outwardly, he still kept his eyes on them.

The Luminary was supposed to be here this night as far as he knew. But for some reason, a lady was here in his place. Her presence was unexpected but not unwelcome so the tall knight just nodded at her in greeting. Really she almost seemed happy with that smile and wave. Or maybe she was just being friendly.

As Princess Jade had asked him once 'What would you know about ladies anyway?'

So he stopped as she asked her question and watched the fire for a moment before turning back to look as she gave her name. "Yes, I am here to keep watch. I am Hendrik of Heliodor."

"I'm Lily, from England." Which did not sound nearly as stately as Hendrik of Heliodor, but if that was how customary introductions went for him, she was glad to accommodate and follow suit. "We both helped Eleven, the night of the siege I think, he's mentioned you before, it's nice to meet you." Even if they were meeting for the first time under such grim circumstances.

She glanced briefly in the direction of some of the ghosts, focusing on them while trying to ignore the loathsome sight of the blood rain - an impossible task, as it was everywhere. "Have you taken to speaking with any of them?" Lily posed the question in a quiet voice, turning her attention back to the knight she was meant to spend this portion of the evening standing guard with.

"There are a few now that know me enough to say hello, but it's very strange, isn't it?" Lily shook her head, realizing the slight tangent she had let herself go on, and shrugging sheepishly. "Ghosts aren't like this where I'm from, to say the very least."

The knight nodded politely though he'd never heard of England. But maybe it was as spectacular a place as Heliodor for all he knew. And it gladdened his heart to hear that the Luminary had mentioned him to her, that was kind of him.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He looked over at the ghosts that Lily indicated and shook his head. "I do not know what to say to the deceased." That had been hard for him too when he and the Luminary had gone back to his original home of Zwaardsrust. He'd knelt at his family's grave alone and no words had come to him.

Lily's last statement had him wondering. "So you speak to the dead where you are from?" That was interesting, at least his family's spirits hadn't been wandering, and even when they confronted the Luminary's father trapped as he had been for ages, the knight had said naught to him either.

Turning away from Henrik and back to the fire, Lily added a few more pieces of wood to it before huddling into her sweater once more. "Not in so many words. There are," she stopped and looked around them before whispering the word, "ghosts."

"But they're a bit different," continuing in the tone of voice she had been using before she shrugged slightly. "They're, aware - I suppose, of their situation." She cut herself off, unwilling to say more with a few of Arha's soldiers lingering quite so close by.

"Is where you're from anything at all like this place?"

Seeing her shiver made Hendrik think as to how to remedy her ailment. So without commenting about ghosts, he turned and started unclasping the ties and took his cloak off.

"If they are aware then they already know they are an abomination to the world of the living." And the knight said it low enough so that they couldn't hear him. "I for one am not sure how they continue in their current..existence." But he wasn't about to let that bother him as he slowly approached Lily with his cloak.

"We have our own monsters." This was said with a nod as he offered the black cloak to her.

in the cold, cold ground

a smorgasbord of starts, open to all

that watch o' the moooooorning

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middle watch

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3.

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2a

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nobody wanted to experience art like this, for regulus

another night on the watch, for hendrik

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