Decamper
..!
- Joined
- Jul 28, 2014
- Messages
- 1,159
Dandelion kicked through the ashes. Her legs were stained black up to the thighs with soot, and though she walked over still hot embers, her small calloused feet felt no pain. Despite the devastation, a slight smile played on her face.
When the blaze had first been set upon the Penny District, the Lame Brother had roared in frustration, and an old crooked woman had muttered something about how the damned Gendarmerie were doing their job for them. Dandelion didn't see it that way though. She was simply glad she would have more friends to play with.
Further ahead, the fragile figure of the Scarred Woman limped through the waste, her whistle cutting through the still, smoky air. When ever she came across another, sometimes slumped to the ground or wandering aimlessly, she would hold them lightly and whisper into their ear. Some would launch into hysterics, wailing and beating back the Scarred Woman. She would take the hits, then simply resume her walk, whistling all the while. Others, though, would look into her torn face, and their eyes would be filled with salvation. These lost souls would follow in her wake, humming, whistling or just moaning their own song.
Dandelion followed behind the ghostly choir, occasionally adding her own soft voice. She paused over a boy, maybe four or five years older than she. He sat cross legged I'm the filth, the skin on his left arm charred and cracking. Cradled in his lap was a pitifully small black lump. Dandelion put her hand on the boy's shoulder, leaned close to his ear, and sang.
When she later walked out of the Jarrow's wasteland, she did so hand in hand with her newest friend.
When the blaze had first been set upon the Penny District, the Lame Brother had roared in frustration, and an old crooked woman had muttered something about how the damned Gendarmerie were doing their job for them. Dandelion didn't see it that way though. She was simply glad she would have more friends to play with.
Further ahead, the fragile figure of the Scarred Woman limped through the waste, her whistle cutting through the still, smoky air. When ever she came across another, sometimes slumped to the ground or wandering aimlessly, she would hold them lightly and whisper into their ear. Some would launch into hysterics, wailing and beating back the Scarred Woman. She would take the hits, then simply resume her walk, whistling all the while. Others, though, would look into her torn face, and their eyes would be filled with salvation. These lost souls would follow in her wake, humming, whistling or just moaning their own song.
Dandelion followed behind the ghostly choir, occasionally adding her own soft voice. She paused over a boy, maybe four or five years older than she. He sat cross legged I'm the filth, the skin on his left arm charred and cracking. Cradled in his lap was a pitifully small black lump. Dandelion put her hand on the boy's shoulder, leaned close to his ear, and sang.
When she later walked out of the Jarrow's wasteland, she did so hand in hand with her newest friend.
In 2 different stories I wrote that the docks were under Queen Loyalist control. I even wrote "on the second night he consolidated his hold at the docks". Both were over looked. Now the Republicians & Unionist have somehow replaced my Loyalists. 
