The Mountains are Quiet

[Poker]

Poker looked at the world around him from the rock he stood upon. A small rock, maybe only big enough to fit two people jutting out from the moutainside. From here he could see down to a town below him . . . Arna, he thought and out onto the ocean. It was a calm day, and the sun was just rising, drenching the world in the golden and pink of the promise of new light.

He was wearing his normal black robes, which with their high collar prevented anyone from seeing the scars on his neck from the basilisk. It was so long ago . . .

Poker liked it here, where the mountains were quiet and he could finally hear his own thoughts. He sat down on the rock and looked at the rising sun over the ocean's horizon. He must have been her all night, though he hadn't noticed.

How did the Pirates think of him now? Was he still as outcast as he had been for months after he had killed Khalora? Poker didn't know about what the people said and thought behind his back. He had earned too big a name for himself, and infamy was never on your side. But the thing Poker thought most about was Maccenna. He hadn't spoken to her in so long, and he was worried about it. His heart beat loudly in his ears as he thought about her, but he doubted she would feel the same way anymore. After all, he was the Pirate that killed Khalora, why would she want anything to do with that anymore.

A noise behind Poker made his jump noticeable. Irritated at his own surprise Poker stood up and turned around to meet who was there.

[--Thrift--]

Thrift had woken unusually early, early enough to see the moon fading away as the sky grew pale and rosy with light. Its soft crescent was gradually losing its blanched appearance, and becoming almost indistinguishable from the sky as it disappeared from view. The first thing Thrift did when she opened her eyes was to look up at it, and stare in thoughtful silence as it gradually became invisible to her eyes, its pale, misty light giving way to the harsh rays of the rising sun as it broke from the horizon she couldn’t see, making the night sky’s calm darkness turn into a confusing mixture of oranges, pinks, and violets. Thrift narrowed her eyes at the sudden light and rolled over in her blankets, trying to get comfortable and warm in the freezing mountains’ cold. It had been a waning moon that night. Despite being away from home for sixteen years, Thrift always watched the moon’s progress as her tribe had; every single night. It gave her some peace, watching the moon grow and dim every night. It also made her think about life back at home.
Could She see her from the Land of Never-Ending Winter? The question was always unanswered.
Thrift rolled onto her belly, shutting her eyes against the growing light to try and get back to sleep. She’d had a dream, but when she tried to remember what had happened it broke away from her memory, melting away like snowflakes caught in one’s hands. There had been snowflakes, she knew, but could remember nothing else. Whatever it was, it had left her wide awake. Or maybe the dawn’s light was just doing that to her. Thrift sat up in her mass of blankets, cursing under her breath and running a clammy hand over her pale face. She wanted to sleep, but she was wider awake than ever. Rubbing her eyes to remove any sleepy blurriness, she clambered out of the blankets and stretched, yawning loudly to clear her head. She had slept in a black tunic that had the sleeves cropped off, and no pants. She had been too tired to pull on a pair the night before and had just tumbled into the blankets as soon as she had set them out. Now she rummaged through the leather bag she’d left under an outcrop of rocks, searching for something to warm her legs. Her Flammenschwert rested nearby, momentarily forgotten.
The sky was now a rich golden-pink and the shadows were growing longer and more visible. Thrift finally managed to find a pair of leather leggings and she pulled them on, leaving her tunic the way it was. No one was out on the mountains at such a time of day- especially not as high up as she was. Thrift set about tying her hair up, pulling it into a neat ponytail as tightly as it could possibly be. She had no grease here to slick it back with, and it would be nice to have clean hair for the day, at least. Thrift lazily pulled on yesterday’s socks, and then tied up the laces of her boots.
She had climbed the mountain the day before out of sheer boredom, and in a desire to avoid any drinking contests. Her crew’s ship had been damaged in a recent storm and they would be stranded on Teer for at least a week, according to the captain. Thrift had left the bustling city the previous morning and had come up alone, wishing for some silence. She’d never much liked the infamous ‘City of Rum’, having a low tolerance for alcohol. This, besides her height and body shape, was an old wound to be picked at.
Thrift packed up the remainder of her belongings into the sack, which consisted of an extra change of clothes, two canteens of water, some packed food, and her blanket. The blanket took up most of the space of her bag, and Thrift had to sling the entire thing onto her back to carry it. She wasn’t used to carrying such large things, although the bag wasn’t too heavy.
Picking up Flammenschwert from where it rested against a stunted tree nearby and tying it to her belt, Thrift rubbed her eyes again and began to pick her way up the mountain, turning her head away from the rising sun’s light. The light bothered her, and in the mountains it gave little heat to the higher rocks and peaks that she now climbed. Thrift changed direction, moving along the side of the peak instead, not really caring about where she was going. Her sleepiness had now been erased entirely, and she grasped at scraggly roots of barely living trees to keep her footing. She liked mountains. They proved a challenge that was never repetitive or boring, and such interesting animals lived in them. Thrift also liked animals, besides other things.
As she leaped over a small crevice and onto the other side of the peak, Thrift turned her head towards the right and realized that she could see the ocean from where she stood. It was deep blue in the morning light, and appeared deceptively calm. Thrift was only too aware of the risks of the ocean. The sun rose on the western horizon, already bright enough to force Thrift to look away from it, even further to her right.
As she did, she found herself looking at a strange rock, silhouetted in the sunlight. It had an odd shape, tall and pointy, jutting from the mountainside abnormally, and facing the ocean. As she looked closer, she realized the rock itself was flat- there was something living sitting on it. Thrift realized it was a person.
A loud yelp of shock escaped her mouth unbidden, and she clapped a hand to it instinctively when the figure jumped at the sound. Thrift reached for the hilt of Flammenschwert immediately and drew it as the figure stood, turning to look at her. As he did, Thrift saw a pair of palely glistening blue eyes, emotionless and almost forbidding. She held up Flammenschwert defensively, holding the serrated, silvery blade sidelong so that she could use it to block any possible attacks made by the stranger. She had been taken completely by surprise, and was furious at herself for not being more careful. She licked her lips nervously and took a step back. Luckily, she was standing on a wide patch of earth, and wouldn’t have fallen off even if she had lost her footing.
“Just who the hell are you?” she spluttered at him, mostly out of surprise.

[Poker]

Poker stood exactly still, not moving a muscle. He didn't know who she was, and therefore decided that any sudden movements might just set her off. She seemed to be someone who was used to killing. In any case she had the look of a Pirate. At least she didn't know who he was. That made him happy at least. Perhaps she hadn't been at the Amethyst War, he certainly couldn't recall her, but most of the day was a blur to him anyway, and there were a lot of people there.

He raised his head slightly so he was looking down at her, she was easily older than him, early to mid twenties, perhaps. She was holding a type of sword that Poker had only seen rarely. They weren't common, especially in Teer. He couldn't quite think of the name. Flambard? That didn't sound right. It must have started with Flam- in any case.

For a while they simply stood, eyeing each other until Poker raised his hands. He had no weapons with him, all of his possessions were down in the town, in the compartment of his room where he knew no one would steal them. All he had now was the clothing he wore. Though Poker's hands were raised in a sign of surrender to a fight, he never took a step forward.

Should he say his real name? Poker wasn't sure, so it took him a while to respond. In the end he didn't really care if she found the name familiar or not, he was becoming increasingly aware of the sunlight on his bare hands and face, it was only early morning, but Poker burned easily and the sunlight was reflected off the water, or so he had heard from sailors returning to the shore terribly red or peeling.

"I am Poker." He said, "and who are you?"

[Kristen]

Jade eyes scoped out the enviroment. Dawn's rosy fingers rose across the lands, grasping the heavens as the light sucked the night away. The shadows stretched across the world, streaking over anything in its path. The light scimmed across the mountains and stopped there. The sun hadn't yet reached past the ranges, the land still asleep past them. Clouds gathered across the sky, putting along like smoke from a train. The icy waters sloshed against the cliffs not far from where the owner of the eyes stood. Spray from the waves flung into the air, retreating from the insidious rocks, only to fall back down and join the mass of water.

Eyelids enclosed the beautiful spheres and lifted again, like curtains during an intermission. As her more than awake eyes analyzed the lands, her mind groped for answers. They were led blindly in the light of the sun. The mind of a pirate. Who would ever understand what went inside it? This pirate, Morwen, held many chambers in her mind. Many look at Morwen as just another slimy pirate killing for gold. Yes, she was a thief, but as a wise person she met once said "You do it for survival".

Was it the term of survival that assuaged the mind, feeding it the unheard of, the mistaken? Morwen looked at it as a way to keep her satisfied. What's the point of living life if fun is never created? One must make the best of things, even if they were born a pirate, hungry for gold.

Morwen stepped off the rock she stood upon and almost tripped as she heard a yelp that echoed across the boulders. Basil, Morwen's monkey, leaped onto her shoulder and chirped. What the hell...? she thought and quietly, she leaped rock to rock, sure to stay hidden among the trees that broke through the stone.

[--Thrift--]

The silence between them was disturbingly awkward and Thrift suddenly felt herself becoming extremely self-conscious. He, like most people, looked down on her, and he was gazing at her with such a serious, cold look in his eyes that Thrift felt heat rising to her pale cheeks. Did he see something that looked wrong about her? Maybe there was a squashed bug on her face that had clung to her skin while she’d been sleeping? Had she remembered to put a pair of pants on? Thrift suddenly became worried about her pants, and desperately wanted to look down at herself to check she wasn’t half-naked, but she knew looking down at one’s feet simply screamed embarrassment and self-consciousness. Hopefully, he’d think her blush was just a trick of the light played on her face by the rising sun’s rosy rays. Even if she wasn’t wearing any pants, it was best to appear as aggressive and proud as possible. She inhaled deeply, never taking her emerald eyes off of his blue ones. They seemed to be searching her deeply, inside and out, and Thrift had to fight off an urge to check she was wearing clothes again. She tried to concentrate on him as he was on her, and took in his features as best as she could. He was a little pale, but not nearly as much as she was, so she guessed he might have some northern blood. Looking closer, Thrift realized that he was a good deal younger than she was, perhaps in his teens. And yet he was already taller? Thrift silently cursed her short genes. He had dark hair, and wore black robes that obscured Thrift from seeing what his body shape was like. If he was fit, it changed everything. His neck was covered as well as the rest of his body, by a high collar. Thrift’s eyes slowly looked back to his, and she realized that he was slowly raising his hands in a sign of surrender. She quickly searched his clothes with her eyes. He carried no obvious weapons, but she was aware that there could be hidden daggers in his robes.
She could easily take him without Flammenschwert. Thrift briefly glanced down at herself to properly slide the blade back into its sheath, and was relieved to find that she had remembered her pants after all. Then she quickly raised her head again, staring at him, untrusting. His eyes revealed nothing, no inner thoughts, or feelings, just simple surrender. She had no idea that anyone else was around- she was too preoccupied with the new man.
Poker. The name rang a distant bell, but it was probably just a name from the tall, drunken tales she constantly heard from pirate crews and regulars at taverns and inns. Thrift never much paid attention to those stories, knowing that most pirates were liars, using their tales to trick innocents or to make women- or men, it really depended- warm up to them. Thrift didn’t think on the matter of his name for very long.
She stroked the side of her head, tucking a few loose strands of red hair behind her ear. The loose ends always annoyed her- she much preferred having slicked hair. She looked neater. She probably looked like a mess at the moment, standing there with unkempt hair and a rumpled tunic. Did she smell bad, too? Maybe he had been staring at her due to that.
He was still looking at her expectantly, awaiting an answer from her. Thrift shifted her weight from foot to foot, momentarily indecisive. She wasn’t all that well-known as a pirate, and she doubted he’d ever heard of her, unless he’d run in with some of her pirate ‘friends’ with their constant gossip. So she just shrugged inwardly, and looked into his eyes when she spoke to show she wasn’t afraid or nervous. “They call me Thrift- my real name’s too long for anyone to pronounce anyway.”
This was a true fact. The few people whom she’d told her true name to had either stared at her strangely for a while and asked her to repeat herself, or simply handed her a napkin. Thrift couldn’t remember why her caregivers back in the north had given her such a particularly long name. It certainly wasn’t a southern name, so they’d probably changed it after she was taken to the northern tribe. Such memories were mere hazes to her by then, though, and she just shrugged inwardly again.
She managed to keep a straight face when she spoke to him again, now neither self-conscious nor alarmed, although she was still wary. “And… what are you doing here, Poker?” Nobody climbed the Mountains of Tears often, especially not so early in the morning. The sun was still rising, and the air was still bitterly chilly. Thrift hadn’t seen anyone around except for him. He didn’t look as if he’d been sleeping, either, so he probably hadn’t spent the night as she had.

[Kristen]

ooc:"The few people whom she’d told her true name to had either stared at her strangely for a while and asked her to repeat herself, or simply handed her a napkin." Haha, if you meant it sounded like she sneezedwhen saying her name that's funny =D

BIC:

Light showered the lands with warmth not, but Morwen still managed to catch the contagious chills given to her by the shadow she passed under. The tall pine tree that sheltered her from anyone's eyes towered behind her back, the sun's rays unreachable to her momentarily.

Morwen paused and pushed away pine needles that blocked her view in front of her. The pine tree in front of her looked unhealthy. It certainly showed its many rough years of permeating the surface of the dirt and stone. The needles sagged down, innocently reaching for the earth for comfort. Their paling color looked like a pallid human that had just seen a ghost. If the needles had a face of a human, they'd look scared to die.

The needles fell away, finally breaking away from their home to wilt in the sun, as Morwen's hand pushed them. She cursed herself if the needles falling upon stone made a sound loud enough for anyone to hear. Just when she thought she killed her chance, she drove another dagger into it as rocks fell away from underneath her boots, cracking into pieces in the tiny drop from where she stood. Now I've done it. She thought and then smiled.

Basil shook her head at the idea of shoving her off her companion's shoulder to represent the cause of the falling rocks. Morwen ignored the rejection and pushed Basil through the pine and at the edge of the rock face.

Basil's eyes widened at the two figures that stood below her. She chirped and screamed and leaped frmo the rock to one bewteen the two humans. Basil knew what pirates looked like now and identified them as one. The monkey danced around on the rock, trying to call attention, and she did just that. No one would know Morwen was behind them.

The monkey grabbed a pebble and chucked it at the male pirate first. Morwen muffled a laugh and cupped her mouth in her hands as the monkey set off like a broken record. Basil knew a lot of pirates Morwen came upon wanted to harm her and Basil loved her companion with passion.

Now doing spins on the rock, Basil chirped again. Almost ready for another rock to be chucked, this time at the female- she stopped. Her last bouce on the rock echoed to the other boulders. Silence. Basil looked up to the female with innocent eyes as if nothing had happened. The squirrel monkey rested her eyes on the pirate, mimicking the male and just stared.

[Poker]

Poker's voice was clear, cut and well pronouced. Unlike most of the Pirates he had tried to keep his language skills with him. Chase had taught him most of the language he knew now. Chase. . . Poker's thoughts drifted back to Chase's makeshift gravestone sitting in a clearing in Danarta. Poker didn't visit often anymore, not many boats went that way now, but he thought about the clearing often, and about Chase and Khalora. He didn't regret what he'd done, he just wished he had done it differently . . .

"I come here to think." Poker said evasively, looking away from this Thrift for the first time to look out over the ocean again, having to turn slightly so that she was looking at his side. He must have looked incredibly thin standing in the light, but then again, he was pretty thin, even up close. The sunlight seemed to dance across the water as the sun rose slowly into the sky. A tango that would last the whole day where the light met the water and frolicked the day away, caring not for the land, or the quarrels that lay upon it. On the ocean everything looked happy, peaceful, blissful. After a long time he looked back at the woman, noting the fact that she must have slept the night in the Mountains, judging by her appearance.

A sudden noise from the bushes made Poker look behind Thrift, where a scraggly group of trees clung together for shelter and life in the rocky, desolate plateaus of the Mountains of Tears. His pale blue eyes searched for any form of life among the trees, scanning the area. When he finally thought he was focusing on something, another thing burst out from the trees and landed in front of him. A brown furry creautre screaming somewhere between delight and aggression.

Poker took a put one foot back, but then he realised it was just a monkey, and cursed himself for moving his foot. Then the monkey had thrown something, and Poker was in no position, on such an outcrop of rock to avoid it. He put his hand up to stop it, but it seemed to slip through his fingers and hit him on the side of the forehead.

His face controted into rage for a second, and for a moment he thought about chasing the monkey down, or throwing something back at it. But from what he had gathered monkeys were like small children, perhaps if he ignored it it would bloody well leave. He glared suspiciously at it, then looked back up at Thrift, wondering if she knew about it. It was acting far to exact to be wild. . .

[--Thrift--]

He looked away from her before he spoke. Thrift immediately knew that he was going to lie, or at least try to hide something, by looking away when speaking. This continued to raise her suspicions, and she glared at him sharply, trying to see past his emotionless mask. He was distant, she could tell, and his thoughts were on something else. He didn’t seem to think of her as much of a threat. Either way, she still didn’t trust him. He was looking at the rising sun instead of her, once again thoughtful. She looked at it, too, although was forced to raise a hand to cover her eyes. She had forgotten to bring her gloves, which had resulted in a series of scrapes along her hand from the tough climb up the mountain. The sun had almost completely risen from the horizon, burningly bright in Thrift’s eyes. It left colourful spots on her vision, and she looked down at the ocean instead. It was brighter in hue now, and calm enough for the rays to reach its waters and cast gentle colours on its surface, adding soft tints of green and orange. Thrift stared for a moment at the ocean’s beauty, magnified by the sun’s light, and the turned away as the sun rose higher, hurting her sensitive eyes again. She turned back to Poker, and took a moment to glance at his body in profile. She could see now that he wasn’t overweight, but little else. But then again, no overweight person could climb all the way up the mountain alone. He was probably fit, and did most likely have some skill in combat. So Thrift stayed well away from him, still wary that he was hiding something. She’d had three years of instinctive and stealthy training back in the north, and the hard, rugged training and pirate activity around them had given her distrust of anyone new, as well as the instincts of an animal. They did, Thrift had long ago realized, live like animals back on the northern plains. However, in her current wariness of Poker, she had forgotten that there might be others sneaking up the mountains.
Therefore, before she could think of a reply for Poker, let alone speak it, she was taken completely by surprise when a figure leapt across the rock face she stood on and in front of her eyes, dancing around like a clown and screeching at the top of its lungs. Where Poker had been silent, shocking her far less, the thing had leaped out from its hiding place making loud and horrible noises, so much that Thrift, with her tender nerves, immediately yelled “TÍVAR!” without thinking and snatched at the hilt of her sword, ready to fight. She started to pull it out, dragging half of the polished blade out of its scabbard, and then stopped to stare at the creature. She looked closer at the little monster, golden in colour and still screaming. It was leaping from rock to rock, black eyes wide and alarmed, its mouth open to reveal two rows of sharp little teeth. As the creature picked up a rock in its little hand, Thrift realized that it was only a monkey. She sheathed her sword back into its scabbard and crouched close to the ground, watching it intently. It chirped and tossed a pebble in Poker’s direction. Thrift was unable to hide her smile when it slid out of his grasp and hit his temple. The monkey was now twirling about on its chosen boulder, clearly delighted that it had hit its mark. Thrift’s smile disappeared when she realized that it was going to toss a pebble at her, too, and started to get up so she could avoid any chucked rocks.
But then it stopped, and looked at her with an innocent gaze in its eyes. Thrift stopped standing up halfway, noticing that it had frozen, and crouched onto her feet again. She looked at its little face, sweet and thoughtful. She almost liked animals better than humans. Animals were sweeter and far less deceptive and heartbreaking than people were. Back in the north, her tribe had lived closer to animals than the desert and jungle tribes, and she was used to their ways. Monkeys, however, were exotic and rare to her, which was why Thrift stared. Very slowly, she started to lift her hand, bringing it gently towards the monkey. Then she stopped halfway, to see how it reacted. She brought it back towards her again, in case it decided to bite her.

[[TÍVAR! = GODS!]]

[Kristen]

The monkey released a strange sound that morphed into a tiny giggle. Basil blinked as the figure that stood in front of her reached towards her. Basil cocked her head and reached with her hand too. Her tiny fingers curled at the joints forming a cupped hand to grab hold of the girl's. Basil chirped and leaped closer to the girl. Her head still cocked, the sun showered past the girl, silhouetting her figure.

Morwen's eyes wavered in her sockets, consuming all that was going on with interest. Her eyes squinted even though the sun was at her back. She leaned closer on the rock, curious at their actions. Squinting more, Morwen saw a familiar face. ...Poker?! She thought. Her excitement exploded in her body and she jumped out from the bush. Basil screeched and leaped in front of the pirate girl, forgetting about the girl she just met and the boy she chucked a rock at. Morwen had landed with a sqwaut, her arms lightly touching the dusty boulder. She slowly stood up. "Poker! Remember me?! The baskalisk!" She yelled, memories from the campaign flourishes in her mind. Poker and one called Chase were the very first pirates she had met in these lands. They spoke openly with her and ask them to follow.

Morwen leaped off the rock and ran up to hug him. Basil clicked and ran close at her heels. The pirate let go of the other and Morwen looked over to the girl. "I'm Morwen," She said with a smile. Not knowing what to say now, there was too much. It was good to see an old face and a new one.

[Poker]

For a while, Poker was too taken be surprise by Morwen's appearance to think very clearly. He remember her, of course, from the Basilisk Hunt, he remember every detail of it . . . Then he was sweeped up in a hug which he had to respond to by, rather awkwardly, putting his hands on her back as well. The hug was over as soon as it began though, and Poker was able to look at Morwen properly. Her emerald eyes seemed far greater in the sunlight than in the shade. They were shining out at him with such joy, such hopefullness. Poker had never met someone to be as happy as Morwen seemed to be. He almost smiled, but then he remembered. . .

Morwen had been there during the Basilisk Hunt . . . she would have remembered what had happened to Poker there. His weakest moment in memory. The very moment Poker tried so hard to avoid remembering. It was the very reason he wore such a high collared shirt, so that others would not have to look upon his weakness, or what his weakness had done to him. He had lost against that Basilisk after it had struck his neck, and he had to be carried away by Chase. After that he could hardly speak, it took months to recover his ability to talk. Even now, on cold days his throat cried out for water to drown it's sharp pain.

Poker looked from Morwen to Thrift, then back to Morwen, trying his hardest to keep his face from appearing too distrested. He had spent so long detaching himself from that memory, and now it came flooding back to him. Before he even knew what he was doing, his hand had gone to his neck, and his long fingers were tracing where the lifelong scars were. He could almost feel them against his fingertips, though that was nonsense, with a collar such as the one he wore. He could almost feel the Basilisk's tail whipping into his neck. He could almost hear the dull thud as he hit the ground, writhing in pain and unable to speak or move.

Poker closed his eyes, but all he could see were two big black eyes, and long white fangs glistening in the black fog of his memory. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again, trying his hardest to focus on the two people here with him now.

[--Thrift--]

Thrift felt serene and peaceful for the first time in a long while. She looked at the monkey in silence, admiring its beautifully golden fur and its big, intelligent eyes, reaching towards Thrift with one tiny hand. Thrift opened her fingers slightly, allowing the monkey to have a better grasp on her fingers, touching the monkey’s tiny, surprisingly warm, and smooth hand. It gripped Thrift’s finger, looking at her intently, hopping closer to her. A smile almost crossed Thrift’s face. The edges of her mouth trembled in an upward movement, but didn’t quite make it into a proper smile. She continued to stare at the monkey quietly, nearly forgetting that Poker was there. There was something so innocent and clear in the monkey’s eyes, something that few people had inside themselves. She wanted to touch the monkey, to see if it would let her stroke its soft aureate fur, but then a loud rustling of bushes came from somewhere behind her, and Thrift was startled out of her reverie, but not exactly surprised or spooked. Only when a girl came crashing out of the bushes, squealing and yelling and causing the monkey to start screaming too, did Thrift stand up, a little too quickly. She took a step back, her heel scuffing the edge of the rock face she stood on. Immediately, Thrift froze, not daring to move in case she fell off and into the crevice just behind her. She looked up. The girl had enclosed Poker in a hug that seemed to have startled him out of his senses, and she was talking as rapidly and piercingly as the monkey, which was sticking close to the girl and seemed to have forgotten about Thrift entirely. Thrift blinked and swallowed, and took a step forward so that she was no longer in danger of falling off. She stayed awkwardly silent through the ordeal between Poker and the girl, and stayed quiet for a moment longer when the girl did turn to her.
She had vivid emerald eyes like Thrift did, but hers were big and wide with joy, while Thrift’s were narrower and more exotically shaped, which went along with her hard, rough features. But Thrift’s skin was pale and this girl had soft features with tanned skin, a light dusting of freckles on her face, and short brunette hair. She was, like most people, taller than Thrift, but she appeared to be the same age as Poker. She seemed to be far more open and carefree than he was, so it surprised Thrift that she appeared to be such good friends with him. She swallowed before replying, sucking in her breath.
“I’m Thrift,” was all she said, a little quietly. She was still unsettled from Morwen’s sudden appearance, and now she finally had a mind to stay on the lookout for any more new appearances. She didn’t want to be surprised again.

[Kristen]

Still smiling, Morwen quickly strode up to Thrift and reached out with a welcoming hand. Morwen looked at her own hand and noticed all the dust and small pebbles that clung to it from jumping out of the row of plants. Absolutely hating being dirty, Morwen quietly said "Oh" and brushed her palm against her combat clothes. That was one strange thing about her. Most pirates loved bathing in blood and dirt but Morwen would frown at such sloppiness. The mud was for pigs, not humans. However, that did not mean Morwen wouldn't cross through bogs and mud if the time called for it. Her years of training proved she had better things to do than to pick her way around a puddle or clean her hands before every meal.

Reaching her hand out again after being satisfied with its cleanness, Morwen smiled again, hoping Thrift would return her greeting. It wasn't everyday she got to meet a new pirate. Wait. Was she a pirate? Morwen had skipped thinking things through first. What if she was enemy? Not wanting to be rude by retrieving her hand from the open, Morwen asked, "What allegiance are you, Thrift?" After the question, her mind flipped back to the word she spoke earlier. What was it? Tiver? Tívear? No.. She thought, and decided to give it a shot anyways. "And what does... Tív-e-ar mean?" As she sounded out the word her eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. She had said it wrong but she didn't care.

Morwen most certainly didn't want to put pressure on her, for she already looked shy enough. As her mind pushed on, Morwen had already forgotten about the Basilisk Campaign. That was a long time ago and Morwen didn't take a huge part in it. The whole memory was like a staticcy TV screen. It was all behind her, fog that had already passed, giving birth to a following sunshine.

Basil weaved her way around the boulders, entertaining herself. Looking up, the monkey saw her companion dusting her hands off. Wanting to look important as well, Basil wiped her tiny hands off by burring them deep in her fur. Looking like a drunk monkey, she continued to brush her palms while still walking towards her friend. Releasing a small chirp, she hid behind Morwen's legs, peaking between them.