The rising popularity of human supremacy has the Rogue Nation as a whole quite . . . tense. The order has gone out from Thriwich: make the Keeps ready, and while no one wants to believe it's necessary they certainly scramble to obey. At least to feel like they're doing something. At least to think themselves less helpless against the coming storm.Not that a storm is coming, of course.
Better safe than sorry, though, eh?
Of course. Of course that's all it is.
THRIWICH
Snow stands in the middle of the city's main street, scraping at the cobblestones in her nervousness, forcing herself to project nothing but calm for the people needing it. Her people. Her purpose. Yes, for them she can fight her way to calm . . .
The city bustles around Her Holiness: priests and monastics shepherding people into the holy buildings, running back and forth to comfort children and pick up dropped supplies. Apple's organized most of the resident War Angels to haul carts - food, cloth, medicines, books, light sources of all kinds, supplies for magic and ritual, ice blocks, cooking implements, music, firewood, everything that can be thought of.
Snow catches a frantic edge to the raised voices and lifts her own: Courage, my children. Peace. It will, I promise, it WILL be all right . . . The streams of people slow a bit, faces turning up to their Archdolphop like flowers to the sun; she is not only offering words, she is offering a wordless solace for every mind. Slowly and steadily, the city prepares to bolt underground. The streets hum with repetitions of Snow's words: Hold fast, my Brethren. United by the Faith we can outlast the world.
GEIRISKALI
Small, fragile nekos swarm around their Warden in terror. "Shavara?" "Shavara?" "Manzanedo?" "Are they coming here?" "Are they coming to finish us off?"
It's all Thorn can do not to wail along with them, fear and preemptive guilt making her shiver in the warm sun. I don't know.
CACOT
Numair dispatches a few teams of Empty Hands to round up and corral the heads of committees. Once the sheepish assembly is as complete as really needed, he begins to shout.
"WHAT WERE YOU PEOPLE THINKING? There are clear instructions in the city's books. Clear numbers in the ledgers. And you still manage to 'confuse' which Keep gets all the food?!" He's pale, tear-stained and swaying on his feet but propelled by sheer wrath. "My children . . . I know there was no confusion here." He glares in turn at each community leader. "And I want YOU to know HOARDING FOOD WILL BE PUNISHED AS THE DOLPHIN SEES FIT!"
There's a collective shiver. "S-sorr-"
"SORRY DOESN'T CUT IT WHEN YOU NEARLY STARVED YOUR SIBLINGS."
"Sor-"
"NO." Numair whirls on the unfortunate speaker in a storm of blue silk. "No. You don't get to say you're sorry until you've undone the effects of your SIN."
STORMCLOUD
"We've done this before, people!" Mother Charity doesn't need to shout, nor to broadcast a message to the mind; silence falls around her when she speaks and the people gather of their own accord. "The Dawn of Fury! Who remembers that? There was a real, definite threat that time and we still came through just fine! So stay calm, say your prayers and prepare the Keeps in an orderly fashion." She turns to her little following of Wershian orphans with a reassuring smile. "I know this all seems strange. It's just how we do things, how we endure the hatreds of the outside world. It's probably not even necessary, but an ounce of prevention and all that, eh?" She ruffles their hair and dispenses hugs. "Don't any of you worry. I'll take care of us."
GOLDEN FIELDS, OAKSHADE AND JEWEL
Everyone departs in haste back to their home cities, with settlement to be resumed once Valsora calms down. Oak proves invaluable in shepherding the pilgrims on their way.
