Julia Verne
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Loki had released murkrow by then and was mildly watching Archy. He had seen many others of his kind over the years and understood the peoples' mild infatuation with the regal pokemon. But instead of either of the flying pokemon speaking, Loki opened his maw. 'Arcanine are revered for their loyalty, their appearance, and their prowess. There are not supposed to be any other arcanine outside those which the High King's men breed, making them a very rare sight in the wild. The most esteemed warriors in these lands ride upon arcanines,' Loki explained. 'But to be honest, many of them are just as stuck up and prissy as their riders. He's a bit different from those I have met.' Togekiss and Murkrow had only seen one or two riders in the years they had lived in the north. It was Loki, who was around twenty years old, that had seen them come and pass, even exchanging pleasantries with them, if you would consider their spite pleasant.

Mimzy had fallen asleep, she didn't really remember how. She had just been admiring the passing clouds when her eyes closed and she was out cold. She hadn't exerted a massive amount of mana, but she had given enough when healing and bolstering the others that a short nap was needed to replenish that bit of energy. She would also probably wake to be ravenous, scarfing down more then triple what girls her size would have been thought capable of doing. She was so deep in sleep that she didn't even notice when her staff was put on her and she was lifted. The magic coma just about had her under and it wasn't just about to loosen its grasp just yet. It was just when she heard a voice that she blinked open her eyes groggily, nearly punching herself in the face as she reached up to rub an eye. She came to the understanding that she wasn't on her own feet and quickly sobered up... to a certain point.

She got herself back on her feet, leaning for support on her staff, as she stifled a yawn with her hand over her mouth. "Oh yeah... my brother..." he was probably wondering where they were. She didn't know how long she had dozed off for, but by where the sun was in the sky, she gave it an hour or so. She prepared herself for her brother's teasing, especially when just the two of them showed up at the house. Leading the way, back into the village, and in the direction of her family's home, they passed many faces that suspiciously eyed them. Mimzy was an outsider in her old home, not that she had ever been completely apart of the community. Eventually, she found the house, which had been extended and remodeled to give the impression that someone of importance lived there. It wasn't a castle or even a manor, but for a commoner, it was a nice size. It probably had three or four rooms opposed to the typically two roomed houses that the other families had.

Sitting on the wooden fence was Freyr, sharpening his sword, his houndoom at his feet. He had washed off his face paint and donned more casual attire. Even though his back was to her, he turned as they arrived, hearing their approach. "About time you arrived, thought you might have gotten... lost," he arched a brow suggestively, met with his sister's disapproving frown. "Mother is preparing a meal now, I don't advise bothering her unless you want to leave with a few missing fingers. She's very eager to meet your Sir Boyfriend." "Freyr!" The blonde rolled his eyes at her before grinning mischievously. "Whhhattt? He's got a glow about him. What'd you do? Give him a kiss or something? Maybe a little tissue as a 'token' of your affection."

"Freyr, shut that big gob of yours, I can hear it from-" a woman appeared in the doorway in the front of the house. She had a smock tied on and a large knife in her hands. Her long, golden blonde hair was tied back in an elaborate braid. She looked to be in her late forties, but the years had been kind to her. Only a slight crinkling at the corners of her mouth and eyes betrayed her. She still was easily considered beautiful, but she had never remarried after the death of her husband. Her children were already enough to deal with, she didn't need another man in the equation. Astrid rushed forward and engulfed Mimzy in a hug, dropping the knife in the grass along the way. She began petting Mimzy as if she were a pet, murmuring unintelligible things underneath her breath. "Oh, my baby, I wondered what had become of you. I thought the worst, I really did," compared to Mimzy, Astrid was tall and curvy where her daughter was average height and slim. Finally releasing Mimzy from her death grip, she grabbed a hold of her face.

"Oh, you have my face. Doesn't she Freyr? Look. Freyr! I said look!" the woman demanded of her son. Freyr glanced over. "Yes mother, you two could be sisters," he replied dryly. "I don't need your sarcasm you little brat!" she then turned back to Mimzy, stroking her face. "Don't mind him. Freyr is just jealous of you. He wanted Loki you know, but your father gave him to you. Along with..." but upon noticing the staff her eyes became glassy and she did not finish her train of thought. 'Mother knew... Mother knew father was a cleric,' Mimzy realized, seeing the recognition in Astrid's eyes. Astrid then released Mimzy and turned to Clyde, whom she was not much shorter than. "And you must be the knight Freyr boasted about as soon as he ran home-" "Mother!" She reached over and pecked Clyde lightly on both cheeks, for a greeting. "You're glowing," Astrid smiled. "Maybe those things that Freyr said about the two of you is true."