Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was an unusual time of the year for storms to bear down from the north, but here one was anyway, darkening the sky to indigo far across the fields. A cool wind rushed before it, a strong wind; the trees seemed to brace against its first assault and then summarily surrender, their leaves rippling in waves, exposing their pale, shimmering undersides. The clouds hadn't started to block out the sun yet, so everything against the purpling horizon was still bright, green and golden -- a beautiful scene, and equally ominous. Pale leaves and black birds wheeled against the dark part of the sky, making no headway in the gusts, as ineffective as scraps of paper thrown up in the updraft of a fire.

The Wardwood was as yet untouched. The shadows beneath its great trees were cool and watchful, ancient in their stillness -- surely the storm would rage onward only to break against the forest like waves upon a cliffside. Surely such storms had done so, thousands of times before.

At least Bird hoped that was the case, because otherwise she was pretty screwed. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a streak of dirt, and went back to digging. The ground around her was full of small holes and adjacent piles of earth and loam, which she was patiently scooping out with her fingers. Whenever she found a worm, she inserted it, somewhat inexplicably, into one of her pockets -- which eventually offered up at least a partial explanation when it squirmed and issued a hoarse, unpleasant croak.

This was clearly a popular spot for people to leave offerings: bright ribbons and trinkets were tied all over the branches of a nearby sapling, fluttering and clacking together in the growing wind, and bowls of milk and honey and wine attracted bees in the shade.

"I dunno, Beauregard," she said, apparently to no one. She sat up, muddy legs and knees exposed below her rucked-up skirt, even muddier feet bare, and scrubbed her exceptionally muddy hands off on her clothes. It didn't seem to make much of a difference. "What do you think? More'll come out of a granny's tit than this dirt if the storm comes in."

Something rustled in the thick mat of leaves on the ground. It could have only been the wind, but a toad proved otherwise a moment later by hopping out in front of Locke. The creature was enormous and quite fat, so this took it some time to accomplish. It stopped a few feet away from him, throat bulging calmly, and slowly swiveled around so that it was not exactly facing him, but nearly so, staring placidly off into the middle distance.

Bird, however, looked over her shoulder to stare at Locke directly. After a moment of consideration she stood up (her crouching pose had been not unlike that of the toad's) and trotted over. "Hi," she said. "Beauregard likes your horse. Are you leaving an offering? Shitty timing, no offense, but--" she gestured toward the darkening sky, which spoke for itself. Then she picked the toad up, who tolerated this with perfect equanimity, and she stood there holding it as if it were a potato or a jar or a bundle of cloth, not something odd to be standing there holding at all.

"Yep," she said, and looked at him a little uncertainly, as if she hoped he wasn't going to do that every time she told him something but would feel bad saying so out loud. "Why are you here, then? Are you looking for spirits? What's his name?" Hands full, she gestured at Locke's horse with the toad. Then she paused and ducked down to look under it, presumably to determine its sex. "Sorry, didn't check first," she said, to the horse. The toad, who had at this point peaceably allowed Bird to wave it around both horizontally and vertically, finally demonstrated a sign of life by slowly pedaling its legs in the air.

Bird eyed Locke dubiously. He didn't look like a thrill-seeker to her. He looked, she thought, as if he hadn't had a thrill ever, in his entire life. "No, I'm leaving an offering. What does indiscriminant mean? Do you read a lot of books?" And then, in a somewhat boggling conversational shift, she added without pausing: "Maybe you should leave one too since you're here already. I could share some of mine, if you don't have anything." It was probably safe to assume that she was referring to offerings, not books. When she finished talking she smiled up at him openly, a wide, froggy smile, as friendly as she was dirty. At least she didn't have any mud on her teeth.

"Sunflower seeds," Bird said cheerfully, over her shoulder. "If you find any worms while you're digging, give 'em to me." She had already put the toad down and gone on ahead, and now she squatted among her holes and looked at Locke speculatively. "You keep doing that," she added after a moment, miming clutching at her chest, perhaps a bit more dramatically than necessary. "You have a cramp or something?"

A gust of wind ripped across the clearing, ruffling Bird's short hair and tearing at the muddied hem of her dress. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. Behind both of them, the toad nestled into a trough of leaves and watched.

"Don't look like you've got a congenial heart condition to me," Bird replied cheerfully. "Plus, digging around in the dirt's good for you, and in my opinion it's an awful idea to say you're going to leave an offering and then change your mind. They might be listening, like." She glanced over her shoulder at the tree Locke was frowning at, shrugged, and went back to digging, clearly unconvinced.

Presently she found a worm and lowered it into her pocket. While doing this, an idea seemed to occur to her. She looked up at Locke and beamed. "I'll let you see what's in my pocket if you plant a seed," she offered, as if this were a highly exciting opportunity and not, actually, quite strange and potentially disgusting. The pocket squirmed and issued another croaking noise. Whatever it was, it sounded like it might be on the verge of death.

"Nope," Bird replied, her smile growing even wider -- which it hadn't seemed as if it could beforehand, but then again, she had quite a large mouth. "Not even close. Does sound kind of like a toad at this age, though."

She very deliberately withdrew a paper packet from the opposite pocket, fished out a seed, and stuck it in one of the holes. Then she very deliberately placed the packet on the ground as far in front of her as she could reach, not looking at Locke all the while, as if he were a wild animal she might coax forward by pretending not to acknowledge. When she was finished doing this, she very deliberately pushed dirt back over the hole and sat there patting it down with all of her attention, the packet of seeds to all appearances entirely forgotten.