Private Tindercreek and Tillvale

[Walter Thornley]

​

The afternoon shivered in collective dreary. Drizzle fell from the sky. A thick fog crept into the folds of the clothes, weighed them down with a chill. Today of all days in particular, the smell of old fires was wafting over from the end street east of the gate.

Almost a month has passed since the first meeting of those who sought to bring peace back to the undeath and chaos cauldron. By now, everyone had fallen into routines. Expeditions, patrols, rotations, civil duty. There weren't too many deviations within Arpa, thanks to the wards - especially after the plague fiend. Supplies kept trickling in, the lifeblood returning to the faces and facades within the walls. Word was, the Masons' Guild would arrive before the year's end.

She arrived from the mists - barefoot, grey in the face from exhaustion, wispy hair clumped in dirty locks from sweat and tangles, rags the color of dirt, a plea of help on cracked lips. Barely twelve, no name that they could get out of her. The girl was guided to a little campsite at the gate, rather than be invited in. A hard-hearted move for anyone... that has not seen as much as the Huntsmen have. Too many questions for the goings on.
They'd sent for a healer, for some food, and also booted a runner to Percival to report the alleged situation.
Hopefully, a paragon would arrive soon to take charge of investigation.

Genevieve, who was with the warden folks this time of day, seemed slightly unsettled by the time steps approached with purpose. She leaned to the gateway, hand on the hip besides the lantern idly shimmering with blue wisps, as if half-way considering lighting it and announcing the Hunt. A new appearance made her swing away from her post and straighten up, heels clicking with a wet splash in the mud.

"Genevieve of the Hunt, at your service," would have to suffice as a greeting. "We have a child at the gate," her hand moved in front of her chest in a number of silent symbols, hope in the dark grey eyes for recognition. When that did not come, she whispered, "she'd have walked out there alone, but the places she speaks of are on the map, about a day and a half or two by horseback. We aren't sure that we should let her in, though. Come see for yourself?"

The girl sat by the firepit, watching them from a distance with shadowed, sleepless dark eyes. Hard to tell under the layers of grime and dirt, but she didn't seem like a shambling corpse at least. A bowl of simple gruel and some bread laid beside her, untouched.

 

[Momoshiro]

The month that followed had passed more quietly than Momoshiro might have expected.

Arpa had settled into its new rhythm, and he had settled into it with the town. There were patrols to join, stretches of countryside to search, spirits to deal with when they wandered too close to the wards, and the less glamorous work that seemed to accompany any place trying to rebuild itself. Momo had never been particularly good at sitting idle, so he found himself volunteering for whatever needed doing. Sometimes that meant following the Huntsmen beyond the walls. Sometimes it meant helping put restless spirits to rest. Other times it was nothing more complicated than lending a pair of hands where they were needed and quietly disappearing again when the work was done.

He had also grown accustomed to the people of Arpa.

Faces that had once been strangers had become familiar. He knew which streets were busiest in the morning, which portions of the walls required the most attention, and which taverns remained loud well into the evening. He had learned the rhythms of the place in much the same way he learned the rhythms of a spirit—by watching, listening, and allowing familiarity to build slowly. It wasn't home, and would never be, but it had begun to feel less like somewhere he was merely passing through.

Perhaps that was why the sight of the girl at the gate unsettled him so quickly.

The drizzle had already soaked through his yellow haori by the time Momo approached, the damp fabric clinging somewhat more heavily to his shoulders as he made his way through the mist. His ears were lowered against the cold, and his white hair had begun to gather tiny droplets along its length. He had been returning from one of the outer patrols when the commotion near the gate caught his attention. Nothing particularly loud—no shouting, no alarm—but enough movement to suggest that something unusual had happened.

His ruby eyes found Genevieve first.

Then the girl.

Momo slowed.

For several seconds, he simply watched her.

Bare feet. Filthy clothing. Skin grey with exhaustion. Hair tangled into dirty clumps. She looked impossibly small beside the adults gathered around her, and the untouched bowl of food sitting at her side somehow made the image worse rather than better. Hunger should have driven her toward it. Anyone who had walked for days should have been ravenous.

Instead, she simply stared.

Momo's expression changed almost imperceptibly.

His attention moved over her again, this time with the practiced scrutiny of an exorcist. Not looking for wounds alone. Not looking for the signs of illness. He watched the air around her, the space immediately beside her, the subtle disturbances that might betray a spirit clinging to her shadow or something darker lingering beneath the surface.

Nothing obvious.

That, perhaps, was more concerning than finding something.

He glanced toward Genevieve as he approached, offering her a small nod of greeting before his attention returned to the child.

“You said she walked here alone?”

His voice was quiet, careful not to carry too far toward the girl. His eyes remained on her as he spoke, studying the exhaustion in her posture and the way she watched them all with those dark, sleepless eyes.

“At least a day and a half from the nearest place on the map?”

There was no disbelief in the questions. Only the dawning realization of what that actually meant.

A child of barely twelve had crossed that distance barefoot, through whatever lay beyond Arpa's walls, and somehow arrived alive.

Momo's gaze drifted briefly toward the mist behind her.

The fog seemed thicker beyond the gate.

He didn't like that.

Not because there was necessarily something hiding within it. He had learned long ago that fear was a poor substitute for evidence. But the circumstances were wrong in too many small ways to dismiss. The distance. The condition of the girl. The fact that she had no name anyone could get from her. The untouched food.

And, most importantly, the fact that she had come from somewhere that had apparently ceased to be safe enough for her to remain there.

Momo took another slow step forward, then stopped well short of crowding her.

He crouched instead, lowering himself until he was closer to her height. His hands remained visible and relaxed, making no attempt to reach for her.

“Hello.”

The word was gentle.

“I’m Momoshiro, but you can call me Momo if you'd like.”

He didn't ask her name. Not yet.

She had already been questioned, and whatever had happened to her, Momo suspected that she had probably spent enough time being asked things she didn't know how to answer.

His eyes flicked toward the bowl beside her, then back to her face.

“You don't have to eat it if you don't want to.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“But it is there whenever you're ready.”

He let the silence settle afterward rather than immediately filling it with another question. Momo had spent enough time around frightened spirits to know that sometimes the first thing you gave someone wasn't an answer.

It was time.

His ears twitched at some distant sound beyond the walls, and his eyes briefly lifted toward the fog before returning to the girl.

Then, quieter still, he added,

“You walked a very long way to get here.”

A pause.

“You must have been looking for somewhere safe.”

 

[Walter Thornley]

"Said what I said, foxman. Day and a half by horse," Genevieve whispered back, quickly stringing words together while her eyes flicked to the campfire at least twice. It didn't seem like the woman was lost, more like she was aware of a number of things the situation might turn out to be, and not enthused.
"When the lord was leaving a week ago, he said the wards should be calibrated to vaporize anything undead until he returns, so... Kid's not aggressive, but you never know, sometimes you just need to invite them in. We tried to make do outside. Kid's not talking to us anymore, though."

"Hello."​

Eyes like an animal cornered, whole figure frozen, tense, ready to flee. The girl did not move, only stared back, stealing quick glances to study Momoshiro whenever he moved.
Hands hugging knees locked together, fingers hooking messily into each other.

Nothing at first glance. She was not translucent. There was no shadow falling wrong. Feet left marks in the dirt.

Something, the longer he looked. The girl was uninjured, despite being dirty - one would think traipsing the marshes without shoes to be perilous for many reasons besides the undead, even if all the snakes were gone.

There was also this buzz when he looked at her. A slight feeling of oddness carefully folded and hidden into one small, exhausted shape - and attached to something clasped very tightly in one of the hands- wait, no, her hands moved just a little while earlier, and they were empty.

An aura almost like a weaver. But reedy, cricket-song-strung, damp, somehow.

No sense of threat, though. Not yet, perhaps, or maybe not at all.

“You walked a very long way to get here.”​

She curled into a tighter ball, no longer looking at him. Stared at the food instead. Swallowed hard staring at the gruel. Not like it made her hungry - like it made her sick.

“You must have been looking for somewhere safe.”​

A nod.

"We've seen the light across the marshes. They wouldn't let us leave, though."

 

[Momoshiro]

Momo's ears tilted at Genevieve's explanation, though his attention remained fixed on the girl. Vaporizing anything undead until the lord returned. That explained the caution, at least. It did little to explain the child.

Then the girl spoke.

Momo went very still.

They wouldn't let us leave.

The words were simple, but they carried more weight than he liked. His gaze flicked briefly toward the fog beyond the gate, then back to her. Somewhere beneath the rain and the crackle of the fire, that strange sensation remained—a faint, reedy vibration at the edge of his awareness. It reminded him of the Shroud when something was present just beneath the surface, except this felt... different. Not hostile. Not exactly.

But hidden.

His eyes lowered toward the girl's hands.

For just a moment, he'd seen something there. Or thought he had. Something clasped tightly enough to suggest it mattered, followed by an empty-handedness that made him question whether he'd actually seen anything at all.

Momo didn't press.

Instead, he shifted slightly, angling himself so that he wasn't directly between the girl and the open gate. If she needed to run, he didn't want his presence to become another obstacle. His posture remained relaxed, but his attention had sharpened considerably.

“Who wouldn't let you leave?”

The question was gentle, almost conversational.

He paused before adding, “The people you were with?”

His gaze briefly moved toward the fog again.

“Or something else?”

There was no accusation in the question. He wasn't even certain there was something else. But the strange sensation surrounding her, the journey, the untouched food, and now this...

Too many pieces refused to fit together.

Momo's eyes returned to the girl.

“And the light you saw...”

His ears twitched.

“Was it here? Arpa?”

A beat passed.

“Or somewhere else?”

He kept his voice quiet, giving her plenty of room to answer—or not answer. Whatever she was carrying, whether it was an object, a secret, or something far stranger, Momo had no intention of forcing it out of her.

Not yet.

 

[Walter Thornley]

Cracked nails, dirt stuck underneath. So reedy thin it made the heart shrink. Her eyes were large and grey with specks of yellow that made them look bogwater-green. She lowered her eyes to the ground, digging at it with the toes peeking from under the rags her pretty aproned cotton dress had become.

No answer.

Genevieve pretended the guard post was the only thing of interest, but then, she was not out of earshot, and the rumours said that the Hunt all had noses like wolves and ears like bats. The thought tickled, vaguely, at the nape of the neck, like unwanted fingers.
Not all wrong, even though it wasn't true. Her hand wrapped around the stock of the crossbow, index finger idling behind the triger ring, tracing the briar flowers engraved there.
Didn't help her see unseen, that, but at least she would be lightning fast if something happened.

The girl, meanwhile, looked past the large, reassuring presence of the shaman. Towards the gate.

Her lips pressed together, a short quiver passed through them. Upset, scared... hungry in a way no food would quench.
Momo's senses weren't lying. There was nothing around her because there was something that she was, besides a human girl, exhausted and starving. The warmth of her life flowing into the Shroud around them did not feel entirely human, the strength to endure that long trek, the lack of cuts, all indicated a presence. It was not darkened, though.

"We saw sunlight. It's been long since clouds burst so often. Buried all the crops last season." She pondered. "But here is nicer."
Sharpened features of her round face shifted into fear.

"We can't go, though. People who came to the village, they won't let us. So we don't call for crownsfolk. Can you help?"

Her hand tucked something that looked like a clump of thread rubbed together into a spiral underneath the sleeve.

 

[Momoshiro]

Momo's expression softened at the girl's request, though the answer left him with considerably more questions than it had answered. People had come to the village. They wouldn't let anyone leave. They didn't want the crownsfolk called.

And now she was asking him for help.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment, taking in the trembling lips, the dirt beneath her nails, the way she kept looking toward the gate as though some part of her expected someone to come through it. Hunger clung to her almost as strongly as exhaustion did. Yet beneath all of that, there was something else. Something in the way her presence touched the Shroud that still didn't feel entirely human.

Not corrupted.

Not hostile.

Just... wrong enough that Momo couldn't dismiss it.

His eyes dipped briefly as her hand disappeared beneath her sleeve. He caught the movement, but didn't react. Whatever she'd tucked away, she clearly didn't want anyone seeing it. For now, he could respect that.

“Help you do what?” he asked gently.

Momo lowered himself slightly, bringing himself closer to her level without crowding her. His voice remained quiet and even, giving her no reason to think she was in trouble.

“Do you want us to go back with you?”

The question came carefully. Not because he intended to agree without knowing more, but because he wanted to understand exactly what she was asking of them.

His gaze shifted briefly toward the gate again.

“If these people are keeping everyone there, then I'd like to know why.” His ears flicked back toward the girl. “And if they're preventing anyone from calling for help, that's something we should probably take seriously.”

He paused, considering her words.

“You said we can't go.”

The distinction caught at him.

“Who is we?”

There was no accusation in the question. Only quiet curiosity, though Momo's attention sharpened as he waited for her answer.

Somewhere beneath his calm, the uneasy sensation he'd first noticed when she arrived stirred again.

The hidden thread.

The strange presence.

The village.

The people who wouldn't let them leave.

Too many pieces were beginning to gather around the same empty space, and Momo still couldn't see what belonged in the middle.

He didn't like that.

But he wasn't going to frighten a starving child by pretending he understood something he didn't.

“It's alright,” he said softly. “I won't let anything harm you.”

 

[Walter Thornley]

"We's we. Me and my-family. People in old armors came, they took what the Tindercreek have. Lasted them half a year, over the winter. Then they came to us. Said they were in the war." She mumbled, and cast a cautious glance at the Huntsman with the crossbow. "The gate lady's watching. She has hunter eyes, not bogfolk eyes like you."

She fiddled with the woven strands of something hidden up her sleeve.
"You're crownsfolk. Maybe you can get them to leave before we all die. Maybe you can take us in? We know here better than any of you."
She squinted at the bright shirt.
"Can you get the gate lady to leave?" Her face scrunched in deep thought. "I'll tell you a secret. Don't want her to hear. Not for the likes of people in armors."
She tapped the ground on the other side of her twice with the palm, really stomping it. Fingers curled, came up with a small dormouse. Hunger flared again, appetite burning through the glinting eyes.

 

[Momoshiro]

For a little while, Momo simply looked at the girl, his warm smile remaining exactly where it had been. There was nothing threatening in his expression, nothing that demanded an answer. Just a quiet patience that he hoped might give her something to hold on to.

Eventually, his gaze shifted toward Genevieve. He gave the Huntsman a lazy little shrug, accompanied by an expression that seemed to say, Well... it is what it is.

Then he looked back to the girl.

His expression became thoughtful as he considered everything she'd told him—the people in armor, the village, the winter, the way they had taken what the Tindercreek had before coming for her family. There were a great many things he wanted to ask, but none of them seemed particularly useful while she was standing here frightened, hungry, and surrounded by people she clearly didn't trust.

Momo sighed softly. His ears perked, and his smile widened as he reached out and gave the girl's head a gentle pat.

“I'm just folk-folk,” he said, nodding toward Genevieve, “and she's got a job to do. We can't exactly ask her to abandon her responsibilities, now can we?”

Behind him, his tail swayed lazily, flicking from side to side. One ear twitched, and he reached up to give it a quick scratch before continuing.

“But how about this?”

He reached into the long sleeve of his robe and produced a small muffin—the remains of what had been intended as his own breakfast. He held it out to her.

“Why don't you have something to eat first?”

Once she'd had a chance to take it, Momo gestured away from the gate.

“And then we'll go somewhere a little quieter and talk. Somewhere you don't have to worry about everyone listening in.”

His red eyes disappeared behind gently closed lids as his smile softened.

Then he rose to his full height and stepped past her, walking back the way she had come. He didn't look over his shoulder immediately. Instead, he gave her the choice to follow.

After a few steps, however, he glanced back.

“Come on now, little one.”

His tone remained gentle, but there was a quiet warmth beneath it.

“You've got a story to tell me.”

 

[Walter Thornley]

Genevieve scowled, but moved her finger away from the grooves at the trigger. She shrugged too. Work was work. Besides, the kid was suspicious. Only last week, there had been a wraith that burst into mist as soon as she passed the gate under the guise of a woman from the Shieldbearers. That woman proper had been later located in the drinking hall, off duty after a long and grueling hog through the bogs. Good they had their own unorthodox cavalry.

She moved her head down, nose scrunching slightly, with a noise of protest hummed - but did not move away. After all, her eyes were affixed to the seeming intent to help from the huge man. But what he was saying peaked her attention no more than bread or stew. Fingers gripped onto the dormouse tighter - it did not squeak, it should have bitten, but it seemed to have chosen to play dead.

And yet, she scrambled back up onto dirty feet and followed, steadying on her feet. A stare was cast over her shoulder, a few seconds' delay, at Genevieve - but the Huntress did not move, and the girl caught up with the long-legged fox, until they made a half-way turn behind some brush. The muffin he offered was left on the ground besides the other food offerings.
"I didn't say a story."

She frowned.
"I said I'd tell a secret, but, now, look."

Her mouth opened, then opened wider still, eyes bulging slightly. Her neck moved, not in a swallowing motion, but something inside, with a small choked sound and half an exhale.
A small black bird's head looked from behind the rows of perfect, white, whole teeth, its feathers shiny and eyes clever. A moment passed, the bird turned its head inward, feathers flared, and a tiny face looked back at Momo.

There it was. The wrong.
The voice flowed smoothly without the façade moving a single muscle.
"We don't want to talk. We need help. She needs help. We can't stay long if you can't take us in. We must go back. To the others."

 

[Momoshiro]

For a moment, Momo simply stared.

His ears had gone rigid, his ruby eyes fixed on the small head surrounded by feathers peeking from inside the girl's mouth. The sight was strange enough to momentarily leave him without words, but the surprise quickly gave way to something else as her voice continued to speak without her mouth moving.

We.

She.

We need help.

Those words drew his attention back to the girl herself.

Momo's expression softened, and he lowered himself into a crouch so that he wasn't towering over her quite so much. His eyes searched her face carefully, taking in the grey pallor, the dirt, the exhaustion, and all the little things he'd noticed before but hadn't quite known what to make of. His senses still told him there was something unusual about her, something intertwined with her presence, but now that he could see it, the distinction between strange and dangerous seemed even less certain. Whatever she was, she had walked for a day and a half in those conditions, frightened and hungry, only to come here asking for help.

And now she was asking something much more important.

“Is the girl dead?”

The question came gently, without disgust or fear. Momo tilted his head slightly, watching the tiny face with genuine concern rather than suspicion.

“I don't mean to be rude,” he added after a moment, his ears dipping sheepishly. “It's just... I've met a few things that weren't quite alive before.”

His gaze briefly flicked toward the girl before returning back to the little mysterious face among the black feathers.

“And you don't feel like them.”

There was uncertainty in his voice now. Momo wasn't pretending to understand what stood before him. He didn't know whether the girl was alive, dead, possessed, sharing her body with something else, or something entirely different. What he did know was that whatever it was, it was scared, and that there were apparently others somewhere behind it who were depending on it getting back to them.

Momo slowly rose again, though he remained close enough that it wouldn't have to raise its voice to speak to him.

“So let's forget about the story,” he said quietly. “And the secret.”

His smile returned, smaller this time, but no less sincere.

“I would like to help, but I need to know what happened to this girl and if she is dead or alive or something in between.”

He glanced briefly toward the path behind them, then back to the girl. His expression became thoughtful.

“... and why you need to go inside the town so bad.”

Momo extended one open hand toward her, not quite reaching for her, simply offering it.

“I don't mean you any harm. I just need answers before I can help.”

His ears relaxed and that calming smile returned.

 

[Walter Thornley]

Feathers fluttered, the face shivered between them. A calm mask one moment, laughing the next, calm again in a blink of an eye.
"She's alive. Her feet aren't shredded to smithereens. Her heart beats. We are very gracious, even though we were here first before you came. Now it's your turn. We must not be harmed or caged once we part. You'll give us word."

Feathers fluttered, the face turned pensive, no bigger than a coin in size. It was a spirit. A nature spirit, at that. It still did not feel malicious, but soup and muffins were probably not on its menu.
"We'd like it inside. No dead walking." Smiling face. "Maybe we could build nests in the walls." Pensive face. "The marshes used to be kind. We used to be kinder. She will be tired once we leave her." Scared face. "We won't be hidden." Angry face. "Bad folk murdered our woads, ruined our nests, starved the mortals who brought us gifts for many moons before you were here. We want them gone." Furious face. "Gone, gone, gone." Grumpy face. "And offerings, we want. What don't you ken, foxface?"

The girl's throat made a choking, clicking noise.
"We can give you guidance there and back again if you give us word. Hurry up, I don't like being stuck half-way."

 

[Momoshiro]

Momo’s ears twitched at the spirit’s shifting expressions, his gaze following each fleeting change with a mixture of fascination and concern. Calm, laughter, pensiveness, anger—each emotion passed across that tiny face with startling speed, leaving him little opportunity to settle on any one impression. Still, he listened without interrupting, his expression growing more serious as the spirit explained what had happened to the marshes and the creatures that once called them home. Whatever oddities surrounded their meeting, there was no mistaking the hurt beneath its words.

“Very well,” he said at last, lowering his offered hand a little, though he made no move to touch the girl. “You have my word that I will not harm or cage you when you part from her. I won't make a promise on behalf of everyone in town, but I can promise that I will do everything I can to protect you.”

He paused for a moment.

"However, if you are deceiving me, I will find out and I will retaliate. I do not say that to threaten, just to warn."

His eyes flicked briefly to the girl’s face. The choking, clicking sound from her throat had not escaped his notice, and neither had the spirit’s insistence that it was stuck halfway between one state and another. Momo’s brow furrowed with sympathy. “And I would rather you not remain like this any longer than you must. If you're ready to leave her, then we should see to it that she can rest. I will see her to the healers.”

He straightened, turning his attention toward the town beyond them. The spirit’s explanation had given him more questions than answers, but at least now he understood why it had been so desperate to get inside. The marshes had been damaged, its nests destroyed, and the mortals who once brought offerings had apparently suffered under the same cruel hands. Momo’s expression tightened at that last revelation. He didn’t know who these “bad folk” were, or what exactly they had done, but the spirit’s anger sounded far too personal to dismiss.

“I ken enough to understand that someone has hurt your home,” he replied, his voice still gentle, though a note of resolve had entered it. “And that you want them gone. I can't promise I'll be able to put everything right, not without knowing more about what's happened. But I can listen, and I can help where I'm able.”

Momo stepped aside, leaving the path into town unobstructed, then gestured for the spirit/girl to proceed whenever she was ready. “For now, let's get her somewhere safe and let her rest. Then you can tell me more about what happened to the marshes—and who’s responsible.”

With that, Momo turned back toward the town, keeping pace beside the spirit/girl as they made their way along the path. He remained attentive to her condition, ready to offer a hand if her exhaustion finally caught up with her. Once they reached the town, he would see her safely into the care of the healers and give the spirit the opportunity to depart from her. Afterward, he intended to accompany it back beyond the town's walls, where it could guide him to the place it needed him to see. He still didn't understand much of what was going on, but he had given his word—and he meant to honor it.

 

[Walter Thornley]

"Leave's leave. Your word's bond, we'll keep we'll keep, skrrik," the bird chirped, switching from a face to a beak, and begun moving.
And Momoshiro could feel the Wyrd move, too. A tiny, wispy thread that he could not control wrapped around his pinky finger in the spirit realm, that ended at the bird. Old rules, simple ones that almost rhymed. If the word was breakable, then breaking it would break the breaker.

The spirit, meanwhile, wiggled vigorously, pushing itself out of the throat just as the girl began to choke, eyes lighting up and unfocusing again. One foot with tiny claws pushed against the upper lip, wings fluttered, wet and slimy, in an attempt to keep it from falling. The bird caught itself against Momo's shirts, pecked at the collar, clamped to it and scrabbled its little scaly feet at his chest in an attempt to keep itself from falling to the ground.

The child stood there, eyes wide in astonishment, clearly not recognizing the place, and marvelling at the towering white-haired figure. Then, she noticed the bird, and reached for it, with urgency and worry, before doubling over, holding to her stomach, with a small squeak of pain that ended in a whimper and coughing up a feather.

Paws padded the dirt, coming not from the gate but further down the turn of the road. The bird's head rotated halfway round to stare in that direction, beak opening aghast before it tried to heed under Momo's collar with no explanation.

Geist, his coat metallic like liquid silver, scales and plates grey with streaks of white through them, prowled towards Arpa, the only rider on his back that this drakehorse would carry willingly. Thick wool cloak, scent of dried blood, the ephemeral scent of white sage and cleansing herbs that was more of a ghost coming towards the senses.

"Master Komori," Walter greeted, eyes sweeping over the tall figure of the shaman, the tiny girl, the black bird. "Making new acquaintances?"
He was already leaning over, offering to collect the child with a gesture.

The bird hissed quietly and clicked in response.
"Endling."

Eyes turned to it, not sharp but prickly, will'o'wisps flickering to life in the pupils.
"Bogling," he snapped back.
And turned to Momo, with milder expression and an inquiry.

 

[Momoshiro]

Momo had barely taken a few steps before the sensation caught his attention.

Something light and almost imperceptible had curled itself around his pinky within the Shroud. His ears flicked as he glanced down, though his eyes could not quite make sense of the wispy thread connecting him to the tiny spirit. It was not a chain, nor did it feel like a spell he had cast. It was something older than that. Simpler. A rule given shape. He could feel its meaning more than understand its workings, and the spirit's words echoed in his mind: Your word's bond.

His expression grew thoughtful, but he did not try to pull against it. If anything, the sensation only reinforced what he had already intended. He had given his word, and there was no reason to regret it.

Then the spirit finally freed itself.

Momo's eyes widened as the little bird emerged from the girl's throat in a wet, awkward scramble, and his hands immediately came up to catch it. The creature instead latched onto his collar, tiny claws scrabbling against his chest as it struggled to hold on. Momo instinctively steadied it with one hand, careful not to squeeze or restrain it.

“Easy,” he murmured, glancing down at the creature. “I've got you.”

His attention immediately returned to the girl when she doubled over. The little squeak of pain and subsequent cough made his ears flatten, and he stepped toward her just as she brought up a feather. His expression tightened with concern.

“Are you hurt?” he asked gently, crouching slightly so he wasn't quite so imposing. “It's all right. Take your time.”

Before he could say anything more, the sound of approaching paws drew his attention down the road. Momo straightened, his gaze settling on the approaching drakehorse and its rider. He recognized Walter almost immediately, though the sight of the strange metallic beast and the wisps of something he could not quite place made him hesitate for only a moment.

Then Walter addressed him, and Momo offered a small, almost weary smile.

“Something like that.”

His eyes briefly flicked toward the girl before returning to Walter. “I found them outside the town. The little one was in rather poor shape, and the spirit was... well, stuck halfway between her and the Shroud, as near as I can tell.”

Momo glanced down at the bird clinging stubbornly to his collar. One brow rose at its exchange with Walter, though he made no attempt to intervene in whatever ancient insult had just passed between them.

“Apparently, they've had quite enough trouble already.”

His expression softened as Walter offered to take the child, and Momo gave a small nod. “Please, I appreciate that. She's exhausted and seems to be in pain. I was taking her to the healers so they could make certain she's all right.”

He carefully shifted the bird with one hand, making sure it had a secure perch before looking back to Walter.

“As for the spirit...” Momo paused, his gaze briefly dropping to the wispy thread only he could perceive. “It gave me its word that it wouldn't harm anyone when it left her. In return, I gave mine that I wouldn't harm or cage it.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

Momo finally looked toward the road ahead, then back to Walter.

“Once the girl is safe, it wants to take me back to the marshes. Something happened there. Something bad. Its home was damaged, its nests destroyed, and it claims people were driven away or killed.” His expression grew more serious. “I don't know how much of that is true yet, but I intend to find out.”

His eyes settled on Walter's, calm but resolute.

 

[Walter Thornley]

The drakehorse's paws drummed soft, heavy thuds into the dirt, steely lips free of the briddle that lay instead networked around the head of the creature. The riders had use of their mounts' jaws. But it hissing breaths slowed as it came to a stop.

And, while the bird seemed confident in its ability to climb up Momo's shoulder like a wayward parrot, and bury itself away from the 'endling' in the tresses of white hair - lord Thornley leaned sideways, putting weight on one stirrup. To balance that astride a horse was a task, but the saddles of Bremen's Huntsmen were filled with a number of reliefs unfamiliar to horse riders. To put the heel of the boot into the padded side and lean farther to the opposite, for once, though it required no small amount of finesse to handle anything once thus positioned.

"It's homebound somewhere?" He nodded at the dark shape tangling Momoshiro's hair. It hissed and chirped, begrudgingly. "Good, good," the lord's eyes narrowed in a squint, his tone slightly more amiable for but a moment, "these respect the old laws."
Probably going to eat mice and such - beak has the jagged tip - not to worry about breadcrumbs or oats.

He didn't lean too far, just enough to get the child from the tall exorcist's arms and hold her, and put the reigns around the front of the saddle, pressing those to the leather with his thigh - common practice if you intended to keep hands busy. Most drakes were trained to answer voice commands, as well as be stirred entirely by lower body.
"Probably going to be rough, after possession, but seems unharmed to me," he hummed. "Might be wrong." His gloved hand clasped over the girl's ear as the exorcist started recounting, head shook slightly. "We'll talk but in a moment. Bid the bogling welcome to Arpa, so it can return here later. Back at the gate in half an hour."

And, heels dug into the drake's sides, and the thing took off in a trot, slowing at Genevieve, then passing into Arpa proper.

For a few moments, there was silence. Then, feathers shuffled, and a head emerged.
"He gone? Oh good!" The black bird begun preening. "You protect good. We ready to go now?"