Explore moondew

Bjarne Bjarne makes his way over to Laurel's station. Scarf, weirdly wrapped around his throat, but, he seems to be quite happy. "Hello miss Laurel. Creative crafter home?" He hums gently. Laurel Laurel is tucked up on her stool, stitching some feathers to a pale orange outfit. She glances up at Bjarne's voice and twitches her tail, beckoning him in. Bjarne He steps in, trying to keep himself small and not knock anything over. Whatever he had planned was tossed out of the window though as he saw the orange outfit. Curiously, he tried to peek a bit more. "Mm, what are ye makin'?" Laurel She smiles a little and sets down the needle in her right paw, signing with it. Costume for E-A-G-E-R. Skating. Bjarne "Oh, interesting... Those colours will suit her nicely." Bjarne grinned. "But, I don't want ta steal too much o' yer time 'ere, so-" He sits down, keeping his tail tight to his body and fiddled around in his scarf for a moment, having used it as a make shift bag for the brief walk.

“Now, I ain’t much o’ a storyteller, ain’t got many ta share, really, but I think I can share a bit o’ th’ old tales my mum used ta spout before I lost er.” Bjarne sat down comfortably, wrapping his scarf tightly to help keep some of the warmth in, and readied his paws to sign each word he spoke. “Now, my mum, she came from a real long line o’ barn cats. Or at least part o’ er was. If I be memberin’ right, was her mother’s side, regardless, this was a tale from er old man, when he was a green-furred cat, fresh ta livin’ of his own accord.” “Well, somewhat his own accord. See, wit cats who used ta live on farms of th’ humans, sometimes th’ babes were taken in as pets once weened, er sent ta other farms ta help th’ humans there. He was onna those cats, workin’ hard as th’ only one on this farm. Now, his job was catchin’ mice, an th’ dog’s job was ta protect th’ animals th’ two-legs used fer, meat an th’ like.” “Now, it was, oh think it was th’ middle o’ winter. Real cold, just as th’

The meadow. It wasn’t a place Bjarne often frequented. It held creatures that were a sour memory of the past that he missed, and memories of those he didn’t care for. Yet, today, after watching Laurel tread this way time and time again, he found that he too was in its luxurious grasses. He guessed as to why she often came this way, a few. But the most important one was the sadistic reminder of Marloan. He looked in that direction, to where the property still sat, just owned by another. Even just the thought of the cat had his whiskers curling inwards. Pathetic rang through his head at the mere thought of the curator. He shook his head. To pass judgment like that was wrong. He didn’t know all of the details, only the swirling rumours and what Laurel had told him, which, he doubted was ever the whole truth. The shadow of the tower loomed over him, even this far out. Bjarne couldn’t blame her for keeping secrets. Everyone did, and… He had come to terms with the fact that he was her last