fuzzysherbet

Havoc dawdles back to the Stumphouse, returning 'home' after a morning spent wandering the beach. They struggle to really think of the Stumphouse as their home, but… It's not exactly like they've got other options. In any case, they'd like to get off their feet at least for a little while, so it's nice to have somewhere she can do so, she supposes. Closer to the building, they spot a yellow stump watching a planter box like a hawk, propped upright by resting their folded arms against the edge of the box; in turn, they use their arms as a chin rest. "A watched pot never boils, y'know," She casually notes as she passes the other stump; now that they're closer, they're now pretty sure they recognise him. Facavrach, she thinks? Another kid who lives at the Stumphouse. "Good thing this isn't a pot, then," Facavrach replies tersely, not pulling his dark grey gaze from the soil right in front of his nose. Havoc stares blankly at him for a moment, stopping in her tracks. "…I mean, I'm pretty

633 words Sparrow aimlessly makes her way through the campsite with a bag beneath one arm, paying just barely enough attention to her surroundings not to crash into anything- or anyone. Dandelion flutters along behind the folk, chittering indignantly at her; evidently, she's offended by the pace Sparrow's setting, which makes her shoulder an unsteady perch. "Soon, girl," She mutters to the mobbit, struggling to keep her voice level in spite of her blend of rage and Azalhai knows what other emotions threatening to boil over. Suncrest has been lying to her, on purpose, for at least a whole year, and she can't even begin to think of how to process it; all she knows is she needs to get away from all these other folk. She doesn't have time to deal with this right now. That blighted feliwyrm is trudging closer and closer to Deadman's Cove with every passing minute, Sparrow can't be worrying about why Suncrest lied, what he thinks of her, whether he ever cared about her anywhere near as

1342 words "I cannot believe they've thrown us in a pit," Slate grumbles in disbelief, pacing the earthen border of his prison, hoping he can find even one patch of wall that seems remotely climbable. "I mean, we didn't even do anything!" "Slate, we're total strangers here," Moss sighs, having opted to lay down in the shade; the pit has no roof, but its walls provide at least some protection from the sun… for now. "The dinosaurs of Atlantis have no way to know if we mean well or not. They're probably just… I don't know, trying to figure out what our deal is, I guess?" Slate huffs as he finishes his perimeter check, slumping down to sit next to his feathered friend. He hadn't found even one weak spot in the walls, dashing any hopes of escape… Not that an escape would be feasible right now anyway, not with the euplocephalus guards patrolling the edges of the dungeon pit from above. "We're just trying to figure out what their deal is too, though…" He mutters. "Not exactly like there's no