Ta da! The sequel, with a more humorous edge. The beginning part is just like, following the same path as before, but then it branches out to something more like a story and less like little snipets.
Dedicate Lark was considered to be one of the nicer Dedicates living at Winding Circle, known to always have kind words and a caring smile. So when her four not-so-young charges began talking about family and foster-brothers and sisters, Lark was happy that they had found peace after the hardships the four have had to endure.
Conversely, Dedicate Rosethorn had a reputation opposite her lover. Novices had been known drop whatever they're holding and run away if they see her. Even the Dedicates of the Fire Temple, trained in combat and possessing wills if iron, couldn't help the shiver of fear that ran up and down their spines if they were caught in Rosethorn's glaring gaze. Instead of reacting with the caring grace of Lark to the young mage's talks of family, Rosethorn become a bit confused as to what was going on. The two eventually found out just what the Circle meant with their talk of family.
Lark's experienced fingers expertly handled the sharp needle as she indulged in a rare bout of embroidery. Her mind idly wandered through all the different moves she learned during her time as a Tumbler, taking the graceful precision of the movements and expressing them in the fine threads of color that were gradually making a picture in the cloth.
The stitch-witch was in her workroom at Discipline, the only one in the house. Rosethorn had left for a quick trip down to the free clinics in Summersea to replenish supplies. Apparently, this Rose Moon must have had a Blue Moon, because Rosethorn let Briar stay at Winding Circle. The ex-thief was wandering around the Temple, along with the girls.
Suddenly, she felt uneasy. Setting down the needle and thread, Lark focused on the feeling. She traced her threads to the children, a trick learned from Sandry, and found pain. Gasping, she put all her years as a tumbler to use and sprinted down to the base of one of the Turret's on the giant wall, vaulting off of fences and cart-wheeling through gardens. The scene Lark saw when she arrived made her blood ran cold.
A group of Kithkins, small shadow creatures that Lark had thought were a Yangjingi myth, swarmed over the unconscious figures of the four young mages. Fear was replaced by anger, as a white-hot fury bubbled up from within the gentle Dedicate. Thread she carried with her at all times, as well as thread from her billowing habit, all started to snake around and point towards the Kithkins, some coming together to form cloth spears.
Lark roared in anger, "NOT MY CHILDREN, YOU FILTH!", and the threads all shot out at the Kithkins. Hardened by her fury, Lark's threads pierced right through the shadowy flesh. However, one of the creatures escaped the storm of thread and cloth and jumped right at Lark, slashing at her face.
Lark jumped awake, gasping for breath and sheened in sweat. She looked around at her surroundings, confused for a few seconds before knowledge, and relief, flooded her body. She lay at her work table, embroidery in hand.
Must have continued working when I dozed off…Lark thought as she looked down at her work. On the left, the colors swirled and danced around each other in a graceful manner that was pleasing to the eye. But continuing left, the colors became darker and more violent, ending with an abstract portrait of her furious dream attack.
Remembering the nightmare, Lark shot up and ran out of her room and out into the kitchen, where the four young mages sat, eating lunch. Sandry saw the Earth Dedicate first.
"Oh Lark! I was just about to get you. We made lunch!" Sandry said brightly, smiling up at her teacher. Seeing Lark's sweaty mocha skin and concern-filled eyes, Sandry frowned a little. "What's wrong?" She asked.
Lark, meanwhile, looked intently at each mage, and when she was sure they were fine, sat down in the nearest chair and waved off Sandry's concern. "Oh nothing, nothing, just a bit a nightmare." Sandry looked unsure, but still sat down. The five started to eat. Rosethorn was taking her lunch with Crane to discuss (fight) the progress of Crane's tomato plants.
The Circle exchanged looks of concern throughout the entire lunch period, while Lark ate her food in silence instead of with the questions and quips she normally brought to the table. Once everyone had finished, Tris silently collected the dishes and set to work washing them, while Daja dried.
"You know Lark," Daja began with an absent-minded tone of voice. "We've all decided that we're a family to each other, brother and sisters." Lark smiled a bit at this, but was still shaken from her dream.
"Yes, I have noticed off-handed references to siblings." Lark said as she started to straighten up the kitchen.
"Which, I assume, would make you our Mother?" Sandry said in a conversational tone. Lark stopped her busywork cleaning and paused for a few seconds. Sandry started to think she's somehow offended Lark, when the older stitch-witch rushed to Sandry and hugged her tight, doing the same to the other three before they even knew what happened.
"So that's why you four never do as you're told." Lark said in a teasing voice, glad that her dream was at least in part true. The Circle blushed slightly in unison, before Briar's voice rang out, drenched in pseudo-uncaring.
"So if you're our Mum, I guess that makes Rosie our Father." The girls stood still for a moment, before everyone in the room started to laugh. Briar's laugh was interrupted when he squawked indigently as he was thrown over a broad, green-colored shoulder. Absolute terror filled everyone in the room as they stilled, even Lark.
However, when Rosethorn turned and started marching out to her garden, noise erupted. Briar started apologizing profusely while pleading for his life, and the girls started laughing even harder than before.
"MOTHER, YOU'RE THE MOTHER! AND MOTHERS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE NICE TO THEIR CHILDREN!" Briar yelled, squirming around in Rosethorn's grip, trying to see where they were going. When Briar caught site of the well, and the fact that that's where they were headed, Briar really started squirming as his toes curled in fear. Briar may have been a boy in his prime, with muscles from his time as a street-rat, but he was no match for an Rosethorn's strong arms.
The plant-mage was almost in the well when Lark's voice rang through the garden. "Rosie! What are you doing?! You can't actually hang Briar in the well!" Lark had never seen Rosethorn follow through on her classic threat.
"Watch me!" Rosethorn yelled back crossly. While she was semi-distracted, Briar tried to call to the plants for help. They started to come to his aid, but when they saw who was holding them, they shrank back and wished him luck. Traitors, Briar thought darkly. The rest of Discipline's residents were in the garden by now, torn between helping out their brother or laughing at his predicament. Ultimately, they chose to save Briar.
"I thought you said that he would poison the water with magic." Tris said matter-of-factly, adjusting her spectacles.
"Yeah, then you'd have to get a Water Dedicate to help you get fresh water." Sandry said.
"And they would all run away, so the only one who would help would be Crane, and do you really want to ask him for help?" Daja added. Years of living with the cranky Earth Dedicate gave them all knowledge of which buttons to push with Rosethorn, if you were brave enough.
Rosethorn considered their words. Shrugging her shoulders, she dropped Briar on the ground. Lark chose this moment to intervene.
"You know, I just referred to you four as my children in my last dream, so I return your sentiment." Lark said in her most calming voice.
"Yes," Briar said nervously, "You're like our parents. Mothers to us. Both of you, mothers. Both. Mothers." Briar stressed the words. Rosethorn glared down before smirking a little.
"So is that why you never listen to us?"
Well, that's it. I doubt I'll go on to the other teachers because the Circle just doesn't love them as much. Sorry for doing a whole dream thing, but the poor dears have been attacked in real life enough. My excuse is that they're all trouble magnets. So there.
REVIEW! Or else.