A/N: I'm officially stating that I'm running out of backlog. [Those with questions, please remember that I wrote 'chapters'.] Of course it dwindles right at one of the bigger switches. There is a fair amount of sections written after the switch but there are whole sections that need to be rewritten and none of them are properly edited.
Long story, short, I'm probably going to go back to posting every two weeks. Also, I will be switching to posting around the next day instead as my life is getting busy again.
A/N:
Ivyna J. Spyder: Thank you~ :)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
A/N: |･x･`) OOOOOOOOh, I worry about this chapter's reception but here we go! \(ᗒᗨᗕ)/
"We brought nuts!" Bun shouted as he tried to lift up the basket. "Heh, mostly nuts." With Sir Meta Knight doing most of the work, the two moved the large basket to rest against the tables.
"Hmm." Morriphina had glanced over at them but her focus largely remained on mixing the large bowl of what Bun had come to call 'ration pudding'. They simply called it rations, and it was a bunch of whatever they had gathered in the last few days that had finished drying, typically some combination of meats, berries, and nuts with suet – which was animal fat – holding it together. They would flatten it out and cut it into bars but before that, it looked like (nasty colored and textured) pudding. It didn't taste too bad. If anything, it was bland, which he thought strange because there was usually berries in it. You would think it would make it a little sweeter than it was.
Bun didn't fidget as much as he use to under Ms. Morriphina's gaze, especially since the suspicion in it had faded. Now, if he was honest, she seemed kind of sad and not a I-haven't-slept-well-in-days-because-I-have-the-equivalent-of-a-billion-mouths-to-feed-over-winter-and-its-cold-as-hell-already kind of sad. If anything, he thought she avoided them and Kirby.
"Are they already separated?"
Her question knocked him from his thoughts. "Yup!" and began to pull out different bags from the basket to arrange on the closest corner of the tables.
"We have black walnuts, chestnuts, and acorns," Fumu said as she neared to help unpack, "and we found a few late wild apples."
"Take the walnuts outside by the firepit to be shelled."
"Okay!" Bun said as he hurled the bag over his back and headbutted into the tent flap to snap it open, which earned himself a few glances.
"Meta, aren't acorns troublesome?"
"Somewhat. We'll need to start by floating them in water. We want to collect the ones that sink. They are, along with water, plentiful here, so it could be worth the time… It's an experimental batch."
Morriphina nodded, turning back to one of the open crates and fetching another large bowl. She pulled out the nozzle of the strange crate (one that Fumu had realized early in their stay stored water) and stood by, watching as it filled.
Fumu saw her chance and eased closer. The sound of the bowl quickly filling was quiet compared to the sideways stare that Morriphina was giving her as she neared. "So… what's your favorite type of book?" This could go bad, but she should at least try. Hell, even Sir Meta Knight seemed to be slightly more open out here, or maybe that was because he already seemed to know the other adults here… Maybe it made him feel more comfortable.
Morriphina twisted just enough to look at her fully but didn't speak.
"Um… Sir Meta Knight suggested I bring some copies of famous novels and anything that seemed useful the next time we visit.
"I was thinking of asking everyone to see what their tastes are," Fumu added quickly, making it up on the spot.
Morriphina's hand reached over to turn off the water without a word. "Please bring over the acorns," she said instead.
"… Okay."
There was relative silence as Morriphina poured the bag in. The sack set aside, she said, "Bring texts on Pupupuland's culture, etiquette, and law."
"Uh, sure!" Fumu's hopeful smile grew wider. "Culture and law should be easy but I'm not sure about etiquette. If anyone visited, we could probably just tell you how. Our mother gives us lessons. If you mean for more formal situations, anything written is probably outdated or wouldn't be useful. King Dedede doesn't really have audiences… or balls," and I don't think anyone will be going to one of them soon anyways with Nightmare hanging over King Dedede's shoulder.
"Very well... Please start washing the apples. Slice them for drying."
"On it!"
Fumu had a correction to make: this tent was definitely the warmest one. She took the moment to snuggled deeper into her sleeping bag with contentment despite the growing howls of wind outside.
As the day had neared evening, the wind had kicked up harshly. By the time the adults had erected this new tent – short, its inside an almost reflective grey, and a covered opening in the center of its roof that allowed smoke to pass but not rain – both the tall trees and the huddled children were shaking from the stinging wind as the temperature steeply dropped. The regular tents, Sir Lancelot explained, could survive the wind but with the dipping temperature, Morriphina was right: they needed to keep together for the night.
It was the first time the main campfire had been lit since they had arrived. A bell-like cage was set over its flames to protect those sleeping around it, though none but Kirby (who was nestled next to her) was sleeping just yet.
Fumu and the other children were largely clustered to one side of the fire. The tent's plastic sheeting floor which ringed the firepit, layers of bedding, and sleeping bags protected them from the cold, damp ground.
Sir Lancelot and Sir Meta Knight had taken seats nearby and were busy shelling the walnuts with knives. The children, on the other hand, were working on the acorns, but it had turned into more of a competition to see who could crack open the most acorns at one time – with varying results.
"We need bigger hammers," Arlen muttered as he studied the face of the hammer in his hand, thoughtfully rubbing off the debris cumulated on it.
"Do you think it's going to snow?" Bun asked Allyria.
"… It's possible." She didn't glance up from where she sat in her own cot nearby and the small device she held. "Meteorology is not my specialty, but it's plain to see that a front is passing through.
"I hope it doesn't hail," she said softly.
"Can this tent stand up to hail?" Fumu perked up at Romilly's question.
"We'll be fine, fledglings," Sir Lancelot replied, another shelled walnut plunking into the bucket.
"Hey, Sir Meta Knight! If the weather gets really bad, are we staying another day?"
"… We want to avoid that as much as possible… If we miss the expected date for our return and Sword and Blade don't receive a comm' because of this weather, they will try to investigate. We don't want attention out here."
"Um, okay," Bun said with a sigh.
With her pile dwindled down to only a few acorns, Romilly finally leaned back and sighed restlessly to Fumu's side. She gathered them up, their total barely a handful, and offered them wordlessly to Phona. Phona nodded, and Romilly added them to the other's pile. "Ms. Allyria?" Romilly said as she stood and worked her way around the firepit.
"Yes, Romilly?"
Romilly eased up onto Allyria's cot and rested against her. "Can you sing something?"
(Despite her conscience bugging her, Fumu's attention stayed on the long, thin, and solid stripe on Allyria's upper back after Allyria leaning down to Romilly exposed it to her. She frowned and finally pulled her gaze away, hoping no one saw.
Her hammer, though, came down on the couple of acorns she had set down before getting distracted with perhaps a little too much force.)
"Oh," a slight blush deepened the color on Allyria's cheeks as she glanced away from Romilly, "um."
"Ah, ***!"
Those closest to the tent flap yelped as it opened, and the wind blew in what felt like thousands of little needles of ice. Morriphina quickly turned and pushed the flap back into place as the wind caused it to lash violently against her grip.
Bun, closest to the tent flap, threw his sleeping bag over his head as the wind harshly blew over him the strongest. "COLD-COLD-COLD!"
Morriphina's sigh quivered from her shivering as she finally finished zipping the opening closed. "***," she whistled something low like a mutter and rubbed at her arms as she moved to the fire. "T-the gui-ide rope is-s up." She shook herself as if to shake off the cold and quickly wrapped one of the blankets from her cot around herself.
Excitement brighten Arlen's face. "Is it snowing?"
Morriphina paused to press at her face with the blanket before answering. "Mi-ight as well b-be."
"We could awaken to snow in the morning if this keeps up," Allyria interjected.
"I want to see snow!"
"None of y-you are going out there until this w-weather eases," she said, her look clearly directed to all the children.
"So~" Bun turned to Sir Meta Knight, "do we get to stay now?"
"We'll see, Bun."
"Aw~"
The grip of small hands clutching to her strengthened, causing Allyria's attention to fall back down to Romilly. "Are you scared?" she spoke softly.
"I want to go back to the ship."
She rubbed the fledgling's back again. "It's alright." Allyria kept herself from glancing at the cappy children as she leaned down closer to Romilly. Softly, she spoke, "The main 'cabin' is almost done and when it is, we will have a nice place to live. We'll have gardens … and pools … and all you fledglings will have so much room to explore and fly." She took a moment to laugh quietly, trying to ease the fledgling's worries. "When I and Sir Lancelot are finished with the main floorplan, I definitely want to go explore more of this forest. This planet's biodiversity is so high. Don't you want to go exploring?"
"Yeah~" Romilly said tentatively.
"Winters are cold, aren't they?" She smiled for her. "But they pass. Spring then warm summer then autumn and finally cold winter again. That how things are with planets with tilted axes. … Well, it's really only a warm and cold season but… … Do you still want a song?"
Allyria response when the fledgling nodded was to take a long sip from her canteen to wet her throat (and to steal the time to bolster her courage). Again, she leaned over, and gently sung a low, slowly warbling note which fell and rose almost just as slowly. To Fumu is sounded more like a flute than a voice or even a hum, but given that different whistles meant something, she wondered what it sung of.
Putting everything – every feeling, every worry, every stupid little thing that stalled her – aside, she decided (for the last time).
…
She was going to do it.
Morriphina sat up in her cot, ignoring the glances from Lance and Meta by the firepit. Instead, her attention homed in on the sleeping children. All seemed to be deeply asleep so, with one last push from within, she eased quietly up from her cot.
Once she neared the children clustered on the mats and blankets, she heard Meta shifting behind her, moving toward her as she carefully pulled back the blanket from over the female cap- … Fumu.
The fledgling had wrapped his wings around himself like a blanket. A teether he had gone to bed with had fallen from his slightly lack mouth to wet the bedding below.
As she leaned down, again her senses were bombarded by how the fledgling's energy was off, and she cursed her stupid instincts.
…
…
She exhaled slowly as she leaned further down and gingerly worked her hands under his form. He stirred briefly, little mumbles issuing from his mouth, but still slept – until she nearly rested him against her chest and confused eyes blinked open wide, and she froze.
She eased him away from herself as his expression pinched.
"Poy~"
"Ehh," her own strained sound tricked her throat as she sat him down. Those blue eyes regarded her, but he seemed distracted, like he was searching: his brows furrowed and eyes wandering from her often.
Gently, she took his small hand in hers and took a few steps back towards her cot. Meta eased back to give her room as she turned, and she found that Lance had retaken his seat by the fire.
The fledgling chewed on his hand as she led him to her cot.
"Meta?"
"Hm?" he drifted closer.
"Set him here." She patted between where she sat and her thin pillow.
"Hm," and he nodded in understanding.
Kirby babbled slightly as he was maneuvered to rest against her front and those babbles grew happier at the contact. Wings tucked in, he rubbed his cheek happily and sleepily against the warmth.
Morriphina stilled as Kirby did, and leaned back as the babbles turned to whines, and the fledgling pushed his face into her stomach. "…"
Meta leaned in but didn't interfere.
"… What is he doing?" she whispered.
"… Kirby?"
"… He's drooling, Meta."
"Kirby."
It was Morriphina who acted first, slipping her hand between herself and little one's forehead. She eased him back and any lingering hardness in her expression dropped away as she realized the little one was sniffling. "Oh," shit. She let her hand slip away so the fledgling could cling fully to her again. … At least he can breathe now.
Lance had drifted closer again by now but had kept his distance from the scene. "This is a good sign, right?"
She looped an arm around the fledgling and gently pressed him against herself. Tears she knew she should be- tears she felt just at the bay* of pooling still didn't fall as she was still too distracted by - numbingly distressed by - the small sun burning not as it should so close to her own.
Together, the three of them watched, almost dumbfoundedly, at the little form quietly tearing as he clung.
A/N: [In a mostly joking tone] Don't at me~ OC's can have prominent roles, too~ This hate towards OC's is a limiting factor.
*A/N: So apparently I have this thing of using "bay" strangely. I've never recognized it as a jump in meaning from the original until I tried looking it up.