Last time on The Prophecy of Grey:
Gregor held his hand up, the council's protesting and arguing faded and Gregor spoke. "If she does not go, I do not go."
Before any of the growingly frustrated council members could argue with him, an unhealthily white woman on a bat crashed through the large wooden doors of the room. Gregor cringed at the unnatural angles her bond's wings folded at and at the amount of blood streaming from her chest.
"Anchel is dead." She gasped. "Daphne is dead. The rats found Shed, Fangor. King Gorger has launched his armies. They come for us."
Vikus caught her as she fell from exhaustion. "How many Keeda?" When she didn't answer he directed his attention to the people around him. "Sound the alarm!" Moments later the place erupted in frantic activity, horns blew as people rushed in and out, bats swooped in and out before they even landed with new orders.
"Gregor, prepare yourself, for we leave shortly." Vikus appeared out of nowhere from his position giving commands.
"Can we go with the rats attacking?" Gregor asked. "There is a war starting, will they need me?"
"The quest is our best hope of surviving this war, should it be the one foretold in 'The Prophecy of Gray'."
"I am taking Boots." He asserted, taking no for an answer was not going to happen.
"Yes, Boots shall come." The old man agreed, waving Mareth over. "Take Gregor to the museum, aid him choose whatever he thinks may help on the journey." Just as he got the command out, he stepped into another conversation with an official looking, equally as old, man.
Gregor and Mareth sprinted out the door, down three staircases and several halls until they arrived at the familiar large chamber; it's shelves loaded with miscellaneous objects collected over the centuries.
Immediately his friend thrusted a leather drawstring bag in his hands, rushing off after to scower the rows of shelves. "Remember you must carry what you choose." His reminder echoed from somewhere in the middle of the maze.
"What will help..." Gregor muttered the question to himself as he shifted through the baseballs and old tires littering the counters. As he made his way around the long rows of discarded things, Gregor found working flashlight and batteries; memories of nights camping out on the roof of his building flashing in his mind.
He was about ready to start the trek of finding Mareth when something caught his eye. Gregor smiled at the bright yellow, plastic hat with the built in light on top. More shifting around revealed the matching batteries which he collected and deposited in his growing sack. Opting to wear the hat after a moment of hesitation.
"We must go!" Mareth appeared at the end of the row. "Get your sister and take flight."
As they walked briskly through the maze, Gregor saw a familiar object that halted his movement immediately. It was small, no larger than his hand and slightly dented, the graphics fairly unaffected by age, his favorite drink. Root beer.
He hadn't tasted the carbonated drink since he was six so when Mareth yelled at him to hurry, Gregor made the split decision to bring the can along on their quest.
On the way to High Hall, the two soldiers stopped by to retrieve the young girl that caused the debate only twenty minutes ago. When Gregor walked into the nursery, he saw the little girl sitting among three other toddlers playing happily. The sight almost made him rethink the idea of taking her along until the prophecy ran through his head again and he was scooping her up.
Dulcet walked over to the eleven year old who despite his young age, was now close to the same height as her. With a grin for the both of them, she helped Gregor maneuver into a backpack before sliding Boots in. After she strapped a small bundle to the base. "Extra catch cloths, a few toys, and some treats just in case."
"Thanks Dul," Gregor turned and brought his shrinking babysitter into a hug. "I would never had-"
With a wave of her hand, the Underland nanny pushed his self incrimination of lacking the skills to take care of his own sister. In her experience it was siblings, no matter how close, that provided the best care whether they knew what to do or not. Mareth expressed their hurry again.
"Fare you well, sweet Boots." She finished, kissing the baby's cheek.
"Bye-bye, Dul-cee." Boots waved at her. "See you soon!"
"Fly you high."
"Fly you high Gregor." With that the three of them left.
I'm not even going to try to apologize.
Yours,
~Arty