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AW Mama I'm Home - Printable Version +- Vivarium (https://vivariumrpg.com) +-- Forum: Vivarium (https://vivariumrpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=3) +--- Forum: Spirited Highlands (https://vivariumrpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=25) +--- Thread: AW Mama I'm Home (/showthread.php?tid=11587) |
Mama I'm Home - Lonán - 5/11/2026 Lonán worked his way towards his home as best he could. He was slow himself. And she was slow, because he'd wager there was some sort of injury somewhere. But he couldn't see one. So he tried. Really he did to be mindful, to not rush. But the closer they got to home. He had to frequently slow himself down. To keep pace. He was eager to see Lyra (Myna) Finally, they made it and he turned to look at Dyname. We're here. He moved forward to make sure she was okay. Looked her over with concern. He knew how terrible pain could be. He pushed a little pile of leaves and dirt nearby. Into some sort of hovel bed. But it was there none the less. you get cahmfortable i'll call me mahm He made sure she was settled before he lifted his muzzle and called for his mom or his da Mal RE: Mama I'm Home - Dyname - 5/11/2026 RE: Mama I'm Home - Lyra - 5/14/2026 Weakness plagued Lyra less and less each day. But enough to feel it, still, the weight of a limitation. It reminded her often and again of less visible restraints. The uncertain world she found herself in, where forgiveness of another and salvation for the self could become one and the same. She had been distant, knowing it was likely by now others would notice the lengthy sourness of her mood. She knew too that the further along time went, the less obvious her ailments, the less excuse they would be willing to proffer for her attitude. So she tried to do what she had so often done in the past, grit her teeth and press on. She didn't understand why it was harder, now, than when she had been a whelp fresh stolen from home by unkind faces. Speaking of whelps — Lonán's call lifted Lyra's attention from the preparing of fishes. She licked the sharp bite of scales off her lips and hurried out to find her son. He was not alone. A girl dressed like starlight on water, collapsed into a makeshift bed. Fast breath, like someone wounded. And Lonán, hovering like a hen. Captain held herself upright and cocked her brow at him, with a grim tug of lip that still somehow levied amusement his way. Who's tis ten, Mo Chuisle? |