Drift 1.5
Amy III
Lara's words haunted me as I ran at a breakneck speed through the woods, compelling me to reexamine everything that I had learned so far, to get a second impression of every strange detail I had dismissed and every irregularity I had overlooked.
My power gave me a good memory for organic chemistry and genetic sequences, so I could tell that the genetic markers were wrong, the plants were all
wrong. Oh, it was subtle, but it would still be difficult to rationalize it away through regional variation or random mutation, and once I saw it, I could no longer unsee it.
How could I have not noticed it before when it was so painfully
obvious?
I froze. Was that galloping I heard? No, just my imagination.
Fuck, everything was falling apart.
I had long since lost my direction wandering through the trees, constantly looking over my shoulder always sure pursuers were just out of sight. West, I think I was going west. Checking the Sun, it was about midday. Not helpful.
Back to things that should have been obvious. Plants weren't the only organisms bearing anomalous genotypes. Lara, the kids, the soldiers, they all shared a combination of alleles both expressed and unexpressed that I had never observed before in a patient, and I had healed a
lot of people. That list included nearly every ethnicity, close to the entire breadth of the human gene pool.
So why were these people so different?
It could be one significant mutation event, passed down through this isolated group, I theorized.
No, that wouldn't work. Based on the extensive differences
between them, their last common ancestor should have existed around 10,000-12,000 years ago. It was improbable that this could be the result of isolationism for such a long period of time.
I wracked my brain for another explanation,
strange genetic markers… Could this be the result of the Master's influence? Might be how he controls them.
Maybe there was a connection between the trees and the people. There was never any reason to think the Ironwoods were natural creations when a sufficiently skilled biotinker could fabricate signs of aging. A biotinker. What if this villain isn't a straightforward Master at all, but rather a biotinker messing with the local populations?
'How far would we have to travel to find someone you considered trustworthy?' 'Are they all controlled too?'
Lara's words echoed in my head.
One surefire method remained that would prove or disprove my theory. I had to find someone outside the influence of control, someone normal. I just had to find my way out of the forest.
Just make it out of the forest. It became a mantra pushing me forwards, the engine driving my motions through the aches and sores, through hunger and fear. This was the hardest I'd pushed myself yet. I knew intellectually that I could not sustain this suicidal pace, but the enemies were closing in, and freedom, home, lay ahead if only I could make it out of the forest.
It was the wolves all over again, and I was the prey, an intruder in a foreign land where I did not belong. Branches scraped my face, but I ignored the stings. Brambles caught on my hem, ripping threads, but still I ran on. The forest that had been a bastion of peace and reflection morphed into something sinister, hostile. Was it my imagination that the brush was denser and the shadows darker?
I was coming up on hilly terrain again. Was I backtracking? I needed to get my bearings first. Scrabbling up the hillside left me winded and worn. I couldn't go on much longer when I was already approaching the limits of my endurance. Heavy breaths kept oxygen flowing through my blood as I doubled over, clutching my sides.
Where was I? How far had I gotten from the grove?
Not far enough. I needed a familiar guide in this sea of wrongness that surrounded me.
The Sun was beginning its descent, so I was facing…
North, I'd been traveling north, I think, back the way I came.
God damnit, I wasn't sure that was right. Things weren't making any sense.
About 30 degrees off the horizon, poking above the treeline was the pale half-moon. I didn't know if I could use the Moon to navigate, but at least it was something else familiar-
My blood froze.
Wrong.
I'd seen the Moon before. In pictures. With my own eyes. And what I saw now was
wrong. It had been waiting there ready to stare me in the face the whole time. The dots connected in my head. The wrong moon. The wrong genetics. The wrong culture
. Dominoes fell. Piñon pines don't grow in temperate forests. Novel mushroom species. Strange people. Ironwoods… they simply
weren't found on Earth. Modern humanity
would have known about them. To think otherwise was stupid, foolish,
insane.
A wave of nausea brought me to my knees as I spewed last night's dinner all over the hilltop. Tears streamed down my cheeks as stomach acid burned my throat raw. I couldn't breathe. Everything spun dizzyingly.
With the evidence interpreted through this new lens, I realized I'd been a blind fool. Bakuda's bomb didn't teleport me to the opposite end of the Earth.
They sent me off of Earth. I was no longer on the same planet I knew.
Fuck, maybe I got blasted to an alternate reality, or a different galaxy, or some kind of pocket dimension. Even the moon is different here.
It explained horrifyingly why nobody had come to my rescue. Even if everyone else thought I had died initially, Vicky wouldn't stop searching for me, doing everything within her power to persuade the PRT to help. They had Thinkers and Tinkers specialized in search and rescue, and I was one of the best healers the heroes had, but did they see me as valuable enough to expend every effort in their search? If they did bring all their cards to the table, would they even be able to find me?
This whole time, I had deluded myself into believing otherwise, that I would be able to go home. To see my sister again.
My crying renewed with quiet sobs and shallow gasping breaths. I wanted to curl up into a ball and give up.
I couldn't. I had attacked people with my powers. Visions of the men lying on the forest floor flashed through my mind, their necks snapped and eyes glazed over. I shook my head to clear away the false imagery.
I had to face the facts - there was no Master, only pissed off locals. If Lara was to be believed, the people of this world really didn't know about parahumans, and I had used my powers on them. There was little doubt that they would send trackers after me. Likely, the soldiers would inform everyone nearby to keep vigilant. It would be a witch hunt, ending with me burned at the stake. And they only found me in the first place because I had led them right to me with a giant glowing billboard.
Besides my impending doom, just because I was much farther away from home than I thought at first didn't mean all hope was lost. If Professor Haywire could create portals to Aleph, who's to say some other parahuman couldn't create a portal to wherever this forsaken forest was?
So, I couldn't give up. I had to survive and get as far as I could as fast as possible while evading anyone I came across.
I pushed myself up on weak arms. Water was the first priority, to ensure the acid wouldn't do more harm to my esophagus. Food came next, or wouldn't last another hour. It was difficult not to panic as I scrounged for what bounty the forest could provide. I went with the first sources I found - a still pool of dirty water that I thoroughly scoured clean and a few handfuls of wild berries hastily torn off the bush.
Then, it was time to move on. Mounted riders could travel at greater speeds than I could run, letting any pursuers catch up to me at an alarming pace. Rising from my kneeling position, my sense of balance was thrown off, and I wobbled precariously, all four of my limbs shaking with legs barely able to support my weight. My stamina had reached its limit. I cursed myself for not pacing myself better, but there was nothing to do now but recover what strength I could.
Resting out in the open was a surefire way to get caught, so I went with the tried and true treehouse construction method. The last few days, using my powers in this way had been invigorating for me, but now it further exhausted my reserves. The hollow had to be undetectable from the outside, and without an Ironwood, the available options forced me to get creative - I made some of the roots retract to add extra bulk around the trunk, which would probably end up killing the oak if I didn't fix it later. This made the tree look a little bottom heavy, a defect I hoped would be overlooked by any keen eyed trackers.
My newest home felt more akin to a coffin, the confines pressing in on me. Once settled, the fatigue hit me all at once, and I slept like the dead.
I awoke to wet cheeks and unremembered nightmares.
Tapping into the tree's primitive senses revealed it was probably dusk outside. I could discern little else.
Of course, my body decided to remind me that I needed to relieve myself. Remembering my lessons from the wolves, I prepared another ball of powder in case anyone was laying in wait - mankind was known for their clever use of traps after all.
Craaaack
I cringed - it might be worth investing into quieter doors. For now I had to pray it didn't alert anyone.
I relieved the pressure in my bladder by one of the many moss covered boulders that populated the woods, buried partway into the earth. As I was finishing up, the winds carried fragments of a conversation to me.
"-what I heard-"
"-Lord—warning."
It was too faint to make out the rest, but it was clear that people were coming to investigate.
I crouched behind the boulder, breathing as lightly as I could while my heart raced a mile a minute, my ears straining to listen for approaching footsteps or snapping twigs.
Nothing more could be heard over the rustle of leaves and my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Perhaps they had turned back to gather the rest of their crew, in which case I should make a break for it. Or they had simply stopped talking. I couldn't tell one way or the other.
What felt like an eternity passed without any further voices or other suspicious sounds. I eased up on my breathing, allowing more air to flow into my lungs and clear my light head.
"You can give it up now girl."
My breath hitched, a gasp escaping my throat. The voice had come from just off to my left.
The man was standing less than ten feet away, and I hadn't even heard him approach. There was no choice, I'd have to use my sleep powder again. I reached to withdraw my containers.
"Uh-uh-uh, let's not have a repeat of earlier."
I didn't immediately recognize the man, but his comment jogged my memory - he was there at the confrontation this morning, one of the men in the background that I hadn't paid attention to. All I could say about his appearance is that he possessed a weak chin and was of average height with close cropped brown hair, and he wore a leather bandolier over his clothes.
I had to take him out and make a run for it.
He must have read my intentions. "Parther over there can draw faster than you, I'm betting."
He indicated with a casual pointing of his thumb. I followed his direction off to my right, wary in case he tried to close the distance, and sure enough, there was another man dressed in a mottled cloak of forest greens and browns some ten odd meters away. He carried a bow down at his side and a quiver strapped to his back. I didn't let the fact that no arrow was yet drawn fool me. I'd seen how quickly a professional archer could get a shot off on television, and it was indeed a safe bet that he'd draw faster than I could incapacitate him.
"So here's how this is gonna work. I'm gonna have you empty those pockets for me, nice and slow like, and I'm gonna hold onto your special little weapons for you."
"And if I don't want to do that?" I replied.
"You don't exactly hold a strong bargaining position here, girl."
The man had an easy going way about him, confidence that wasn't that didn't quite cross the line to cockiness, but rather a self assuredness that he could handle anything I threw at him.
And he's right, damnit. I couldn't risk trying anything, not when his partner could put an arrow in me before I could act. I had to try something though - the thought of giving up my contingency to these two sent shivers down my spine. I wouldn't be defenseless -I still had my powers- but it was a weaker plan than the sleeping powder.
"You can see why a girl alone in the woods wouldn't want to disarm to two grown men, right?"
I couldn't quite take the edge of fear out of my voice.
"No harm is to befall you, should you cooperate with us. We are to escort you safely back to Ironrath. Our orders."
"Is that why you threatened to shoot me?" I retaliated.
"Doesn't mean we can't act in self defense." He shrugged, "You're not some clawless little kitten. No sense in taking risks."
"So," he continued after a brief pause, "weapons?"
Begrudgingly, I withdrew the wooden sphere containing my powder. I stood up slowly -I didn't want to alarm the bowman- and placed it in his outstretched palm.
"Got any more of those lying around?" He asked.
"Nope." I made the 'p' pop.
"Truly? Seem to be favoring your other pocket."
I handed over the counteragent too.
"Don't cut them open." I said.
It would be annoying to have the bowman blame me when this guy put himself to sleep through sheer incompetence. I didn't want any holes perforating my lungs.
He slipped the spheres into his own pants pocket. "Wasn't planning on it."
He clapped his hands. "Let's get moving. Not much daylight left to burn."
The three of us formed a line, him leading, me in the middle, and the bowman following a ways behind. As we passed in sight of my hollow, he let out a low whistle.
"That your work, girl?
No comment.
"Alright then. That's probably what you heard, Parther."
The bowman, Parher, grunted, "Looks about right."
He cast furtive glances at the tree, seeming far more wary than his smooth talking partner.
The rest of the trip devolved into silence as we continued our conga line through the forest. Twilight was almost upon us, and I didn't think they'd keep going in the dark, so we were likely to stop soon.
Letting them take me to their stronghold would put me at risk and surround me with more guards. If I wanted to avoid that, I'd have to take them out once we made camp. I was confident that I could make a clean break away from the two of them -my power suggested several options both lethal and nonlethal- but they'd only send more after me again, and the next group might not be so accommodating.
"Never caught your name," the lead man said, "Cley."
He held out his hand. I didn't shake it.
"Amy," I supplied.
"Just Amy?"
I nodded.
"Alright Amy, here's how this is gonna work. When we join up with the rest of the camp, you're gonna behave yourself. You get any funny ideas, and we might have to end this gentle treatment. You don't try anything, and we keep going as we have been. Hells, I'll give you free reign of the camp. You can even talk with the others if you feel like it. Sound like a deal?"
I nodded again. "Yeah."
"Excellent." Cley clapped his hands - a habit of his.
A few minutes later, an orange glow came into view, probably their camp fire. It hadn't come a moment too soon, coinciding right as the last light of day faded into night. My assumption turned out to be correct, and the scene resolved into four men surrounding a medium sized fire. Actually, the person in the back might have been a woman with a stocky build. Some animal -a rabbit maybe- was roasting over the flames and wafting the aroma of cooked meat, sending my saliva production into overdrive.
The jovial mood among the camp goers shifted at my arrival to wariness. It seemed the rest shared Parther's apprehension of me with Cley being the odd one out. None of the others were recognizable, making Cley the only person here to have seen my capabilities firsthand, so it was surprising to me that he was the least wary.
"Well, don't just stare," he said to the others, "we're damn starving."
That got motion to return to the camp. Chatter resumed, and the rabbit -definitely a rabbit- was rotated on its spit by the designated cook, although the atmosphere was still subdued, their voices not as boisterous as I heard on approach. Notably, I was a topic of conversation well avoided.
Cley turned to me. "I suppose you must be rather hungry."
My stomach took that chance to growl furiously, loudly enough to be heard by the entire camp which garnered me some glances.
What, never seen a hungry girl before? I felt the heat of my face flushing. Or I could pretend it's just the warmth from the campfire.
"I've been surviving off of nuts, berries, and mushrooms for nine days." I spoke quietly and avoided eye contact. "Yeah, I'm starving."
"You can sit wherever you like," he said, "but don't wander off."
I nodded in acknowledgement.
I chose the spot furthest away from the others that was still within the fire's heat. Cley sat down a few feet to my right, and Parther took a spot to my left. It was noticeably farther away.
No one tried to make conversation with me, which was fine in my book. Really, I needed time to think about my situation.
What future was there for me? Pick your poison, but no matter what variety of stranded off Earth Bet I was, I was seriously screwed.
Assuming I was stranded in an alternate reality, there were some options for rescue. Parahuman powers were unique to each individual, but there tended to be overlapping specialties. It actually seemed statistically unlikely that Professor Haywire would be the only cape with powers focused on dimensional travel. There was potential for capes that could traverse dimensional boundaries or simply open a portal straight to my location in the multiverse, but that was predicated on such a cape bothering to try and find me.
The best option was for this forest to be some variety of pocket dimension, hopefully anchored to the blast site. There were multiple capes known for creating or accessing pocket dimensions. Dodge from that group of rogue Tinkers came to mind. Myrddin actually used them as well, despite his claims of magic. Many, many capes had personal pocket dimensions, or hammer spaces as some called them. There was that villain down in Atlanta who locked a mall full of people into a pocket dimension that expanded to several times its original size. The PRT had to send in Eidolon to pop whatever dimensional bubble was cutting off the mall from the rest of the world. That was always a possibility - Eidolon could have any power he wanted, including ones that might be able to locate me. If he cared to look.
Perhaps the worst thought by far was that I had been sent to a galaxy far far away in a freak accidental power interaction. I remembered one of my chats with Vicky about parahuman research -one of many- where she brought up a paper about distance limits on powers. It was well known before the paper that many parahuman powers simply stopped functioning at the edge of the atmosphere; teleporters couldn't teleport into space, flyers lost flight at a certain altitude, and so on. The only exceptions seemed to be certain pieces of tinkertech, like Dragon's suits or the tinkertech satellites in orbit.
In the paper, the researchers described how they had taken a group of capes up in a manned flight aboard a conventional high altitude jet. At around 50 miles up, every cape reported loss of powers from Thinkers to Shakers to Changers to Brutes. It was now considered one of the hard limits on parahuman powers. Leave the surface of Earth, and you leave your powers behind.
It implied that if I indeed had the terrible misfortune to be translocated across the universe, then there was little anyone else could do to help me.
I'm sure I was discounting other possibilities, but functionally they were all the same. I was stranded, and I had no easy way home.
I hunched in on myself. I couldn't afford to break down again. Not here.
Relying on outside help was my only recourse long term. In the meantime, I had to survive.
So what did I do in the here and now?
I needed a good rapport with the locals if I wanted to be a part of anything resembling civil society. As nice as my forest retreat was for a few days, I couldn't imagine myself living like that indefinitely.
And what a great start to that objective, I chastised myself.
I had
only insulted and assaulted the first real contact in this new world - first impressions were not my forte. Given that the level of technological advancement resembled the middle ages, it was a miracle these people didn't want to crucify me or burn me alive. There wasn't any open hostility at the camp, and I counted myself lucky to have gotten off with a mild case of mistrust.
Lara probably thought I was mentally deranged, which was entirely fair. Hurtful things were said in what I now realized was heavy denial. I wasn't thinking very logically when I concocted my insane Master conspiracy, and I had outright ignored all the other evidence because I didn't want to believe that I wouldn't be going home.
If I didn't want to go back to being a hermit in the woods, I'd need to regain the locals' trust, and I could start by picking my words more carefully from now on. No more blurting out statements about powers and parahumans. I'd try to be respectful and phrase things in a way that didn't get me labeled an evil sorceress.
Gentle shaking pulled me from my thoughts. Cley offered a leg of meat along with a small half loaf of dense bread and hard cheese, filling in the three biggest deficiencies in my diet - animal based proteins, carbohydrates, and lipids.
"Figured you'd still be hungry," he said.
I gave a brief nod before devouring my meal.
Meeeaaaat, self reflections were temporarily forgotten.
I wasn't a carnivore like my uncle Neil -the man looked for any excuse to hold a family barbeque- but I appreciated a good roast. Juices dripped down my chin as I tore into the haunch. The taste was gamier and the texture stringier than I was used to, and I'd compare it to a cross between lamb and chicken. The bread served as a decent pallet cleanser following the cheese which reminded me of those parmesan blocks Mark kept in the back of the fridge. It tasted a bit like parmesan too.
Not seeing any better alternative, I wiped the grease off on my robes - it's not like they could get any dirtier.
For the first time since my arrival to this world, I was fully satiated, more than merely sustained. If only I could get some water to refresh my parched throat.
I was wondering how these people did midnight drinks in the dark woods when Cley held out a leather canteen
"Thirsty?"
He sure was being awfully helpful towards me. It sent alarm bells ringing,
'Don't trust any drinks that you haven't been watching' Carol had drilled that lesson into us. Just because we were heroes didn't make us immune to roofies.
"You can have the first drink," I said.
Yes, totally not suspicious for me to say that in this situation, good job Amy.
He shrugged and took a swig. "Best have the rest before it's gone."
Satisfied, I took the offered container and waterfalled a sip. This was not water - it tasted similar to grape juice and had a very mild burn going down. It was actually rather delightful.
The quiet murmurs from across the fire were more awkward now that I had nothing else to distract me. My desire for socialization brought on from my prolonged isolation warred with my desire to be alone, and as always the latter won out. Besides, I had no idea how to repair my damaged reputation here. If I couldn't figure out how to make friends with modern girls my age, then there was little chance in hell I could do so with extradimensional adults from a culture vastly different to my own.
As I was preparing to ask Cley if it was alright to go lie down away from the fire, he spoke up.
"Tell me Amy, do you favor any Westerosi songs?"
I had no idea what that meant.
Play it safe, "I don't know any."
"Truly?"
I didn't know why he was so genuinely surprised. Wasn't it obvious how foreign I was?
"I'm uh, I'm not sure what you mean by Westerosi."
"Ah, but you speak the Common Tongue so well I thought you must've had some experience with the minstrels and court bards of our fair lands. In truth, you speak it better than some of the ninnies around these parts." He chuckled with mirth in his eyes.
"No matter, you'll get your proper introduction to northern ballads yet," he said it downright jovially.
Parther groaned with his palms to his face.
Why do I have an ominous feeling?
"Oh what shall we do with the drunken huntsman?
What shall we do with the drunken huntsman?
What shall we do with the drunken huntsman?
Early in the morning."
Tone deaf. That would be the fairest way to describe his singing. The worst part - he seemed to actually be
trying.
"Toss him in the pigpen and roll him over
Toss him in the pigpen and roll him over
Toss him in the pigpen and roll him over
Early in the morning."
He then repeated the chorus,
How many verses are there?
"Douse him in the Knife until he's sober
Douse him in the Knife until he's sober
Douse him in the Knife until he's sober
Early in the morning."
The chorus was sung
again.
"-Early in the morning."
The last grating "note" cut off.
"So, what do you think of our fine music?" he asked with a smile.
"I- It's um- I've never heard anything like it before."
"Bwahahahaa." One of the men across from us burst out in uproarious laughter. "You hear that? 'Never heard anything like it,' she says. I hear it every day, usually coming out the horses' arses after feeding time!"
More laughter followed.
"Coulda picked a better song, but you'd've butchered that one too," another man spoke.
He appeared younger than the others, his beard wispy and voice pitched as if he had recently finished puberty.
"You should properly educate our guest then, Wyl," Cley spoke. He seemed to take the ribbing in good humor.
"Got a smoother voice than you. Any song'd be better. Alright then. Ahem," Wyl cleared his throat.
"A bear there was, a bear, a bear!
All black and brown and covered in hair"
I much preferred this song, not the least of which because Wyl could actually carry a tune. The song lyrics were cute too, the kind of silliness from a children's folklore tune. By the end of it, I was smiling for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
When was the last time I smiled like this?
There weren't too many occasions to be joyful these past few months, always healing, always dragging myself along. But now, through the sorrow of being indefinitely separated from my home and lost in foreign lands, I was somehow
happier than any other time in recent memory. All because of a simple song.
"Is that more to your liking, my lady?" Wyl asked.
I gave a light nod, "Yeah, That was very nice. I liked the lyrics."
"Just the lyrics?" He asked.
"You have a decent voice too," I admitted.
He preened at my words, looking for all the world like he'd received the best compliment of his life.
Slow down there buddy, you're not that good, I thought as he smirked at Cley.
"Bah, all you can do is recite minstrel's slop," the man next to Wyl said, "I've still yet to hear a
proper northern ballad."
Wyl scoffed, "Well, why don't you take the crown out of your purse then, show the lady a
'real northern ballad'?"
"Fine."
The barrel of a man took a deep breath.
"Oh Lun loomed large
In the eye of the Storm"
His baritone contrasted Wyl's tenor voice, more fitting for the contents of the song - a slower ballad recounting Lun, the last of the Giants battling against the Storm King and his host in a losing battle. It was sadder than the one about the girl and the bear, but there was a power behind his voice that conveyed Lun's unflinching spirit in the face of insurmountable odds.
I couldn't say that his or Wyl's singing was necessarily any better than modern auto tuned music, but there was some quality to a lone voice absent any backing tracks that I couldn't place. The artists that came to mind were Johnny Cash and Jeff Buckley. Not that I would compare these two guys to some of the most talented singers of the last century, but there was an earnestness not present in the Gen-Pop that frequently played on the radio.
When the last note ended, I gave him my opinion - if nothing else, then to spite Cley's abysmal performance.
"That one was pretty good too."
"But do you prefer his song or mine?" Wyl asked.
"Well," I thought for a moment, "I think I like yours a little bit more."
"Ha!"
His smug smile could have put that bitch Tattletale to shame.
Wyl and the other man -I learned his name was Crean- devolved into an argument over songs and lyricism. Whereas before, the volume in the camp was quiet, barely above whispers, it was now at a more normal level. Consequently, the mood around the camp picked up, although I still felt a bit out of place. My awkwardness hadn't entirely abated.
The short stocky person on the far left spoke to me. She was a woman after all, or it sounded like it from her voice.
"My lady, can you tell us from which House you hail? I'm not familiar with the nobles of Essos."
Oh great, more questions I don't have the context to parse. Do they think I'm a princess? Is that why they keep calling me 'my lady'?
A spike of dread speared my heart. These people thought I was nobility. If that was the only shield keeping them from tearing me apart…
Cley spoke first, "The Essosi do not have lords and ladies as we understand it. From what I know, their cities are generally ruled by merchant lords."
Well that gave me an out of sorts. "Um, you don't have to call me by any titles, I'm not from Westerosi. Just Amy is fine."
"Westeros," Cley interjected.
"Hmm?"
"The land is called Westeros, the people and the culture are therefore Westerosi."
Oh, right, Lara had called it by its proper name earlier.
"Whereabouts are you from- Amy?" Wyl asked.
He stuttered on my name, but managed to pull through.
"Of all the exotic accents I've heard, yours is the most beautiful," he added.
Craen snorted, "Only exotic accent you've heard is Old Harbin's slur."
It was time to bullshit more generic answers. "I'm from very far away. I doubt you'd know the name if I told you."
Also,
exotic accent? My inflection was flatter than an Iowan's from suburbia.
"Even if I cannot pronounce the name of your homeland, I would still like to hear it," Wyl said.
Fine, "I'm from Brockton Bay."
"Brock-ton Bay…" he sounded out the syllables like he was testing out some French word. "Is your homeland filled with beauty?"
No.
"It has its ups and downs, same as any city."
That prompted a discussion about some place called White Harbor. From what I gathered, it was the largest city in northern Westeros. A map would have been helpful right about now.
After a while the conversation petered out, but this time it felt like the natural evolution of running out of things to say rather than delicate tiptoeing around my presence.
Clap
"We'd best rest up," Cley said, "Long day ahead for some of us. Parther and I'll take first watch."
Flames were doused and furs spread as the others got ready to sleep, and I settled in a spot not far from them. The stars were clear overhead, as was the bizarre half-moon devoid of the dark gray craters that should have pockmarked its surface. It gave the alien moon a pearlescent quality outmatching my homeworld's own satellite. If I squinted my eyes, I could have sworn I saw striations, long dark gray lines etched into the lunar surface. It jogged a memory from 6th grade science class about the solar system's extraterrestrial moons, but for the life of me I couldn't remember its name. It was definitely one of Jupiter's or Saturn's though.
Its brightness outshone the surrounding stars and made stargazing more difficult, the haze of the Milky Way -if I was even in the right galaxy- just barely tiptoeing on the edge of visibility. My new framework of understanding made the differences in the night sky clearer to me, returning that sense of wrongness. Although, with my pitiable background in astronomy, I couldn't be sure whether or not I was projecting incongruencies that weren't there. Was it normal for that patch of sky to have such a large collection of bright stars? Were there any red stars visible from Earth? I was pretty damn sure that it wasn't Mars I was seeing.
I fell asleep to thoughts of the celestial heavens both old and new.
