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| A Stronghold from the Dreams of Children; Open | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 20 2017, 09:48 PM (80 Views) | |
| Arete Fabella | Oct 20 2017, 09:48 PM Post #1 |
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"As centuries crumble the whispers of ancients/ Last longer in stories, last longer in stories than stone." -- Ada Palmer, "Longer in Stories than Stone"
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The streets were more crowded, now, then when Arete had first come to Madrid, but they were still far too wide for Madrid's diminished population. The sun was beginning to set in the west, and the air was turning chilly as the afternoon turned to evening turned to night. Arete took one last look around the square they were in and sighed. They still had had no luck finding their family, if their family was still alive to be found. Arete turned to thread their way back through the streets. A little ways off from where they had been searching, the streets became narrow alleys and the buildings were squeezed even closer together. Here, away from the bustle of the city center, the streets were nearly empty, at least in this neighborhood. Arete had seen others in the houses, but few took this path unless they lived here. Arete had been lucky enough to find a building that was uninhabited despite being only half-collapsed. The rebuilding teams hadn't made it out here yet, and the city's officials had greater concerns than evicting them. Arete was almost home when they saw the girl. She appeared to be a human child of around eight, though she was a little short for her age. Her curly orange hair and grass-green eyes stood out against her rose quartz-toned skin. She wore a dirt-stained leine underneath a faded blue, open-faced dress that was tattered almost beyond recognition. She stood huddled in the doorway of a nearly abandoned house with her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. Arete moved towards her. Although they didn't normally get along especially well with children, they weren't going to abandon a child in need. "Hello," they said. "I'm Arete. Who are you?" The child blinked uncomprehendingly. "Patrem videre cupio," she said. "Patrem videre cupio!' It was a strange language, one that Arete had never heard before, and it sounded almost musical. But that wasn't much help for understanding the child. They pointed to themself again. "Arete," they said. They pointed towards the child. "Who?" "Linguam barbaram dicere non possum," said the child. "Linguam splendidam latinam dicere potes?" That had sounded like a question, but that wasn't much use. Still, they weren't completely helpless. They pulled out their book of stories and their pen, and flipped to a blank page. They drew a crude sketch of themself, the child, and the house they were staying in. They added an arrow pointing from them to the house, and cocked their head at the child. The child frowned and nodded. She grabbed the pen and added her own arrow from her to Arete's house. She looked at Arete and held out her hand. "Mecum tuam domum i," she said. Arete took the hand and began walking to their house. When they reached the house, the child pointed to the book until Arete handed it back. She sketched out what appeared to be a picture of her with loaf of bread and some rice. Then she added a slash mark to the bread and the rice, pointed to her stomach, and gave Arete a pleading look. "You want food..." Arete murmured. They could usually conjure some, even during the famine, but an eight-year-old was unlikely to view it as edible. The last thing they wanted was to convince her that they were trying to poison her, inconvenient though caring for a child would be. Arete took back the book and added a drawing of the child in the house, and them walking to the market. "Stay here" they said, although of course the child wouldn't understand. "I'm going to see if I can find you some real food." # The few stalls that still lingered in the marketplace despite the famine were closed by the time Arete made it back, and most of the light had gone. They knew where they could find a shop that still sold bread, purchased -- or perhaps stolen -- from the stores of a humanitarian expedition. It was expensive, and Arete was short on money, but they saw almost no alternative. Besides, the child would be gone, soon, returned to her parents. They handed over coin quadruple the usual price of bread and started to return to their house with a pair of loaves. As they exited the store, they spotted another child, older-looking than the last one, lying in a doorway. His white dress had flowers embroidered around the edges with expensive purple thread, but despite the sign of wealth it looked like he had been wearing the same clothes for months. "Do you need help?" asked Arete. "Are you okay?" He gave her a look. "My parents decided that feeding me was too expensive because of the food shortage, so they kicked me out," he said. "I haven't eaten in three days, and most nights I'm sleeping under the beautiful heavens." He gestured sarcastically at the night sky. "But yes, I'm doing wonderfully." "I can give you some food, if you want," Arete said. "And you can stay in my house. The roof is a little caved in at the moment, but at least part of it is there." The boy's eyes widened. "Really?" he said. "Deal." # The two children slept side-by-side on the bed that Arete normally used. It was designed for two adults, and their tiny frames were small in comparison, but at least they had somewhere to sleep. Arete had thrown the moth-eaten blanket that they normally used over the children, and they had now curled up in the corner, wrapping their cloak around their body. This couldn't last. They didn't know how to care for children, and they didn't have any sort of steady income stream to continue funding food. If any more showed up, they wouldn't even be able to share the blanket -- the bed could probably fit a third child, but the blanket could not. They had scrawled a few signs explaining the situation and posted them in the windows of nearby shops. Tomorrow they would try to ask around. They only hoped things wouldn't get worse before someone who could help arrived. |
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