Sojaveña Wilds Escarpa Clan Camp

[Jackie Cat]

Halcón and Pyrrin were true to their word. Not two hours after their first encounter with the Wayfarers, they had arrived at the edge of town, met with those Wayfarers who cared to follow them to the current main camp, and moved off with minimal jaw-wagging.

The Escarpa tents were currently nestled between the Silver River and a large rock formation that screened it from outside view. A Pidgeotto watch 'mon alerted the clan of the approaching outsiders before the camp even came into view, and when the Wayfarers finally caught sight of it, they saw also that a gaggle of curious youths were gawping at their arrival from a distance at the tent perimeter.

"Mind yourselves, Wayfarers," purred Halcón, echoing an earlier warning for emphasis. "I won't repeat this advice. Do not babble, or simper, or say anything unconsidered. Some might call me a particularly loose-tongued clan 'mon, and not be lying! The rest of my clan have very little tolerance for nonsense, and we do not bow and curtsy like townsfolk. So when you speak, make your points well and be done with it."

 

[kyeugh]

The walk from the north side of Frontier Town, where Prim did her ranching work, down to the Escarpa Camp had become something of a ritual for her. The path was ever better-carved as the Wayfarers trod it with their many feet, but it was still a space between civilizations. No construction, no hollering, no clinking of glasses, no shrieking of children. The gentle weight of her supple fishing rod felt real against her shoulder. Here you could hear the twittering of fletchling, the rustling of sage. Could feel your own breath.

Even in this distant world, even in this fresh body, Prim yearned for the road.

Some of the Escarpa seemed to recognize her now and tolerated her well enough that they returned her curt inclines of the chin as she passed through their settlement. She didn't stop for chatter as she made her way to the river, over the water-smoothed stones, until she was thigh-deep in the currents. Then she cast her pole back, swirled the line lasso-like with well-practiced ease, and sent the fly sailing into the water.

This was how a plant was meant to live, she thought: mindfully, feet in the water, sun on the back.

 

[Jackie Cat]

When the Wayfarers had last seen the Saint known as the Wandering Light, she'd met briefly with Chieftain Sierra, then appeared at the invasion of Terminal Two to grant the light of Radiance to the party. Since then, she'd barely been seen for several weeks, spending her time with Sierra on wandering journeys north, south, and who knew where else. Training, perhaps? Searching for something, maybe?

In any case, she was back now, and holding court in the Escarpa Clan's autumn camp. Rumour had it that the blind Zeraora would spend hours at a time fishing in the Silver nearby, or sitting in some meditative state atop a convenient sandstone stand or white fir tree. Or that she would play with Escarpa cubs and kits – impossible to sneak up on despite her blindness, to the squealing delight of assorted youths. Or that she chewed peyote, to then spend hours introspecting and seeing visions. Others said tobacco, mad-apple, poppy, mezcal, tequila.

Right now, she wasn't using any of those. She was alert and relaxed in Sierra's tent, one knee against the ground and her arm resting on the other. She looked somehow healthier than before. Brighter. The weather, too, was pleasant – cooler in late autumn than it had been some weeks ago, and breezy enough to take the edge of the sun's heat. The chieftain's tent had been opened up a little, flaps of canvas pulled back to let in air and light.

The Wayfarers had been invited to come by Sol, a clanner Fletchinder, and several had arrived in hopes of learning more from the ageing Saint, or else for reasons of their own. Sierra was present too, laying sphinx-like to one side. The offworlder Lycanrocs, too – quietly observing, talking to each other about some private matter – and the ARK Unit who'd chosen the name Sage. These three held in common that they were lucid Shadow-wielders – did Luz have something in mind for them...?

"So – looks like your crowd are sticking around," observed Zeraora Luz, once the Wayfarers began to filter in, escorted by Zangoose Lluvia.

"I have persuaded Luz to give you some form of mentorship," said Sierra, with a hint of amusement.

"I've been persuaded to keep an eye on the lotta y'all," amended the Saint, her milky eyes not moving. "And to shed some light on the countless questions you no doubt have lined up in those skulls of yours. About the likes a' me, an' so forth."

Her tone was begrudging, but for the meeting to be happening to begin with, Luz must be serious about helping the Wayfarers. Something about Sierra's leonine smirk and Luz' sardonic deadpan suggested that the Wayfarers ought to be able to handle a modicum of rough speech, if they were really all that...

 

[Tetra]

Where was she....

In the days after making it back to Frontier Town, he'd made himself busy helping with the election, talking with Sonora and the Rangers, and doing whatever else he could to help. Anything to stay busy.

Now that the election was over and Sonora was Sheriff (she was Sheriff! Sick!) he wanted to try and find Brisa. Technically he needed to ask her for help, but more than that he just wanted to see if she was okay.

It was a longshot, but since he hadn't seen Brisa around town, he'd hoped to run into her near her... clan? family? Details were sparse, but he knew the relationship was... complicated. A running theme, he though drily. He'd greeted the one or two of the Escarpa he knew of by name, and said hi to Bosque and Nube when he spotted them, but he was otherwise more focused on sticking to the edge of the camp and trying to spot Brisa.