At the moment, Mara was taking a break from underground explorations. She was out in
the dark woods, prowling around for stout, medium long, sticks. Mara had just recalled an
old camp craft from her days as a scout, and she was determined to put together a small table.
Kaze, having been given free reign for a while, was off doing whatever it is winds do for
amusement. It would occasionally breeze by Mara, as if Kaze had to assure itself of her
She kept walking deeper into the woods, not following any particular path. Mara bent down,
grabbing a stick, then straightened and continued. Twenty two years, five months, and a
day. I'm now homeless, living in a cave, picking up sticks to make a table, and I can talk to
the wind. Mother, I'm sure you're proud of me now. Mara stopped to grab another stick.
Brother, I wish you were here with me. You'd be having so much fun, exploring the woods,
living in a cave. You'd probably see Kaze as some sort of magic, and want to learn how
to do it like I do. Mara grabbed two more sticks, shifting her grip on the large pile in her
arms. She had room for about three more sticks, at most. Mara turned around and started
retracing her steps back to the cave, without the smallest hint of the fear of getting lost.
Somehow, it seemed like that would no longer be possible for her.
Mara reached the cave after an hour of weaving through tree roots and dodging prickly
bushes. She hopped over the creek and set her pile down near the entrance, right by a
stump Joshua had placed as a seat. Mara wandered into the cave, and emerged a few
minutes later with an armful of long, tough, dried grass which she set down by the sticks.
She fished in the stick pile for four stouts sticks about the same height, and four slightly
slimmer sticks about the same height, and started weaving her frame together. Mara
had a lot that she wanted to think about, and the rhythm of the work would help her