racing the wind

The sun has started shinning more frequently than it has been raining and Fern has spent as much time as she can outside. Her sword training has progressed and, since Artorias gave her a live sword, the gray girl has taken to walking the courtyard and garden with her broadsword clutched in mouth. The hunter green hilt is clasped in her jaws while the matching scabbard is buckled across her back. Slowly, she trots through the gardens, swinging the sword from side every now and again. The heft of real steel sword is drastically different from her wooden one, so Fern is taking time to relearn how to wield a sword. Meanwhile, Puff bounces along the path beside the gray girl, sometimes disappearing to go and smell flowers.

Fern is so focused on what she is doing that she does not see the small, fuzzy bird stretching its neck out and running from the steps of the castle to the fence. However, she does hear some weird croaks and her ocean-hued gaze turns to try find the source. She stops moving and stands awestruck for a moment, watching as the young bird flabs its stubby wings hard as it goes. Gray eyebrows raise as she watches the progress, not even stopping to ponder how strange she might look with her sword. Quickly, Fern slides the weapon back into its scabbard and cautiously approaches the young one. Rumors have been flying (no pun intended) around the castle about Artorias taking charge of a young ward. Is... is this them?

Gently, the gray girl says, “Well hello there young one. Are you alright?” The downy gray fuzzy that covers the bird is ruffled when a soft breeze picks up. Fern carefully approaches the bird, a kind smile on her light lips. Suddenly, Puff runs up next the gray wolf and says, “Hey Fern you have to smell the honeysuckle! They are…” The stoat’s voice falls away as her eyes turn to the young bird and Puff bluntly asks, “What are you?” Fern groans inwardly and hopes that the small stoat has not offended the young bird.


"Fern Lark" | "Puff"