Something weird was going on, that much was for certain. Tate wasn't really sure what to make of it all, but did that... did that even really matter? What was he supposed to think? The trip to the altar, the blue boy he'd met, the experience at the altar itself... whatever he'd done, the butterflies seemed pleased with him. What on earth was a butterfly even supposed to... to do? They seemed pleased, but Tate was compelled to do more. People pleasing wasn't in his nature, but god pleasing? Were they really gods? Were there really gods in there? Potato didn't get it, but then, what's to say he needed to?

With a roughly hewn flint carving knife, the boy set about wearing down a piece of scrapped bone. Whoever had been using the rest discarded this bit, so he should be fine. Tate set about willing each of the sides smooth, scraping them down with his tool held clumsily. It would still be some time before his dexterity was good enough to do this easily, after all. The sun shone warmly on his back, on his shoulders, where he rested in the sand of the Bay. Comfortable enough as he worked away, gradually shaping the bone into something that would resemble a cube in time. Refinement would come, young Potato just had to work for it.

"Potato"

There is no sound, no light, and no emotions where the dead Meadow is. Darkness surrounds her but there is no fear of the dark or sadness at being dead. It simply… is. She floats in an endless abyss of peace as the earthen woman finally at rest. There is no body and no thoughts to intrude on her slumber. She is completely unaware yet, at times, she feels a small brush of something against her sleeping mind. This is her existence now and she slowly begins to forget until she no longer remembers a time before this.

She floats in this abyss, content to just be; however, the gods have other plans for her. Awareness slow filters into her mind and the slumbering Meadow begins to stir. It comes slowly but, when she opens her eyes, the dead wolf finds a world of color that steals her breath away. But wait, she is dead. Memories assault her like thousands of small needles, tearing into her mind and pulling her awareness in every direction. There are no emotions that follow them and she allows the ocean of memories to wash over her like a wave.

A flicker of movement catches her eye and Meadow’s emerald gaze falls upon a big, brown and white pup. Ah, children. They are special and meant to be protected. Softly, so as not to alarm the boy, she calls out, “Hello there little one.” No reaction, not even a flick of his ear. Frowning, she steps forward and notices the way her paw seems to shimmer in and out of existence. Oh right, she is dead.

Padding over to watch what the large pup is doing, she spies a cluster of mangrove leaves near him. Curious, Meadow gently blows on the pile and watches them swirl and rustle from her ethereal breath. A knowing smile spreads across her ghostly lips as she looks to the boy.



"Meadow Lark"

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Potato is rather intent as he works. It's the most focus he's really ever shown in working on... well... anything. Half of the six sides were flat enough for his liking, now he needed to work on the others. It was an art, one that he wasn't necessarily so good at yet. Well, that's alright-- the dice would just be loaded. He'd need to figure out which of the sides was the best, and turn that into the high rolling side. Yeah, that would work. That would work just great! Presenting loaded dice to the statue had to be a good idea, right? Maybe they'd be amused. Maybe they'd like it just as much as they liked the wreath that he and Ivy had made, though the companions seemed to think it was a necklace. That was cool too, though, and it really did look cool up there. Tate found himself rather proud of what they'd made, actually. He had every reason to be!

Tate gave the die a test roll, watching it rock on each side with great interest. It's as he watches it roll that a breeze comes through, playing in a nearby leaf pile. Potato's head lifted, quirking to one side first, and then the other. The brown pup watched the pile of leaves carefully, tracking how they swirled and played about in the playful gust of wind. His eyes danced for a moment... well what was the harm in chasing after a particularly crunch leaf? Carefully, the pup set down his knife and his die, covering it with the piece of seal skin he'd been using as a workspace. Couldn't have it blowing away, especially if it was going to be windy like this, right?

With a joyful woof in his throat, the pup pounced after a stray leaf, tail wagging. Just barely, Potato missed it. That was okay, there were more to chase! He was having a wonderful time.

"Potato"

Meadow watches the pup, hoping that sees the leaves playing in the pile near him. Emotions filter in, distant and hard to grasp but the dead wolf begins to feel again. Her emerald eyes watch the brown and white wolf as he works on… something. A set of dice? Oh, he must be really smart to carve them all by himself. Still, she can’t help but think he needs to play and she longs for him to see her, to play with the leaves and enjoy being alive. She blows again, causing them to dance a little more, to swirl around in an slightly unnatural way.

The stranger sees them and sets aside his work, careful to cover the dice so they do not roll away. He rounds on her pile of leaves, a happy woof sending a pang of (… longing?… sadness?... joy?...) something resounding in her. He pounces on the leaves and a laugh bubbles up in the ghost’s chest, filling the air with the sound of a thousand tinkling bells. Wait. Had she imagined that or could he hear it? Emerald eyes search him but there seems to be no recognition of the sound.

Looking to the playing pup, Meadow spies another pile of leaves near him and jogs over, breathing onto it and sending the leaves into a flurry. A smile plays on her lips as she looks to the pup, hoping he will understand and chase after her.



"Speech!"

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The wind sounds different than usual today, but Tate doesn't put much stock in it. Was that the far off twinkling of bells? He wouldn't know, but it was warm and comforting all the same. His tail wagged high behind him, head tossing as he half bounded, half tripped forward over too-big paws. What a wonderful day. Absolutely wonderful. His head was high and gaze was bright, taking high steps after the swirling leaves. The way they danced, the way they moved over the ground... he'd never seen anything quite like it before! That made things even better for young Potato, the novelty and joy in the game.

Another pile of leaves was lifted by the playful breeze, and Tate was quick to close in on that one too. He chased the wayward foliage, his tail wagging wildly behind him. Tripping, pouncing, and doing his best to try and catch each as they floated down around him. Joyfully, he barked, calling after them as if that would do anything more. Large eyes glimmering with absolute wonder as he gazed up in the direction of the wind, it was the best of days. The pup finally managed to catch a stray leaf, feeling the satisfying crunch beneath his paws. A good day, really. A very good day.

"Potato"

This pup, unknown to the earthen, dead wolf, shows Meadow everything that she misses. His joy fills her ethereal chest with sense of happiness and, if she could, the ghost would cry at his youthful exuberance that is on full display. She sends gusts about him, causing the leaves to dance and swirl around the brown and white boy, playing in the only way she can. The ghost enjoys her time with the pup and silently wishes she could stay here forever.

Another gust and he catches a leaf, crunching it happily in his mouth. Meadow knows he cannot see, feel, or hear her but that does not stop her from stepping up beside him to blow a cool breeze across his neck. Nothing to scare him, because that is not what Meadow does. No, it is tender, like a gentle caress from an old friend. She stays with him as long as she can, making sure that his day is filled with happiness and small magical moments.

When Meadow finally has to leave him behind, she moves to where two mangrove leaves lay on the ground near him and, once more, blows gently on them. They gently rattle and shift, their butts facing outward while the points join together. Her final gift to the youth; a heart shaped out of leaves.



"Speech!"

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