Blackwater Islands grommetik

Overcome by a fit of melancholy, the Speaker had retired to the centermost of the three dens left abandoned on the island of the Speakers, the Whispering Copse. Days of work had exhausted Kerosene, but more tragic and perhaps more pressing was the weight of their parents' absence. The future of Blackwater belonged to a bunch of yearling siblings — and who wouldn't be afraid of that?

Kerosene trusted their Listener, of course. Visala would see them through. Yet they worried for the cost of demanding such strength from their prophet. Would it be worth her health, her sanity, in the end?

Their parents must have thought so.

It plagued them.

Nayavanti appears from the under bushes carrying a limp rabbit in her jaw. A fresh kill, in courtesy of nearby forest. 

She had recently came back from a rather lengthy mission of marking the outer borders of their new territory. Originally Nayavanti meant to return immediately to her own den to rest. But she saw the plump thing grazing grass and couldn't help but think of Visala. Nayavanti knew that she'd be taunted on her perpetual concern for the other. But how? When everything reminded the keeper to be of service to her. 

Then, in the corner of her eyes she spots Kerosene. Standing rather idly. Their weird angled silhouette at the center of the forest line unconsciously made the back of her fur bristle.

The tall woman huffs, what are they doing here? Aren't they supposed to be with the some kinds of oddities they call siblings?

"A bit late to be daydreaming, speaker," Nayavanti drops the carcass in her mouth in favor of speaking up. Some blood splatters on the ground. "you look ridiculous."