Wapun Meadow there's an oily brine bilge water baptism waiting below

indra listened, intrigued -- she liked the way wraen's face lit up as she recalled her mother, and the warmth it exuded. darkly, she had no such emotion gentle the harsh edges of her face when she recalled her own mother, yet all the same, she recognized and appreciated love when she saw it.

as wraen elaborated, indra became aware it involved imagination. the redleaf frowned; she had never been a storyweaver, had never perfected the craft of creativity -- but she would try her hand at it, if it so pleased her comrade.

"sure," indra repeated again, though she felt her ears sweep forward in slight interest, and she looked upon wraen in a way that suggested she was ready to engage.