Wild Berry Meadow Gentle Giant

Maegi listened with rapt attention to Wraen's story. She had never heard anything about a locust famine—it must have been well before her time, and it wasn't as if she had parents that would pass along the story. The lands had recovered, apparently. . .and would do so again, if the cycle held true. She hoped Wraen was right.

That's fascinating, she said sincerely, voice a gentle murmur. Kind of like how winter always turns into spring. Had Blue gone south without saying goodbye? She desperately missed her grackle companion, although she didn't blame him for heading for better circumstances. He would be back when the flowers bloomed. Hopefully.

She cocked her head. So you don't think it's some sort of punishment by god, or gods, or someone like that? Maegi asked, not caring whether she sounded naive by doing so. It was a genuine question, true to her beliefs; nothing could sway her from attributing the divine to earthly events. So many bad things have happened to me lately, I thought—I thought it might just be the world getting back at me, for all the terrible things I've done.

But it's everywhere, she continued in an awestruck whisper, eyes dancing along the horizon. The shaking. No food. It must not just be me, but all of us. Is it? She returned her gaze to Wraen, her expression less that of a curious child and much more a shrewd priestess, testing the faith of her flock within a sermon.