Nova Peak every dollar earned was already spent
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#1
Trade 

Rain has lost its magical touch. She still loved when it first fell from the sky and how it felt on her pelt. She could do without the aftermath. All the water and mud annoyed her.

The skies would bless the creatures of the mountains today. A day long break from never ending showers. The perfect opportunity to explore the new world. 

Marble trotted along the mossy road with her favorite rock nestled between her teeth. She didn’t stop until she came across a pile of pine needles.

The smell was wonderful. It was like dew on freshly cut grass, but with a hint of spice. Marble dropped her rock to breathe it in.
an omnipotent society of youth
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#2


Prancing amongst tines in the gloaming;
the imp busily combs sediment puddles for wild onions, the sharp retribution of its infamous tang surprises him ever so slightly. Astraeus nurtures a new aeipathy for horticulture; hunkering to cultivate his own little Eden in the crotch of the peaks. Cradling grimy onions ( while salivating irritatingly over the pungency and savour ), he waggles gingerly down a scree. It's not but a blink until he cuts into the mossy path where an elfin girl stands, reveling; mellowed.

He instead growls, mistaking her for an overgrown, vicous gnawer. Frugal with his fiddlethings; he hope to shoo the rat away before it can snap up a meager onion, nary! Betwixt kneading his teeth into the grasses did he see she was a youth like him. She'd strayed from all the adults to the foothills? 

And why hasn't a bird of prey eaten her yet? Maybe no meal that infinitesimal is that meriting.

"oh, hey shawty. sorry for growlin' at you. where's your mommy? you should go to your mommy," the star-stag gibes, letting the wet onions slide of his tongue with a plip in the swampy soil, bemire. He edges closer, a pause;
the elder woman's aroma he had crossed informally before turns the cogs of memory ... did she have children? His olive gaze flits to her feet. Other than their twin mudcaked mitts it appeared that the girl carries the first pillar in her stone collection. "you a weirdo who likes rocks? i know a place wid biiiiggg rocks. not to brag, but it's bigger than your rock. wanna come see? i have a garden there. we can get you less rocks with spit on them. your rock has spit on it."

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#3
A small rumble interrupts her observation. It hadn’t come from the earth, but a boy. He’s darker in color, almost like Calcifer, and he looks slightly older than her.

Marble imitated the noise that came from his throat, not because she was angry, just awfully curious. She had yet to hear anyone growl or do so herself, and she insisted on trying. It was a pitiful attempt. It sounded more like a low hum than a vicious growl.

When he stopped she stopped, and she stared blankly as he spoke. Marble didn’t know what a ‘shawty’ was (she made that clear by tilting her head) but she knew what a mommy was. He suggested she return to her, and Marble shook her head. Mother always let her explore on her own. Why would she need to go back? 

Marble’s eyes were fixed on the plants he held in his mouth, and they stayed glued to them even when he dropped them. The boy would’ve gone completely ignored if it wasn’t for the smell that wafted through his teeth. It was very strong and unpleasant and it singed her nose hairs. Marble’s features scrunched up with disgust. Now he’s got her attention, but not for any good reasons.

She was tempted to run off in the other direction, but then he bragged about his rocks. He claimed they were bigger and better than her’s. That was hard to believe.

Marble picked up her treasure, grunted, and walked a few feet past him before turning back to the boy. She’d judge these rocks for herself.
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#4


Indignant fey bears her livings, gauntlet; the challenge is pledged. He quaffs his wodge of lilliputian onions then notions to the elfin girl to tag behind his keister, trotting amain, excitedly wanting to demonstrate the senile bowlders that sat in becalmed circle-group; all telltales of the happenings and incidents — and what they remain to foregather.
the star-child took them during grace period from one his tantrums ( he remembers nought what kindles it ). Pre-existing depressions, upon proper inspection, mobbish incisions of puppy nails; therein coronated as the courtiers of the peak. Their wisdom would assist him in his endeavors, if only those craggen lips would unseal — !

The children must ascend, steadily upwards, bewaring the grass as it remains slick and misgiving from the pelting of rain. Finds no hindrance as he's done this before; concisely nodding towards the doe to mimicry his movements, however dinky she may be. 
the prince likens Marble to a pot-bellied toad, imagining her webbed toes flailing.  

If she can best it, then maybe she's just a little bit kinda cool, he gambles.


"c'fon wiffle bahy, you ca' see em' from here!", baby onions muffling his speech, he spits them out and continues, "they're talking rocks, just so you know. i'm teaching them how to sing, but the jah-... the gan-tale-men, they're kinda shy. so be nice." 

Astraeus recalls the measly pebble betwixt the girl's baby tooths. "your rock is small, see? my rocks are bigger, and can talk. with no spit on them." Dallying past to let her measure them up herself, he skips to plant his wild grab in the unturned soil. 

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She follows close behind, a skeptic brow was raised all the while. As they ascended up the mountain she wondered how disappointed she’d feel when they finally reached their destination. No rock, no matter how big or flashy, could be better than her own. The ones she chose were done so with the utmost care. Marble doubted the short-sighted boy had that sort of expertise.

Eventually they arrived, the girl’s brow had practically risen off her face by now. His rocks were not the first thing she took note of, but his spat-out plants were. It’s stench was made more pungent by the spittle. Marble, of course, avoided them like the plague as she walked past.

The second thing she took note of was the boy’s wild claims. Marble rolled her eyes as she passed him. Rocks couldn’t talk. If they could, she would’ve figured that out by now.

The closer she got, the larger these ‘rocks’ grew. Could she even call them that? They were more like pillars of some ancient ruin. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t slightly impressed. Her jaws parted as she stood toe to toe with this beast of a structure. Perhaps it would begin to speak. No, that’s nonsense.
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#6


Alas, ornery cowbird would cant his head; his regard brimming with bewilder. Not shard; not pebble; nor the finest cobble trounces these mellowing titans, and yet this porcelain doll still retains blunted stone, even as her maw lolls in incredulity. To him, the splendor of her token had been sere of worthy appraise, she had found a well of grand fortune; and yet she clings. Astraeus does not elect to take it from her or even pay tribute to his findings, it'd waft from one feathery ear and out the other in vain, like a parasite who'd yet to find a susceptible partner to shake hands and begin a deal of parasitism. 

And so the silverback ushers them onward, a pipep up: "My garden isd thataway." Or should he say weed cultivation, as that is the duo gaze in upon. Scruff clears of weeds dot miniature plots of clayey soil, messily tilled and blunted by an unseasoned hand.
dull; mismatched; and certainly an excuse for plant bed, but it's his so it must be a sight, for better or worse. 
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#7
She lingered near the bolder a moment longer. Lifted a paw, dragged it along the surface. Marble would’ve placed it in her mouth if that were possible. The fact that it wasn’t bothered her, and would probably annoy her for the rest of the day.

The boy leads her from one thing to the next. The transition from rocks to weeds is quick, and she needed a moment to take it all in. She blinked once, twice, before curiously sniffing around.

Now, what was a boy to do with all these plants? Marble looked back and raised one little brow.
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#8
editing conclusion  as per mutton's request. <3


Astraeus regards the girl is perplexed by the so-called botanist and opts to instruct her help in lieu of having the argent eyeball him for the rest of the auspicious eve. “Ummm, ok.....you just gotta make a hole...,”  greying paws plant themselves and turn the soil carefully, his gaze flickering up to the fey to make sure she was watching diligently. Then you put em' in the ground, and cover em' again! Like...they already were and stuff. Just here.”

The boy stpes back to marvel at his work, his chest puffed out like a male sage grouse, bulging proudly. The onions were however, quite the opposite, some sticking out from the soil upiside-down, roots still sitting above the surface. “Your turn! Try grass or somethin'.


And so she did, pleasing the argent enough to mouth off about his weed factory and mentor the girl on speaking to old stones 101.