The cart felt strangely empty as it jostled into town, carrying a bundle of vegetables and two passengers. The older of the two passengers, a man with hair as black as pitch, sat at the front of the cart, guiding the chocobo along the path toward Gridania. Alana sat at the back of the cart, acutely aware of the empty space on the other side of the cart. Her brother had gone before dawn, leaving nothing but a note talking about fighting the Garleans and honour and glory and other such things that Alana couldn't quite comprehend yet. She was only 11, after all; her only battle experiences had been when she'd fought her brother for the last cookie or muffin.Â
The sun shone through the trees in dancing columns, quiet birdsong that filled the air, the cart bounced the girl as it rolled over rocks and bumps and dips in the road. It was hard to imagine that there was an army threatening Eorzea. Why now? Couldn't they have waited a bit?
"Now, Alana, remember what I told you, alright? Just say hi to the girl, and you and her will be talkin' like old friends in no time," her father said from the front of the cart as they passed the Woodwailers guarding the gates. He didn't look back at her as he spoke, but Alana gave a half-hearted nod.
Her father had told her all about the Blakes' girl; about how nice she was, how similar she was to Alana, how close they were in age... So why did Alana feel so nervous? Her stomach felt knotted, and the feeling only worsened as Nowe the chocobo pulled them closer to their journey's end. A dreadful sense of inevitability settled about the girl's shoulders like an invisible, heavy cloak.
"We're here, Alana. Don't worry 'bout gettin' the stuff. Don't want to get your pretty dress all mucked up, do we now?" Bertrand said with a good-natured smile to his daughter as he tied Nowe's reins to a post. Alana looked down with a frown. It was a nice dress. She only had one that was nicer than it. It was a sky blue colour that had faded a bit, leaning more toward the white colour of its sleeves.
Alana took a moment to study her reflection in the shop's window.
For The Twelve's sake, Bertrand, she could hear her mother say, make sure she doesn't go in with dirt all over her face. And Alana didn't have a speck on there. Her blonde hair was pulled up into her usual ponytail, but a few strands of hair fell about her face. It was good enough.
Her father balanced a rather large pumpkin in one arm and rang the bell, and Alana fell into step behind him. Only because she was obedient. Fear didn't have anything to do with it. Not at all. If only her stomach would stop hurting.
The sun shone through the trees in dancing columns, quiet birdsong that filled the air, the cart bounced the girl as it rolled over rocks and bumps and dips in the road. It was hard to imagine that there was an army threatening Eorzea. Why now? Couldn't they have waited a bit?
"Now, Alana, remember what I told you, alright? Just say hi to the girl, and you and her will be talkin' like old friends in no time," her father said from the front of the cart as they passed the Woodwailers guarding the gates. He didn't look back at her as he spoke, but Alana gave a half-hearted nod.
Her father had told her all about the Blakes' girl; about how nice she was, how similar she was to Alana, how close they were in age... So why did Alana feel so nervous? Her stomach felt knotted, and the feeling only worsened as Nowe the chocobo pulled them closer to their journey's end. A dreadful sense of inevitability settled about the girl's shoulders like an invisible, heavy cloak.
"We're here, Alana. Don't worry 'bout gettin' the stuff. Don't want to get your pretty dress all mucked up, do we now?" Bertrand said with a good-natured smile to his daughter as he tied Nowe's reins to a post. Alana looked down with a frown. It was a nice dress. She only had one that was nicer than it. It was a sky blue colour that had faded a bit, leaning more toward the white colour of its sleeves.
Alana took a moment to study her reflection in the shop's window.
For The Twelve's sake, Bertrand, she could hear her mother say, make sure she doesn't go in with dirt all over her face. And Alana didn't have a speck on there. Her blonde hair was pulled up into her usual ponytail, but a few strands of hair fell about her face. It was good enough.
Her father balanced a rather large pumpkin in one arm and rang the bell, and Alana fell into step behind him. Only because she was obedient. Fear didn't have anything to do with it. Not at all. If only her stomach would stop hurting.
RP Profile | Characters: Alana Black (Balmung)