In the dank edges by Tam Tara, Jancis made her final stop by the barrows that covered the land. Ancient dead, unknown souls and faces buried deep within the soil, person after person.
It was here that she found the subtle and soft colored lichen. The texture, the softness of it would add to the paper. The curves and angles of the edges she would try and preserve to give the cover more depth. For the title she was given for this commission, it seemed proper.
Her thoughts wandered to  Master Lelerano Sasarano, Ojune’s mentor, and what the lalafel had told her. How he walked off to his possible death and the world changed; as the world died in a way. She didn’t know a lot about loss herself; had Ojune known more than this mentor?
The thoughts of family rolled into her mind and she wished he had some. For the stories and clear thought he shared about Ul’dah, she would love his voice to speak of family. To help her understand more than what books gave her and what people took as a given.
A rumble happened, the grave mounds still dark and damp though the morning came. Jancis stood up slowly, buckling her satchel closed and fixing it to the middle of her back for balance. A large diremite was close, drawn by the fresh scent of broken sap and dew from her gathering. Keeping her calm, she walked by it, despite its warnings. She was smaller than the creature; her confidence making her appear bigger to more senses than just the eyes.
Size was only so important. Heading back to her quarters, she prepared the books and papers. Strings bound books together to press the flowers. Strings handed from her walls to let the other items dry. She smiled, if everything turned out well, hopefully Master Ojune would smile, too.
It was here that she found the subtle and soft colored lichen. The texture, the softness of it would add to the paper. The curves and angles of the edges she would try and preserve to give the cover more depth. For the title she was given for this commission, it seemed proper.
Her thoughts wandered to  Master Lelerano Sasarano, Ojune’s mentor, and what the lalafel had told her. How he walked off to his possible death and the world changed; as the world died in a way. She didn’t know a lot about loss herself; had Ojune known more than this mentor?
The thoughts of family rolled into her mind and she wished he had some. For the stories and clear thought he shared about Ul’dah, she would love his voice to speak of family. To help her understand more than what books gave her and what people took as a given.
A rumble happened, the grave mounds still dark and damp though the morning came. Jancis stood up slowly, buckling her satchel closed and fixing it to the middle of her back for balance. A large diremite was close, drawn by the fresh scent of broken sap and dew from her gathering. Keeping her calm, she walked by it, despite its warnings. She was smaller than the creature; her confidence making her appear bigger to more senses than just the eyes.
Size was only so important. Heading back to her quarters, she prepared the books and papers. Strings bound books together to press the flowers. Strings handed from her walls to let the other items dry. She smiled, if everything turned out well, hopefully Master Ojune would smile, too.
![[Image: hpThOka.png]](http://i.imgur.com/hpThOka.png)
