Painted Shadows - A Torn Canvas
Mor Dhona - Kahkol Refugee Camp - Revenant's Toll Outskirts.
[RP with Qara Hotgo as Tsenkher Hotgo.]
The afternoon sun fell over the Kahkol camp, a proportion of the adults have left to the Toll for work earlier in the day, leaving a guard detail of older and younger tribe members. The camp was spread out through the Mor Dhona landscape, punctuated by the crystals common now to the region, and normal foliage before the Battle of Silvertears Skies. On the high ground, overlooking the camp, a Kahkol sentry could be seen dozing off in the comfort of the midday sun.
Her dark tail swished as she sang a little lullaby in Xaela. The wind picked up briefly and some dust blew past her. The lullaby was probably a bad idea, she thought as she dozed off and collapsed on the ground in slumber. A figure emerged from behind the shadows of a nearby crystal formation, placing a opened satchel back into her tool belt. Flapping noises could be heard behind her and a strange other-worldly being silently flapped from behind her. “YoU CoUlD HaVe JuSt KilLeD HeR,†the big-eyed being spoke with its eye focused on the slumbering figure.
“I am here on personal mission, killing is work,†the figure replied. The figure is wrapped in a cloak, with a tri-red glow stemming from a visor often utilized by Imperial infiltrators. A poncho hides much of her body and tools, as she surveyed the camp. This site was still relatively far from the camp, and the shadows given by nearby formations kept the other sentries from having a good view of the location. What passing sentry did look over would see the shadow of a figure approximately the shape of a female Xaela, just like the slumbering sentry.
As the patrolling sentry flexed briefly at the Xaela shadow and continued onward, the cloaked figure ignored him and completed her observation of the camp. The flapping shadow behind her, cloaked by a glamour of void energy, stated “DoNe?†“Yes,†she briefly glanced backward at the slumbering sentry; the sleeping dust should keep her out for a few bells; she used a relatively potent mixture, but the wind scattered  most of it.
“Hide her and replace her for now,†she gently lifted the sentry before the eye of the entity and with a whirling noise, the entity mirrored the image of the sentry. “You heard her voice before she slept, correct?†“Of course, Mistressssss,†the entity-sentry replied with a flirtatious statement, and posed in its illusionary Xaela body in a manner like a miqo’te. “I’ll beeee sure to give any onlookers my EYE-catching charms.†The cloaked figure almost brought her right hand up to her face, “Do not talk much. I doubt the girl behaves in a manner as depraved as you.†The not-girl dropped to the ground in a overdramatic display of ‘despair’, “I’m so harmed, Mistress!â€
————————
While relatively calm, the camp was still full of activity, just as her tribe, recalled through the fog of her past. She had cloaked herself in a illusionary ninjutsu, facilitated by a modified glamour prism. However, her training still made her cautious and she shifted from shadow to shadow; keeping herself from the eyes of any. A certain yurt came into her view. She had learned of its location from easedropping on a few adventurers and Kahkol in the Toll, a old woman and a fearful child. She could also sense remnants of Qaratai’s aether in the area, a frequency that she had obsessively been attuned.
She had a idea who the old woman was. While a lingering emotion swept over her, her eyes remained focus under her visor. The woman was the past, and Qaratai the future, as her hands moved down into her poncho. A small clicking sound can be heard as one of her magitek implants activated, and she approached the yurt. As a strong wind blows, she approaches the tent, masking her aetheric presence; a small fearful boy emerged, glancing around.
She froze, was she spotted? But the boy’s paranoid eyes moved past her and with a squeak the boy fled the tent. In that instant, Chakha moved; swiftly entering the tent as the flap closed. Inside the tent, she froze. A old Xaela woman worked at a mortar, mixing herbs and minerals into paints by which to express her tribe’s inner selves. The figure subconsciously tugged at a pouch holding memories of her past, but refocused. Another modified prism - while others were attuned to light, this one was modified to use sound - creating a temporary bubble that reflected sound aether from the outside and from the inside - a useful, if not expensive tool for a infiltrator.  No one outside the tent would hear what is going on in the tent, and no one in the tent could hear outside, but this seemed sufficient. The old woman was sighing and mumbling to herself about a hopeless ‘Jurj’, the word triggered a sense of familiarity, but she could not recall. She hesitated for a second, then drew her black daggers and…
————————
A mechanical-sounding voice could be heard, “I have you now, old woman.†The heavily wrapped and disguised figure astride the old woman with her daggers at the latter’s throat, the dim-red light of the magitek visor glowing in the shadows of the yurt. “I have questions for you.†The mortar that the old woman was mixing flew into the air, and bonked the cloaked figure, who remained composed as pink paint spilled all over her wrappings.
Tsenkher gasps at the suddenness of it all. Of all the things she expected this sun, one was not a tiny, angry ninja. She lifts her head a bit as the blades near her neck. She lets out a couple of dry coughs as she inhales after the gasp. “What in the name of Khar?! Who are you?!â€
The cloaked figure remained silent, before pushing them closer. “Who I am is irrelevant,†the figure rasped mechanically. “I am here to inquire. About one ‘Zanzan Yanzan.â€
Tsenkher grows a scowl. Her eyes narrow. “Then you are in the wrong place. I know little about that Lalafell. Of all the people you would ask, you come here to ask me? How do you even know that I know about him? Hm?â€
“Because he has been seen in the company of a woman. A woman related to you. Who came to this camp and went to YOU!†the figure hissed.
“Qaratai. That is her name. No one else visits me. But it sounds like you should be asking her questions… Or do you only threaten old women and the weak?†Tsenkher speaks calmly, but there is unease and tension in her voice.
“Qaratai…,†the figure giggled, the mechanical sound scratching into the voice as if the individual’s voice box was metal. “Zanzan Yanzan is not what she believes. The Zanzan has those who met it in its thrall. It’s ever grinning smile a illusion,†the figure giggles again, and let her daggers slip a little loose from the old woman, while a dark scale-covered tail is briefly seen flickering out of her wrappings. The figure stops and looks down on the old woman, her visor glaring in the dark, “Something the matter?†it almost tauntingly states.
“I am not sure what Zanzan has done to you, but he enthralls no one. If he could not impress me, he could hardly be called enthralling. What has the boy done to anger you? Or have they angered the Garleans?â€
The figure giggled, “We desires knowledge. The Zanzan is a unique being. A being that cannot be tolerated to exist.†She moved the right dagger closer, while sheathing her other with a swish. “That woman is attracted to him, despite this. Therefore the Zanzan must be a unique being. Yes.†Her tail lashes again, “I stabbed and injected him with poison, but it is quite resilient. Mayhap I should investigate his ‘thrall’,†she motioned as if to lick the blade, but remembering something, lashed her tail in annoyance, and moved the blade back into place near the old woman’s neck.
Tsenkher’s scowl returns, or that is just how her old face looks; it is hard to tell… “You are troubled, girl. The boy is little more than a common shaman who cannot face every color of this world yet. Hardly unique.†She pauses. “If by thrall, you mean my Qaratai, you need not investigate her. She will be looking for you once she sees what you did to the man who gave her a home in this spirits-forsaken land. What are you after? Why Zanzan? You want to kill demons, there are plenty -real- ones.â€
“So she is coming after me? How delightful.†The figure giggled once more, “The Zanzan is a faker. A false one. It cannot be allowed to live. Two souls exist within it, it is a abomination against nature. It is a resident of the void.†The figure stopped and a atmosphere of glee could be felt, “I’v… We’ve been waiting for that.†The figure looked down at the old woman, “Demons and voidsent, they go about their business, as thralls and masters. Qaratai is no demon, but she feels like one. Entrapping yet entrapped.†She giggles once more and shifts position so that she would be directly facing the old woman, while still pressing her down.
Tsenkher is quiet for a moment. She looks at the girl as if she does not know what to make of her. “Do demons give their thralls homes, horses, food, gil, freedom and friends? Qaratai is stronger than she ever has been. In little time she is a warrior far above what her father ever was. She is no thrall, and has even walked away from Zanzan when she wanted some time away from him. No demon would give her these things. No demon would allow her these things.â€
The old woman lets out an exhale then coughs a couple times. She could hardly believe she was defending that little man. Her expression remains fixed even as her eyes wander a bit. She wasn’t pleased to have the knife at her neck, but outwardly showed little fear.
“So you think. Give them air to breathe before plunging them back down.†The figure looked down, “There are many great warriors in this realm, from the Bull to the Claw, but they find themselves bowed to greater powers.†The figure lashed its tail once more, “And I wouldn’t look for help, no one is coming. No one can hear us in this place. I made sure of that.â€
Tsenkher gives up on trying to argue. Her eyes just look back to Chackha. “You are the only demon I see. Trying to scare me? Trying to use your weapons to get me to say what you want to hear? Girl, threaten someone with more time in this world. I will join the spirits soon regardless of your daggers.†She growls.
“Are you some lost Xaela, broken and abandoned by the Garleans who took you from your tribe, or are you a Dotharl; unwilling to let go of an old war, and looking for any excuse to fight what is left of the Hotgo?â€
The figure remained silent. Suddenly, a giggle could be heard. Then a laugh. A honest, if not slightly deranged laugh, “For a old one, you do not see nor know much.†The figure chuckled mechanically once more, “The Empire never took me, they saved me. They showed me the truth of strength.†The figure sat on the old lady like the latter was a cushion, “The tribe you speak of was never strong, it was weak. It was why it died.†The figure stopped and continued in an amused tone, “The Dotharl thought they were strong, but they ran as any vermin when the Empire ‘pacified’ them from the skies. How much in vain they waved their little spears and arrows against magitek machina.†She giggled in a semi-deranged manner, and moved her free hand towards her face.
Tsenkher widens her eyes. Some of the air is taken out of her lungs when she is sat upon. “Truth of strength?! This is what they taught you? To threaten old women? To try and kill tiny men?†She manages to speak despite it being hard to breathe now. She lets out several rough coughs. “You poor girl…†She struggles out. “Which one of those two tribes were you from?†The girl’s age could hardly be seen, but Tsenkher did not remember any female warriors amongst the Dotharl attackers. “Which family…†She coughs. “Which Hotgo family are you from?†It is a guess, but a logical one.
The figure laughed, “So close, yet so far.†The figure looked down, her dagger wavering for a second, but a psychotic sensibility returned to her, “Tribes are meaningless, I am nothing now. But you might know, since there, weren’t you, old woman. So many of us, but they found us all at once. They killed the men, but took their time with the women.â€
She giggled psychotically, “They really enjoyed their time with me, but they were distracted. Next sun, the Empire found me.†Her voice wavered off, “I helped them, I was always good at watching, you know. If I only had been awake. But the past is the past, isn’t it. I found their camp and watched it burn. I’ve burned so many things, done so many things, threatening old women is just another.â€
Her visor seems to refocus, “And I’ve been around many other little people, little men. I’ve watched them kill entire families for the sake of gil and have tea to discuss it. after. I done some of the killing myself.†She stated as if fondly remembering something.
“Finding pride in such things only hides your guilt.†She coughs. “Laughter tries to cover your pain. A Dotharl saved me. One of the very men who were supposed to all be monsters. He helped me survive, he helped me find Qaratai.†She pants for a few moments; trying to catch some breath. “All the Garlean taught you was to paint the world in two colors. Black and white.â€
“And red,†she responded dryly. “Passion, which burns into the present....", she giggled once more, "I cannot paint anymore. The soul is gone and the spirits have died. BUT I have no guilt for what I did. Nor do I care. I will eliminate the fake one, that Zanzan, and then Qa…. I shall all be FREE.â€
She regards the panting old woman, and shifts her body slightly up, allowing for some space, but still retaining a degree of restraint. “It feels like our time is coming to an end, the demon is skilled, but more competent warriors should be returning by now.†She chuckled with a slight mechanical rasp, although a glimmer of voice flickers through.
Tsenkher takes in a relieved inhale, but doesn’t show much relief in her expression. “You will only hurt one of the last Hotgo. You will not free her, you will be declaring war on her.†She speaks a bit more quietly and sullenly. “You will trap her spirit in the same misery yours is trapped in.†She turns her gaze on Chakha.
The figure silently eyes the old woman and sheaths the dagger, while regarding the old woman. With a click, a soft, perhaps familiar, voice flickered through, “We shall see, bothersome -Emee-“
She brings her hands together and with a flash of light and smoke, disappears from the tent. Noise from the outside suddenly can be heard, although mostly the sounds of wildlife and weather.
Tsenkher slowly sits up. She stares at the exit of the tent for a long moment. However, without a word, she picks up the spilled container of paint, and begins to fill it with ingredients again. Her expression betrays nothing, but as she begins grinding the materials, a single tear rolls down her cheek. It looks like she could only save one of her granddaughters.
Mor Dhona - Kahkol Refugee Camp - Revenant's Toll Outskirts.
[RP with Qara Hotgo as Tsenkher Hotgo.]
The afternoon sun fell over the Kahkol camp, a proportion of the adults have left to the Toll for work earlier in the day, leaving a guard detail of older and younger tribe members. The camp was spread out through the Mor Dhona landscape, punctuated by the crystals common now to the region, and normal foliage before the Battle of Silvertears Skies. On the high ground, overlooking the camp, a Kahkol sentry could be seen dozing off in the comfort of the midday sun.
Her dark tail swished as she sang a little lullaby in Xaela. The wind picked up briefly and some dust blew past her. The lullaby was probably a bad idea, she thought as she dozed off and collapsed on the ground in slumber. A figure emerged from behind the shadows of a nearby crystal formation, placing a opened satchel back into her tool belt. Flapping noises could be heard behind her and a strange other-worldly being silently flapped from behind her. “YoU CoUlD HaVe JuSt KilLeD HeR,†the big-eyed being spoke with its eye focused on the slumbering figure.
“I am here on personal mission, killing is work,†the figure replied. The figure is wrapped in a cloak, with a tri-red glow stemming from a visor often utilized by Imperial infiltrators. A poncho hides much of her body and tools, as she surveyed the camp. This site was still relatively far from the camp, and the shadows given by nearby formations kept the other sentries from having a good view of the location. What passing sentry did look over would see the shadow of a figure approximately the shape of a female Xaela, just like the slumbering sentry.
As the patrolling sentry flexed briefly at the Xaela shadow and continued onward, the cloaked figure ignored him and completed her observation of the camp. The flapping shadow behind her, cloaked by a glamour of void energy, stated “DoNe?†“Yes,†she briefly glanced backward at the slumbering sentry; the sleeping dust should keep her out for a few bells; she used a relatively potent mixture, but the wind scattered  most of it.
“Hide her and replace her for now,†she gently lifted the sentry before the eye of the entity and with a whirling noise, the entity mirrored the image of the sentry. “You heard her voice before she slept, correct?†“Of course, Mistressssss,†the entity-sentry replied with a flirtatious statement, and posed in its illusionary Xaela body in a manner like a miqo’te. “I’ll beeee sure to give any onlookers my EYE-catching charms.†The cloaked figure almost brought her right hand up to her face, “Do not talk much. I doubt the girl behaves in a manner as depraved as you.†The not-girl dropped to the ground in a overdramatic display of ‘despair’, “I’m so harmed, Mistress!â€
————————
While relatively calm, the camp was still full of activity, just as her tribe, recalled through the fog of her past. She had cloaked herself in a illusionary ninjutsu, facilitated by a modified glamour prism. However, her training still made her cautious and she shifted from shadow to shadow; keeping herself from the eyes of any. A certain yurt came into her view. She had learned of its location from easedropping on a few adventurers and Kahkol in the Toll, a old woman and a fearful child. She could also sense remnants of Qaratai’s aether in the area, a frequency that she had obsessively been attuned.
She had a idea who the old woman was. While a lingering emotion swept over her, her eyes remained focus under her visor. The woman was the past, and Qaratai the future, as her hands moved down into her poncho. A small clicking sound can be heard as one of her magitek implants activated, and she approached the yurt. As a strong wind blows, she approaches the tent, masking her aetheric presence; a small fearful boy emerged, glancing around.
She froze, was she spotted? But the boy’s paranoid eyes moved past her and with a squeak the boy fled the tent. In that instant, Chakha moved; swiftly entering the tent as the flap closed. Inside the tent, she froze. A old Xaela woman worked at a mortar, mixing herbs and minerals into paints by which to express her tribe’s inner selves. The figure subconsciously tugged at a pouch holding memories of her past, but refocused. Another modified prism - while others were attuned to light, this one was modified to use sound - creating a temporary bubble that reflected sound aether from the outside and from the inside - a useful, if not expensive tool for a infiltrator.  No one outside the tent would hear what is going on in the tent, and no one in the tent could hear outside, but this seemed sufficient. The old woman was sighing and mumbling to herself about a hopeless ‘Jurj’, the word triggered a sense of familiarity, but she could not recall. She hesitated for a second, then drew her black daggers and…
————————
A mechanical-sounding voice could be heard, “I have you now, old woman.†The heavily wrapped and disguised figure astride the old woman with her daggers at the latter’s throat, the dim-red light of the magitek visor glowing in the shadows of the yurt. “I have questions for you.†The mortar that the old woman was mixing flew into the air, and bonked the cloaked figure, who remained composed as pink paint spilled all over her wrappings.
Tsenkher gasps at the suddenness of it all. Of all the things she expected this sun, one was not a tiny, angry ninja. She lifts her head a bit as the blades near her neck. She lets out a couple of dry coughs as she inhales after the gasp. “What in the name of Khar?! Who are you?!â€
The cloaked figure remained silent, before pushing them closer. “Who I am is irrelevant,†the figure rasped mechanically. “I am here to inquire. About one ‘Zanzan Yanzan.â€
Tsenkher grows a scowl. Her eyes narrow. “Then you are in the wrong place. I know little about that Lalafell. Of all the people you would ask, you come here to ask me? How do you even know that I know about him? Hm?â€
“Because he has been seen in the company of a woman. A woman related to you. Who came to this camp and went to YOU!†the figure hissed.
“Qaratai. That is her name. No one else visits me. But it sounds like you should be asking her questions… Or do you only threaten old women and the weak?†Tsenkher speaks calmly, but there is unease and tension in her voice.
“Qaratai…,†the figure giggled, the mechanical sound scratching into the voice as if the individual’s voice box was metal. “Zanzan Yanzan is not what she believes. The Zanzan has those who met it in its thrall. It’s ever grinning smile a illusion,†the figure giggles again, and let her daggers slip a little loose from the old woman, while a dark scale-covered tail is briefly seen flickering out of her wrappings. The figure stops and looks down on the old woman, her visor glaring in the dark, “Something the matter?†it almost tauntingly states.
“I am not sure what Zanzan has done to you, but he enthralls no one. If he could not impress me, he could hardly be called enthralling. What has the boy done to anger you? Or have they angered the Garleans?â€
The figure giggled, “We desires knowledge. The Zanzan is a unique being. A being that cannot be tolerated to exist.†She moved the right dagger closer, while sheathing her other with a swish. “That woman is attracted to him, despite this. Therefore the Zanzan must be a unique being. Yes.†Her tail lashes again, “I stabbed and injected him with poison, but it is quite resilient. Mayhap I should investigate his ‘thrall’,†she motioned as if to lick the blade, but remembering something, lashed her tail in annoyance, and moved the blade back into place near the old woman’s neck.
Tsenkher’s scowl returns, or that is just how her old face looks; it is hard to tell… “You are troubled, girl. The boy is little more than a common shaman who cannot face every color of this world yet. Hardly unique.†She pauses. “If by thrall, you mean my Qaratai, you need not investigate her. She will be looking for you once she sees what you did to the man who gave her a home in this spirits-forsaken land. What are you after? Why Zanzan? You want to kill demons, there are plenty -real- ones.â€
“So she is coming after me? How delightful.†The figure giggled once more, “The Zanzan is a faker. A false one. It cannot be allowed to live. Two souls exist within it, it is a abomination against nature. It is a resident of the void.†The figure stopped and a atmosphere of glee could be felt, “I’v… We’ve been waiting for that.†The figure looked down at the old woman, “Demons and voidsent, they go about their business, as thralls and masters. Qaratai is no demon, but she feels like one. Entrapping yet entrapped.†She giggles once more and shifts position so that she would be directly facing the old woman, while still pressing her down.
Tsenkher is quiet for a moment. She looks at the girl as if she does not know what to make of her. “Do demons give their thralls homes, horses, food, gil, freedom and friends? Qaratai is stronger than she ever has been. In little time she is a warrior far above what her father ever was. She is no thrall, and has even walked away from Zanzan when she wanted some time away from him. No demon would give her these things. No demon would allow her these things.â€
The old woman lets out an exhale then coughs a couple times. She could hardly believe she was defending that little man. Her expression remains fixed even as her eyes wander a bit. She wasn’t pleased to have the knife at her neck, but outwardly showed little fear.
“So you think. Give them air to breathe before plunging them back down.†The figure looked down, “There are many great warriors in this realm, from the Bull to the Claw, but they find themselves bowed to greater powers.†The figure lashed its tail once more, “And I wouldn’t look for help, no one is coming. No one can hear us in this place. I made sure of that.â€
Tsenkher gives up on trying to argue. Her eyes just look back to Chackha. “You are the only demon I see. Trying to scare me? Trying to use your weapons to get me to say what you want to hear? Girl, threaten someone with more time in this world. I will join the spirits soon regardless of your daggers.†She growls.
“Are you some lost Xaela, broken and abandoned by the Garleans who took you from your tribe, or are you a Dotharl; unwilling to let go of an old war, and looking for any excuse to fight what is left of the Hotgo?â€
The figure remained silent. Suddenly, a giggle could be heard. Then a laugh. A honest, if not slightly deranged laugh, “For a old one, you do not see nor know much.†The figure chuckled mechanically once more, “The Empire never took me, they saved me. They showed me the truth of strength.†The figure sat on the old lady like the latter was a cushion, “The tribe you speak of was never strong, it was weak. It was why it died.†The figure stopped and continued in an amused tone, “The Dotharl thought they were strong, but they ran as any vermin when the Empire ‘pacified’ them from the skies. How much in vain they waved their little spears and arrows against magitek machina.†She giggled in a semi-deranged manner, and moved her free hand towards her face.
Tsenkher widens her eyes. Some of the air is taken out of her lungs when she is sat upon. “Truth of strength?! This is what they taught you? To threaten old women? To try and kill tiny men?†She manages to speak despite it being hard to breathe now. She lets out several rough coughs. “You poor girl…†She struggles out. “Which one of those two tribes were you from?†The girl’s age could hardly be seen, but Tsenkher did not remember any female warriors amongst the Dotharl attackers. “Which family…†She coughs. “Which Hotgo family are you from?†It is a guess, but a logical one.
The figure laughed, “So close, yet so far.†The figure looked down, her dagger wavering for a second, but a psychotic sensibility returned to her, “Tribes are meaningless, I am nothing now. But you might know, since there, weren’t you, old woman. So many of us, but they found us all at once. They killed the men, but took their time with the women.â€
She giggled psychotically, “They really enjoyed their time with me, but they were distracted. Next sun, the Empire found me.†Her voice wavered off, “I helped them, I was always good at watching, you know. If I only had been awake. But the past is the past, isn’t it. I found their camp and watched it burn. I’ve burned so many things, done so many things, threatening old women is just another.â€
Her visor seems to refocus, “And I’ve been around many other little people, little men. I’ve watched them kill entire families for the sake of gil and have tea to discuss it. after. I done some of the killing myself.†She stated as if fondly remembering something.
“Finding pride in such things only hides your guilt.†She coughs. “Laughter tries to cover your pain. A Dotharl saved me. One of the very men who were supposed to all be monsters. He helped me survive, he helped me find Qaratai.†She pants for a few moments; trying to catch some breath. “All the Garlean taught you was to paint the world in two colors. Black and white.â€
“And red,†she responded dryly. “Passion, which burns into the present....", she giggled once more, "I cannot paint anymore. The soul is gone and the spirits have died. BUT I have no guilt for what I did. Nor do I care. I will eliminate the fake one, that Zanzan, and then Qa…. I shall all be FREE.â€
She regards the panting old woman, and shifts her body slightly up, allowing for some space, but still retaining a degree of restraint. “It feels like our time is coming to an end, the demon is skilled, but more competent warriors should be returning by now.†She chuckled with a slight mechanical rasp, although a glimmer of voice flickers through.
Tsenkher takes in a relieved inhale, but doesn’t show much relief in her expression. “You will only hurt one of the last Hotgo. You will not free her, you will be declaring war on her.†She speaks a bit more quietly and sullenly. “You will trap her spirit in the same misery yours is trapped in.†She turns her gaze on Chakha.
The figure silently eyes the old woman and sheaths the dagger, while regarding the old woman. With a click, a soft, perhaps familiar, voice flickered through, “We shall see, bothersome -Emee-“
She brings her hands together and with a flash of light and smoke, disappears from the tent. Noise from the outside suddenly can be heard, although mostly the sounds of wildlife and weather.
Tsenkher slowly sits up. She stares at the exit of the tent for a long moment. However, without a word, she picks up the spilled container of paint, and begins to fill it with ingredients again. Her expression betrays nothing, but as she begins grinding the materials, a single tear rolls down her cheek. It looks like she could only save one of her granddaughters.
