EIGHT. [Action]
[Ah, how tragic! Fenimore has been cast from her home by her closest friend, banished to wander through Luceti alone! Oh woe! Oh, the injustice!
...Oh, it's her birthday. And that friend is making preparations to celebrate it. So Fenimore took the gentle hinting to leave the house for a while with a knowing grin and left cheerfully enough.
Afternoon finds her engaged in the rather difficult practice of trying to skip stones on a moving river in the forest, just out of sight of the northernmost houses. At first, she's putting in a good effort, sorting through stones along the back and attempting/failing to match her old personal records when she would skip stones on calmer surfaces. But, as time wears on, she slowly loses her enthusiasm, seemingly preoccupied. Eventually, her stones, chosen almost at random, end up sinking with a rather pathetic plop on the first throw as she tosses them in lackluster movements.
Well, whatever's on her mind, she's starting to get distracted from it as she notices the way the fish keep looking at her about half the time a stone splashes into the river. She's particularly weirded out by the warbling that usually accompanies it, the sound muffled enough to be almost at the edge of hearing. It might sound a little like how a trumpet might sound were it played underwater.
She tosses a stone experimentally.
Plop. bwuUh bWAa bwAaAaaAAaaaAaAAaauglub.
...This place is weird.]
...Oh, it's her birthday. And that friend is making preparations to celebrate it. So Fenimore took the gentle hinting to leave the house for a while with a knowing grin and left cheerfully enough.
Afternoon finds her engaged in the rather difficult practice of trying to skip stones on a moving river in the forest, just out of sight of the northernmost houses. At first, she's putting in a good effort, sorting through stones along the back and attempting/failing to match her old personal records when she would skip stones on calmer surfaces. But, as time wears on, she slowly loses her enthusiasm, seemingly preoccupied. Eventually, her stones, chosen almost at random, end up sinking with a rather pathetic plop on the first throw as she tosses them in lackluster movements.
Well, whatever's on her mind, she's starting to get distracted from it as she notices the way the fish keep looking at her about half the time a stone splashes into the river. She's particularly weirded out by the warbling that usually accompanies it, the sound muffled enough to be almost at the edge of hearing. It might sound a little like how a trumpet might sound were it played underwater.
She tosses a stone experimentally.
Plop. bwuUh bWAa bwAaAaaAAaaaAaAAaauglub.
...This place is weird.]