The sun shone down brightly on a ratty little tent sitting just on the edge of the Thunder Woods, wind gently tugging at the flap to expose the black interior. A fire was already burning brightly out in front of it, the morning peaceful air only cut by the raging whistle of a kettle already brought to boil. Soon enough a boy emerged from out of the tent, young and lean, wrapped in a red shawl. He quickly made his way over to the kettle, wrapping his hand in the shawl to lift it off the rocks, before opening a tin can and scooping a dark brown powder into the water. Then he resealed the kettles and put it back on the hot rocks before catching a smell wafting out of the tent. His head jerked up and he dashed back inside. 

He emerged later with a plate of slightly burned pancakes, a mug, and a saucer, and set the lot down beside a log he recommissioned as a seat the previous night to grab the kettle off the rock, which he just as quickly released with a yelp. He grabbed it using the shawl next time and, after cheeking the contents, plopped down on the log and poured the rich dark liquid within into the saucer and the mug. He set the saucer to the side and brought the mug up to his lips.

From the edges of the shawl little wriggling lights began to emerge, a whole swarm of them dancing around in the air as a sickly sweet scene began to fill the air. A few members of the swarm twirled down to the saucer, alighting around the edge and placing what passed for their heads into it causing small ripples to spread out over its surface. There came a whispering from the swarm, a gaggle of small and barely audible voices centered around the boys head as he set his own mug down. "I know it tastes like fish." he said gently. The whispering continued on as he grabbed one of the cakes off the plate and took a bite out of it. "We're out of cream." he said, throwing one of the cakes into the air. The remainder of the swarm ascended to catch it, swooping around and hiding it from view. By the time any of it reached the ground there were only crumbs, and even then the little things buried their heads greedily amid the undergrowth to search the out. The whispering grew louder. "We're out of syrup." He replied, throwing another pancake into the air. He leaned back to watch her go at this, minds eye looking far past her. They were out of a lot of things.

The knocking brought him back to attention. He snapped forward, looking into the forest. He could barely make out something grey coming out of the forest. At first he thought it was somebody wearing armor. Like some kind of medieval knight. That wasn't too surprising, considering the warrior women that'd already come this way earlier in the morning. No, though. This was different. Something about the way the stranger was moving wasn't right. Then he saw...well, he wasn't sure. Like a tin man. Or maybe something wearing the face of a man.

He made to dive back inside, but felt a thousand little hands on the neck of his collar. He stopped on instinct more than anything. "Come on Aerial, we don't know if that's a spirit folk or nothing. It wearing a face. At least let me get the gun." The hands held firm their grip, and the whispering began again. Gentler, comforts flowing into his ears. "He ain't?" He asked. The whispers intensified and he looked down. She was right. If they wanted to lead a carefree life he couldn't jump at every shadow in a beautiful place like this. Why had they come to Freeplaynia, if not because it seemed like a place you could live a carefree life? You couldn't do that, pointing guns at your neighbors.

The metal man would find the boy sitting on his log, shaking only a little. "H-h-h-hey." He said, like he had a frog wedged in his throat. "Morning. I'm new. A-a-around here, I mean. I just moved. I'm Ariel." He seemed to wither in the thing presence. He grabbed the kettle and thrust it out toward him. "Coffee? It's not any good, but its fresh. My dad said you should always be kind to other travelers."

[@Serious Face]