[center][h2][color=9F84FF]꒒ꌦꋊꋊ[/color][/h2]
[sup]Addressing [@Overlord Thraka][/sup][/center]
You'd think one so accustomed to traveling and odd sights would cease to be amazed at peculiar and wonderous places. Not so; if anything, Lynn feels like she's only gained a greater appreciation for the world as she's gotten older. Four years ago, she was terrified of what was outside the city walls. and it had taken her more than a few months to gather the courage to leave the place. Liva was an oppressive city, always more of a prison than a home, but it was familiar; the outside was vast and unknown and terrifying. It was only after Pietro was born that she realized the walls she was surrounding herself with, and how easily she could leave them behind. 

Taking that first step was the hardest thing she'd ever done. And yet the best thing she'd ever done. 

Now, four years later, Lynn is discovering she's more of an explorer than she had imagined--to say nothing of Pietro! Her little boy loves the road. Even as a baby, he would stare, transfixed, at the scenery as it passed by, and break into babbling whenever something new came into view. And now, as a 6-year-old, he treats the world as his playground, his endless curiosity somewhat satiated by the endless variety of his life. The amount of languages he's picked up in the last few years has made Lynn wish her childhood experience was similar, but…

Lynn half-sighs, half-chuckles. She can't dwell on the past; she's much too old for that. She stands up from her seat at the back of the wagon, setting aside the sunhat she'd been weaving for Pio out of some old straw. Despite the wealth of materials in the Emerald Forest, she feels oddly hesitant to harvest any of them, for food or for her own projects. It feels like the caravan is trespassing; she doesn't want to add robbery to that list of crimes. 

Everything here feels like a warning sign, from the odd sickness to calls of the wildlife. Even the green of the forest is blinding and unnatural instead of deep and calming. She can't help but think the Livans would appreciate the color, at least for the first few minutes. Then they'd get bored and move on. 

Lynn has to admit, she's bored of it too. She's already spent hours on her latest weaving project and taking care of Pio. He is showing symptoms too, and Lynn has him wrapped in a blanket in the back of the wagon, where it is shady and cool. She milked Dolma, the yak that pulls their wagon, this morning. Even she seems agitated; usually the yak is docile and patient, but since entering the forest, she won't stop fussing.

Speaking of which. 

With a loud bump, the slow-moving wagon stops abruptly, and Dolma gives a panicked grunt. The wagon must be stuck on something again, and so Lynn goes to investigate. Sure enough, there's a large tangle of roots stopping the wagon wheel from turning. Lynn puffs her cheeks out and gathers up the long hem of her dress. Looks like pushing is the only way.

After a few minutes of effort, Lynn has accomplished nothing but working up a sweat and removing her gray shawl. She usually doesn't like being this exposed, even if her dress is modest, but the air here is sharp and yet stuffy, and the day has become hot. 

[color=9F84FF]"Excuse me,"[/color] she calls, to nobody in particular, but noticing a figure in an imposing helmet with a very helpful amount of muscle. [color=9F84FF]"Can somebody help me move my wagon?"[/color]