► 009.

[culver]

[nill is in her and heine's room, sitting on her bed. she's cradling her comm in her hands, and it's directed at the bedside table. on that table is a small pile of white feathers. she lets the camera sit on them for a moment before turning it to herself. her wings are tucked back behind her, though the tops of them look a bit ragged. at least she isn't terrified this time. she still remembers the first time she molted and how scared she was. but now she just looks tired, her hair tied up with the golden ribbon sansa gave her so long ago to keep her hair from catching any smaller feathers.]

If anyone needs feathers for anything let me know. There are only a few now but there will be more.

And hello to anyone new from the last jump. I am Nill. If you need help with something please let me know. I will do my best to help.

Comments

[wolfdreamer]

[Nill is not a lady in title, but she carries herself the way a lady might--or else a girl learning to be a lady. When she wears dresses, it is most obvious. Bran smiles at her, dressed so finely, and raises his hand in greeting.]

I am glad to see you, Nill.

[Summer twists under that patting, equally pleased. He snuffles at Nill's wrist, and then turns his head, abruptly, as if satisfied with what he has smelled.]

Have you been well?

[culver]

[She waves back with her free hand, smiling gently. Her belief had been right--seeing Bran and Summer had instantly lifted her mood. She can forget about being tired and having a bloody nose this morning. For a little while, at least.

Summer gets one final pat before she drops her arms to her sides, nodding. Well enough, she supposes. She inclines her head at him a bit to reciprocate the question, shuffling a bit back into the room, an invitation for Bran to follow. She isn't sure if Summer will fit as well, but there's no harm in him curling up in the middle of the floor, she supposes.]

[wolfdreamer]

[But Bran solves the question of space by laying a hand on Summer's shoulder, gently.]

Stay out here, Summer, and guard the door.

[He smiles again at Nill, as the direwolf settles down with a little sigh.]

He will watch out for us. He's good at that--and he won't make a mess of your feathers. Sometimes in the gardens he chases leaves, just as he did when he was smaller. He might mistake the feathers for leaves.

[culver]

[Her lips part as she exhales slightly--a silent laugh. The thought of Summer chasing leaves, no matter his size, is one she enjoys. Considering a direwolf cute may seem hard to some, but not for Nill. They protect Bran and his family, so she might be a little desensitized to them.

She shuffles further into the room, glad that she keeps their room clean. A feather falls from one of her wings as she turns, but she quickly ducks down to grab it and moves to add it to her ever growing pile.]

[wolfdreamer]

[He follows her into the room--and his eyes widen when he sees the pile that she has already gathered.]

There are already so many. Will there be many more, do you think? How large did the pile get last year?

[And, studying them, he looks over at her with a small smile.]

They are very pretty.

[culver]

[She looks at the pile for a few moments before shrugging and cupping her hands around the feathers in the air to show how much she remembered from last year. She hadn't collected them all--she had been too frightened of what was happening. But she could estimate.

A smile flits over her face briefly and her wings shift behind her. Another feather falls, but she doesn't notice.]

[wolfdreamer]

That many?

[It seems impossible to believe--but right there, before his eyes, another feather falls. Bran crouches to retrieve it, and goes to add it to the pile--but hesitates.]

Can I have this one?

[culver]

[Nill turns to make a gesture, but pauses when she sees him holding the feather. Her wings ruffle, but she smiles and cocks her head. Of course he can keep it. She reaches out to gently touch his hand, and nods. He can have as many of them as he wants--she certainly doesn't want or need them.]

[wolfdreamer]

[His face feels a little warmer when she touches his hand--but perhaps that's only the room, and nothing else. He curls his fingers around the feather that he's holding, smiling down at it, because he dare not lift his eyes to Nill, not just yet. She might see the flush on his cheeks and think him a stupid child.]

Thank you. I want this one, because I saw it fall for myself. The first one I saw fall. I would like to remember that.

[And he finally dares to glance at her again, with a smile, before he studies the pile of feathers once more.]

Do you think there are any more beautiful than the others? Or do you think them all the same? I want to give one to my mother, and one to my sister.

[culver]

[She thinks it's strange, that he'd want to keep it just because he saw it, but who is she to judge what Bran wants? They're from different worlds--perhaps watching a feather fall means something more to him than it does her. In any case, she is glad to let him have it. If people don't take them, she'll likely end up throwing them away.

His question catches her off guard, and she needs to ponder for a moment. Are some prettier than others? To her, they're all the same--a reminder of what was done to her and so many other children in her world. But Bran doesn't know that. Nobody on the ship except Betty knew that and she's gone. Only Heine and Nill know the truth now, and for the time being that's how they want to keep it.

So the blonde reaches out, spreading a few of the feathers for him to see. Some are perfectly round, smooth, and unspoiled; others fluffier and terribly soft; one or two have already been broken or have some blood on the tips from where pinfeathers pushed them out of her wings. She moves a bit to the side, gesturing for him to look.]

[wolfdreamer]

[The ones with the blood at the tips--he touches them, gently--but passes over them quickly. Blood means pain--pain for Nill, and a reminder of pain for Mother, and for Arya. There are painful things that they all must face, but there should be less pain for the three of them. Yet all of the feathers are still beautiful, in their way, and Bran considers them all in turn. He sees only beauty, when he looks at Nill, the same beauty in a white dove or a fox out running on the plain. Someone else might say a girl with wings is strange, beautiful but strange--but Bran is the winged wolf. He must have winged friends, too.

After careful consideration of the feathers, he selects two: one round and unspoiled, the other small and fluffy.]

These two.

[He holds them out to her, so she can see.]

If Sansa were still here, I would give her one like this--larger than the others, and perfect. Sometimes, when she was younger and we went on picnics, she braided feathers in her hair. I will give this one to Mother instead--and Arya will have the smaller one, so she can keep it hidden away. She will like that, I think.

[culver]

[Though she doesn't mean to, Nill pays close attention to the way he examines her feathers. It's strange to her to see someone taking such care around them--she is simply used to them and she thinks Heine tries to ignore them. To everyone else, she thinks, they're an anomaly, something to admire but not really something to consider. But Bran is considering, and it makes her feel... almost proud. Proud that it matters to him.

She's never felt like that about her wings before.

The feathers he's chosen are nice in their own way, she supposes. She admit that to herself at least. And as he tells her about why he wants to give each one to his mother and sister, she finds herself nodding. Though she does not know either of them well yet, she thinks that his choices are fitting. Nill smiles for him, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to dispel some of the itching that accompanies molting. He's chosen well, she decides. She gestures with her hands, indicating that it's alright for him to take them both.]

[wolfdreamer]

Thank you.

[It isn't so strange, talking to Nill, even though she can't talk back. She is expressive in other ways, in smiles and gestures and movements--harder to read, sometimes, and sometimes Bran wishes he could hear what her voice would sound like--but only sometimes, because her movements are her voice. Light, and small, and bright.

He tucks the feathers away, but he still smiles over at the pile that are left behind.]

There are pirates in the Summer Islands that wear cloaks made of feathers. How do you think they stitch them together?

[culver]

[Nill has never wondered that, funnily enough. She's never bothered to think about "what might have beens" and "what ifs." They seem like a waste of time. Her past defines her, and trying to change that is useless. Thinking about the future was never something she was good at anyway.

Her brows raise as she actually considers this. She doesn't know much about sewing, even though she tries hard for Heine. He isn't about to sew up the holes in his jackets and shirts, after all. Contemplative, she picks up a feather and examines it for a moment before gently tapping on the quill. It's sturdy, she thinks. It might hold up to a needle and thread.]

[wolfdreamer]

It seems silly, to wear a shirt made of feathers. It wouldn't help you to fly, unless it was enchanted--and even then, a shirt of feathers is not as good as real wings.

[He gives Nill's wings a quick glance of admiration.]

Have many people asked to take feathers from you?

[culver]

[That is certainly something she has to agree with. A shirt of feathers doesn't seem like it would do anyone much good. It also seems like it might be itchy. She frowns a bit just thinking about it.

But the expression is gone at his question, replaced with a shy smile. She gestures to him; he's the only one, so far. Nobody else has really asked. Not that she's offended, or anything. Not many people had use for feathers on this ship, as far as she's aware.]

[wolfdreamer]

Really? But they are so beautiful--

[He presses his finger against one of the small and fluffy feathers, enjoying the way it feels.]

If no one takes them, then we must think of something to do with them. We won't make shirts, but we can make something else. Do you think there will be enough to make a pillow?

[culver]

[Bran is so good at making her feel better about herself, though she doesn't think he realizes it. Honestly, he never should; that would require him to know how she had gotten her wings in the first place. So for now she accepts his compliment as it is, not thinking too much about how sad it could make her.

A small smile comes to her face, and she holds her hands about three inches apart. A very small pillow, she thinks. But not one that any person could use.]

[wolfdreamer]

[He nods, thoughtfully, studying the dimensions that she has measured out with her hands.]

Too small for a person. But it could be used as a decoration. Or we could take some of the larger ones and make quills, to write with. Have you written with a quill and ink before?

[And then, another idea occurs to him--]

Or the fletching on arrows! Not the small ones, they would be too light--but the larger ones might work!

[culver]

[She shakes her head--no, she's never used a quill. Then again, she didn't really write much before coming here. But it's when he mentions arrows that Nill perks up. She's never seen a real arrow, only read about them and seen pictures in books. But if her feathers could be used to make one, then she thinks that would be pretty neat. Immediately, she moves over to the pile and begins to sort out the larger ones from the smaller. Clearly he can take them right now if he wants.]