9. Dividing Blood: Boredom Busters

YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!! I FINALLY FINISHED ANOTHER CHAPTER!!! @Batwhacker the Freedom Fighter ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ @Lili Shakespeare (FF and FAR) HEREURE!!!

Janner had finally begun to relax. They were out of the Strander camp, thanks to Nurgabog’s help, and now huddled in a dimly lit hideout that smelled of damp earth and old wood. Podo and Oscar had left to make arrangements for their safe passage, leaving the children and Nia in the cavernous, secretive space beneath the city.

The air was thick with dust motes, swirling in the flickering lantern light, and though the hideout was relatively safe, it was also terribly dull. The walls bore marks of past inhabitants—scratched-out words, strange symbols, and deep gouges where something, or someone, had been desperate to leave a sign of their existence.

"I'm bored," Tink whined, immediately regretting it when Nia's sharp gaze fixed on him.

Nia smiled, though the look in her eyes told him she wouldn’t allow idleness. “THAGS, get them out. Janner, journal what has happened up until now. Leeli, teach Rebekah—it will help you review the basics and make sure you are still doing them right. Kalmar, draw a picture of home.”

The children groaned softly but obeyed, settling into their tasks. For a while, the only sounds in the hideout were the scratching of Janner’s quill, the soft murmurs of Leeli’s teaching, and Kalmar’s charcoal rubbing against parchment. Tink, stuck with THAGS, occasionally muttered under his breath as he worked through the exercises, frustration evident in his furrowed brows.

"I thought you said you knew these tunnels!"

"I do! I've not been down 'ere in about fifty years, that's all!"

"Well, I am decently, that is to say not at all, assured by that!"

After an hour or two, the initial focus began to wear off. Even Nia had to admit that THAGS could only entertain restless children for so long. Slowly, their diligence faded, and one by one, they abandoned their tasks. Tink took out his pocketknife and began carving small figures into the wooden beams, his fingers deftly whittling away splinters. Janner, no longer writing, idly flipped through the pages of the First Book, eyes glazing over as exhaustion crept in. Kalmar’s picture of home had begun as a faithful rendition of their cottage, but now a pair of wolves had appeared in the background, looming near the trees. He stared at the image for a long time, running his fingers over the lines of the creatures' sharp eyes.

Leeli, sensing the shift, turned her attention to Rebekah. The girl had been quietly observing, her expression unreadable, but the way she sat—perfectly still, hands folded—betrayed her thoughts.

“Bekah?” Leeli’s voice was gentle, inviting.

Rebekah met her gaze with steady clarity, her expression clearly saying: I know what you want to talk about, and it's okay to talk about.

Nia, sitting nearby, shifted closer. “You surpris—what made you decide now was the time to release your words?” Her voice was soft, carefully measured.

Rebekah didn't respond verbally, but something in her steady, unwavering look told the whole story: It was important.

Nia pressed further, her voice even gentler. “Now that you have spoken once, can we expect to hear your voice more often?”

For a moment, Rebekah hesitated, her expression clouded with uncertainty. Then her features settled into quiet resolve. Words have only the power you give them. I'd prefer mine to be known as important to listen to.

Leeli tilted her head thoughtfully. “That makes sense. And really, we can understand you just fine without words. Your eyes tell us everything we need to know… even jokes!”

At that, Rebekah’s lips curled slightly, the barest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes gleamed with a silent, laughing light.

Kalmar snorted. “Yeah, I think you’ve got a better glare than Nia.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Nia interjected, her expression wry. “I’ve had years of practice.”

The group erupted into laughter, their voices bouncing off the cavern walls, filling the space with something warmer than just torchlight. The weight of boredom and tension eased, at least for the moment. And in that quiet, secret place beneath the city, they found solace in shared mirth and unspoken understanding.

YAY!!! As always, please review and tell me what you think!!! Question: Do you guys notice your own writing styles changing with the hour? For me my writing style varies depending on my mood, whether I was patient enough to use quotation marks or not, and what book I read earlier in the day.