Oak sat down, as Raven
had commanded, looking for all the world like a child that had had
his toys confiscated. Such a forlorn figure, I almost giggled.
“Now,” Raven began,
addressing him, “It matters little what you think of me, but know
this: Whatever I have done, I have always served the Forest.”
“You have a funny way
of showing it,” Oak countered. “Wandering off into the Weave
when you feel like it,” he pointed at the Nomad, “Inviting its'
creatures to stay in the Warp. What else have you done in your
“service” to the Forest?”
Quite unexpectedly, the
Nomad coughed, a funny little hiccuping noise. Its' calm face
creased up in consternation, eyebrows locking into a frown. Its'
eyes darted left and right, confusion settling in across its'
features.
“I....” it began to
say, but a face appeared in its' mouth. It closed its' mouth, but a
tiny arm pushed through between those lips, quickly followed by a
second.
