GLORY AND GORE | pumpkins

[aine.]

[align=center]— aine | the pitt | fae druid —

Splashes of orange and gold.  Crisp flavors in the air.  The petite vixen reigned an autumn child, enthused by the shift in seasons, albeit muted by the jungle.  Her own, vibrant hazel hues noticed decorations and caught strange smells on the breeze.  Sweet.

Her father's instructions to grow something specific caught her off-guard.  A request unasked of her before.  Yet he had prepared.  Seeds already in the ground.  Dark paws shifting uneasily on the grass, she did as he requested.  A difficult task.  Most of the plants growing in her garden had been dug out by the roots and carried to their new home.  Not grown by her abilities.

Spurred on by her father, stubborn to succeed, the child grew perhaps one too many of the pumpkins to maturity.  Shaky paws and blurry eyes.  Soon she was simply tumbling after her father and his efforts to move the great, round plants, wondering what exactly he had planned.

When their entire yield sat within the marketplace, Aine rocked on her paws, watching Gael.  "Carve?" She analyzed the pumpkins she brought to life, brows creased in confusion.  Carve.  Cut into?  Sounded kind of mean to the plants.  Her ears flicked back.

But he had asked her to choose one.  Frowning, the vixen leaned towards one of the smaller, round pumpkins.  An orange as vibrant as her fur.  "I like this one, da. … Do we 'ave to cut into it?"

"Are we givin' the others to everyone else?" She inquired, voice brightening.  Her eyes gleamed curiously.  That would explain moving them all to the marketplace.  Well.  That was nice.  But she still didn't understand what her father meant by carve.

— I'll come back when you call me —