♛ The Prince, ⚔ the Soldier, & the Gifted ☀ #2

[~Teya~]

ՏԱИѺГѦ:
Chapter three

Ѧs Sunora maneuvered throughout the loose, unstable rock and metal beams, she paused for a moment, attempting to zero in on the viscets somewhere under the ruins. She could feel them—their emotions, that is. Everyone was scared and confused, or even angry, and who wouldn’t be? She sure would be if a building toppled to the ground with her in it. Perking her ears, their emotions became slightly stronger as she moved forward, standing directly under a splintered wooden door. Using all of her strength, she struggled to remove the door on top of the remains of a tile floor. A small, fist-sized hole appeared when she did, however, and in it she could hear the voices.
“We’re down here!” one viscet exclaimed through the hole in relief.
“Help is on the way, is anyone hurt badly down there?” Sunora asked as calm as she could manage, scanning her surroundings until her eyes met with a piece of sharp steel.
“My friend, Jase, isn’t looking so good,” one voice replied immediately, a strained cough sounding afterwards.
“Don’t you worry,” Sunora began comfortingly, heading towards the metal bar and pulling it from the ground, before going back to the opening. “All of you will be out soon. Please move out of the way, though, this could get messy,” with that, she slammed her whole body weight on one of the edges of the hole; barely making a dent. Trying again, a crack rang through the still air, the sheer force of slamming the metal onto the rigid ground rattling her bones to their core. Yet, the hole stayed the same. After a few minutes of repeated, heavy swinging of the metal with little change, Sunora huffed, plopping down next to the hole in defeat.
“It’s okay,” a female voice murmured, “it’s impossible, we know—we work on this stuff.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry,”
“Don’t be,”
No one said a word for awhile, she was too tired and they were probably too. It didn’t help that she could sense their disappointment, and pain. Not physically, no—but it mind as well have been.
“Say,” one viscet remarked, breaking the silence, “although I can barely see you, I think I know who you are,” they grew increasingly excited. “Are you Sunora, the gifted one?” they asked, many murmurs suddenly surging in the hole. She paused, laying her back against some uneven concrete and ignoring how uncomfortable it was.
“Yeah . . . that’s me,” she replied hesitantly, staring down at her dark purple, galaxy-esk paws unnatural to this world.
“Oh please, can you tell us about yourself? I’ve never talked to a real celebrity before!” one voice begged above a collection of curious whispers.
“Well,” Sunora’s voice trailed off, her cheeks turning a little red. “I don’t know what to talk about.”
“Anything?”
“That’s too general,” she countered, resting one paw on her chin.
“What about . . . where you came from,” one viscet ventured, tone low as if secretive. Sunora looked up at the grayish, dull sky, her features darkening.
“I never saw my home planet—it was destroyed right before I hatched.”
“Oh. Apologies,” the same viscet said, silence overtaking them again.
“Do you ever feel lonely, being the only one of your kind?” one viscet inquired. Sunora paused, contemplating their question.
“Yes,” Sunora began, her expression reflective. “But I’m never truly alone, not really.” She added, but her features stayed the same.
“Can you say anything about the Queen and Prince?” the female from earlier asked cautiously, trying to mask their obvious interest. A hint of a smile came across Sunora’s otherwise melancholy features.
“They’re wonderful viscets, I love them both to death,” she commented, picking at pebbles lodged in cement. “I’ve known Arath since I was just a girl—the whole royal family, for that matter,” she mused, the thoughtful smile leaving her. “Lately, though, they’ve just been so busy, and it’s understandable of course—considering all thats happened,” Sunora continued, her voice growing quiet, so she cleared her throat. “I just think they’re overworking it, especially Arathorn,”
“How so?”
She shrugged, not entirely sure how to respond without sounding entitled. “He’s always so busy, worried about the next thing. It’s not irregular for him to miss a meal or stay up all night working,”
“Ah,”
Sunora paused, wanting them desperately to understand. “I know it may sound silly, but he’s only eighteen, and he acts like he can do everything himself and it won’t ever come back to bite him, you know?” she added, expression grave. Maybe she was just overreacting.
“Yeah, I knew someone like that once,” one confessed, the viscet’s voice fizzling out.
“Do you know what happened to them?” she questioned hastily, leaning closer to the hole. Ears straightening, she could’ve sworn she heard debris falling from behind.
Jumping up, Sunora was greeted by a platoon of viscets; from citizens to soldiers, all coming to help. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Murlé who gave her a wave, his face plastered with a smug expression.
After pointing the viscets to where the survivors were trapped, she strolled over to Murlé. “What took you so long?” she questioned playfully.
“The traffic was killer,” he replied matter-a-factly, his smirk getting just a bit wider.

* * *

Once the viscets trapped were saved, Sunora and Murlé headed back. The sky became overtaken with a bright crimson as the sun started to set, draping their surroundings in rich color.
Soon the pair trudged their way down to the base, when Sunora saw a flash of coral pink in front of a few viscets straight ahead of her.
“Arathorn!” she exclaimed eagerly, pushing her way through the other viscets. Turning to face her, a stain of confusion came over his features.
“Hey sunshine,” Murlé said with a grin, “I hear you’ve been quite the daredevil Prince today; helping the other volunteers and everything—”
“How long have you two been here?” Arathorn questioned in a dry tone, looking at her in a way that made her feel like a child who had done something wrong. She glanced towards Murlé for a moment, and he gave her a weird look. She forced herself to meet with Arathorn’s eyes again, who still awaited her response.
“I . . . I mean, me and Murlé aided in the search for survivors,” she replied in an almost apologetic voice, shrinking internally under his pressing gaze.
“You two could’ve been hurt,” he countered, ears flattening.
“Well I’m sorry we wanted to help,” Murlé muttered with a tinge of bitterness, moving past Sunora. “I’ll meet you at the car,” he added, not giving Arathorn a second glance. Sunora paused, not at all in the mood to leave until she knew what was wrong. Trying to read her friend, it was . . . hard to explain. Arathorn turned to walk away.
“Arath,” Sunora abruptly blurted, causing him to stop, and slowly turn to meet her gaze again. She gulped. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he instantly replied, a sudden fear appearing in his pinkish green eyes. For some reason, she almost felt scared to press him.
“Arath,” she repeated, serious this time. His gaze fell to the ground.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you, and Murlé—it was unwarranted,” he began, shoving his paws into his navy blue jacket pockets. Sunora said nothing, keeping her eyes steady on him. “I uh,” he cleared his throat, “guess there’s no use hiding this from you,” Arath confessed, shrugging awkwardly. “I went out to look for survivors too, like Murlé hinted at,” he let out a half-hearted laugh to break the tension between the two, looking up at the darkening red sky. “Halfway through the search, a volunteer slipped on a steep piece of concrete, you see,” he faltered, taking a deep breath in, unable to return her surprised gaze. “She was unlucky, and fell right onto a piece of metal structuring.” Arathorn continued slowly, his voice shaky. Sucking in a breath, she kept dead silent. “By the time we rushed down to her, there was just . . . blood. Lots and lots of—blood,” he put a paw over his mouth, shaking his head. “I thought—I wished after what happened six months ago, I’d never have to see anything like that ever again.” His voice cracked, eyes beginning to glisten. “It brought it back. All of it, vividly.”
Sunora paused, taking a moment to process this. She hadn’t seen him like this . . . not since he had to order SSRC soldiers to take his own father away.
Swiftly wrapping Arathorn in a warm hug, he tensed beneath her, as if not expecting it. Softening, he returned her embrace, quivering slightly.
“I’m so sorry, Arath,” Sunora murmured, releasing him from the hug, although she’d rather not. He looked into her eyes searchingly.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Arathorn replied, a little confused. She turned her head away, that wasn’t true; not in her mind.
“I let you get to this point,” Sunora said in the same low tone, as if to herself. “You’re overworking yourself, Arath. You need a break,”
“What are you talking about? I’m fine—mother needs me,” he countered, taking a step back and suddenly defensive. She winced, sensing his frustration.
“Belleza can handle herself, she’s used to all this horrible pressure the public puts on her. You’re not.” Sunora said, her gaze unwavering and stern. Arathorn scoffed, his eyebrows furrowing with annoyance.
“I’ll get over it, I’m fine.” He muttered dismissively. Sunora knew this to be untrue. His strong emotions were all a jumbled wreck—like that of someone unstable. She'd rarely ever felt something like it before, let alone from him. Placing her paws firmly on Arathorn’s shoulders, she looked him straight in the eyes, forcing him to return her gaze.
“Arathorn, you need a break. Away from here, just for a day—now that can’t hurt, can it?”
Looking down into her stubborn eyes, his expression softened. “Alright, alright. If you promise to get off my case,” he said with a sigh, and Sunora smiled in return.
“It’s a deal.”

[Ranger of the North]

The trauma and is both nice and sore XD

[~Teya~]

The trauma and is both nice and sore XD

x'D

[~Teya~]

𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒜𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓃 𝒮𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒶:
Chapter four

𝒫lacing his paw on the door handle, Arathorn paused, looking back at his mother standing behind him.
“I really shouldn’t go, leaving you here to do everything by yourself, it just doesn’t seem right—”
Belleza held up her hand to silence his babbling before he could talk himself into staying. “Now, now. Arath, I wouldn’t think of you staying. In fact, I tend to agree with Sunora,” his mother said tentatively, her Queenly features sympathetic. His ears drooped, straightening his posture.
“Is it wrong for a son to worry about his mother?” he countered stubbornly. Belleza took a step forward, their eyes meeting.
“I believe the saying is the other way around,” she said in a soft, affectionate tone, adjusting his emerald green jacket with intricate golden embroidery like he was a kid again. “You may not believe this, but I’m just as afraid as you are. Do you think I’m not worried whenever you leave the palace? But that’s alright, fear is a core part of being alive. It’s time you went out there, with your friends, and had some fun.”
“I’m not afraid,” Arathorn mumbled, his gaze falling to the ground in thought. Belleza put one finger underneath his chin, letting out a chuckle.
“I know you’re not,” she replied, giving her son a reassuring wink. He smiled halfheartedly in response, opening one of the ornate palace doors leading outside.
“Bye, mom,” he said slowly, saving the moment. Reluctantly, he headed down the steps to the car waiting for him. The door popped open as he approached, the face of Sunora greeting him. Sliding into the backseat of the car, he took a deep, controlling breath in. A rush of anticipation filled him as the vehicle started up and they headed past the large iron gates, and as he turned to Sunora and Murlé next to him, Murlé spoke.
“Where are we goin’ anyways?” he asked curiously, twirling his black rimmed sunglasses through his fingers. A grin formed on Arathorn’s lips.
“Anywhere—anywhere you want,” he responded, eyes bright with enthusiasm as he looked out the window. As the car bumped over the start of the Azul bridge, they were now able to see the sheer size and beauty of the Azul ocean blazing with the sun’s golden rays. Sunora poked his shoulder playfully, turning to face her, he was almost caught off guard by how the sun reacted with her darker fur to make new, vibrant color.
“Are you still sour at me for making you take a day off?” she asked, her face lighting up with a pleased smile, and it almost seemed so did her unconventional markings. Now that he thought about it, there hadn’t been a whole lot for any of them to smile about until this very moment.

* * *

The streets were fairly quiet, leaves blew gently in the warm breeze as the occasional automobile drove by. As the trio strolled down to the center of a remote little town known as Judas, Arathorn noticed that the path of which they walked was made of what appeared to be crushed, multicolored shells. Quaint shops and other businesses lined each side of the road, some were decorated with intricately hand painted designs on their storefront windows, while others put their creative efforts into fancy signs that welcome new customers in. Sunora wandered towards a shop a few yards down, an antique shop from the looks of it; with a sign made entirely of shell and driftwood. She pushed the door open, the sweet ringing of a small bell meeting their ears from above the door as he and Murlé followed in after her.
“Good afternoon!” a cheery viscet called from behind the counter, half mindedly staring down at a clock as he fiddled with it. A strained ticking noise came from the worn timepiece, until the elderly viscet hit the clock in annoyance and it suddenly rewinded and began ticking normally. “Of course it only starts working again when I get mad at it,” he added with a chuckle, at that moment looking up. His eyes widened, almost tipping over the clock. As if in protest, it started ticking irregularly again.
“Apologies if we scared you,” Arathorn remarked with a nervous laugh, holding his hand out to the man. The viscet paused, clearing his throat as he removed the glove from one of his hands.
“Ah! No trouble at all,” he stammered, shaking Arathorn’s hand, his brown eyes still glowing with amazement. “I’m Oliu, if—if you were wondering,”
“It’s a pleasure, Oliu,” Arath replied with a smile, blushing a little with embarrassment. Oliu grinned back, especially when Arathorn had said his name.
“Mind if we look around?” Sunora cut in, already peering around at the various trinkets and other items.
“Take all the time you want,” Oliu responded immediately, and glancing behind Arathorn, his expression clouded for a brief moment.
“Thank you,” Arathorn said more monotonically than he had meant to, his attention drawn elsewhere. Turning to the back of him, his eyes fell on Murlé who was roaming the shelves of antiques. Walking over, Arathorn spotted a collection of brass circles with a block of marble for support. “I wonder what this is,” he remarked, to which his friend looked down at the object in his hands. A smile sneaked across his face, taking the little sculpture from him.
“Honestly, it is kinda making me hungry,” Murlé confessed with a smirk, “It looks like deranged curly fries on a chunk of marble,”
Arathorn covered his mouth with one paw, stifling a laugh. “It does,” he said mid-laugh, as Murlé put the object back on the shelf. Gaining his self control back, he watched as Murlé picked up a petite sized box. Opening it, he pulled out a small, dark lavender clam with a mother of pearl chain. On further inspection, the clam opened, and inside was a pearl that was a pale, honey colored yellow.
“Hey,” Murlé began, glancing at him with a smile as he held it out to him. “Doesn’t this sort of remind you of Sunora?”
Arathorn paused, letting the delicate piece of jewelry fall into his palm. “Yeah . . . you’re right,” he said with a faint smile of his own, turning in Sunora’s direction. She was busy examining some sort of starfish figurine. Her mostly purple face with traces of pink happily admired the workmanship, obviously engrossed in scanning one unusual item after another.
“How much for this?” he asked Oliu, holding it out to him. Oliu glanced up from his work.
“It’s all yours,” he replied with a grin, “I hope you enjoy,”
“You’re very kind,” Arathorn said with a slight bow, his eyes drifting back to the necklace in his paw and back to Sunora. Murlé gave him a push with an elbow, a large smirk glued to his features. “Sun,” he said, causing her to turn to meet his gaze. “Let’s get a move on,” he added, a little unsure. She nodded halfheartedly, trailing the two outside. Murlé failed to hide his amusement as he crossed his arms, looking from one viscet to another when they stopped on the sidewalk. Arathorn swallowed, a lump forming in his throat.
Without a second thought, he held out the box to Sunora. She hesitated, taking the box from him a she stared at Murlé.
“You can stop gawking,” she remarked with a laugh, pausing before she chose to open it. Glancing up at Arathorn, then back to the box, she sucked in a partial breath as she removed the lid. “It’s beautiful!”
“Then . . . you have something in common with it,” Arathorn found himself saying, his pink face able to hid his sudden blushing. Sunora kept her eyes on the necklace, a smile touching her lips.
“Ohh, I’ve caught them in the act!” Murlé cut in, his paws flying up to his mouth as if shocked and disturbed.
“The act of gift giving?” Sunora countered playfully, looking back up to Arathorn. “Could you put it on for me?” she asked shyly. Taking the necklace, he went behind her and placed it over her neck, clasping it while being careful not to snag her fur.
“C’mon you two lovebirds, I’m absolutely famished,” Murlé remarked, strolling down the street without waiting for them.
---------

Don't worry.. happiness never lasts. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[Ranger of the North]

Budding romance, hm? Someone's gonna die XD

[~Teya~]

Budding romance, hm? Someone's gonna die XD

pffffffffffff
..noooo....

[~Teya~]

ＭＵＲＬé ＢＵＲＮＳ:
Chapter five

Ａs the trio walked out of the little restaurant where they had gobbled down lunch, Murlé spotted a vender on the other side of the street.
“Who’s up for dessert?” he questioned with a smirk, rubbing his paws together schemingly.
“How is your stomach even capable of taking in a single bite more?” Arathorn asked, raising an eyebrow.
“What?! What we ate in there was barely a snack,” he countered with a disregarding wave of his hand, heading over to the vender. Arathorn and Sunora followed begrudgingly as he was already looking up at the menu. “Do you have anything sweet?” Murlé inquired, propping up his sunglasses. Most of the names of the food items were foreign to him, so he had no way of knowing if “Jhados” was a delicious pie or a plate of raw squid.
“We’ll take three of the Bunbarrys, please,” Arathorn said to the gray viscet behind the vender counter. The gray appeared startled, but who wouldn’t be if they saw the Prince? Murlé looked away, it was annoying getting so much attention all the time—even if no one ever approached him like Arath and Sun. That’s not what bothered him, though. It was more the way they would look excitedly at Arath as opposed to him. He wasn’t jealous, no—he just . . . wished others didn't immediately make false conclusions about him; like the mothers who would shield their children, or the way a viscet would move to the other side of the street.
Scanning his surroundings, he let his gaze fall on the two bodyguards who had been trailing them this entire time. He almost felt inclined to sarcastically wave at them, but decided against it; he got enough dirty looks from strangers already.
“Here you are, sir,” Murlé heard the gray say to Arathorn. He wheeled back to see what Arath had ordered, mouth watering when he laid his eyes on the pastry. It looked weird, but as long as it tasted good, who cares. Grabbing his claimed prize, he felt the uncomfortable gaze of the viscet behind the vender. He ignored him, used to it by now.
Before long, they made it to a fountain just around the corner.
“What is this stuff?” Murlé commented while wrinkling his nose, inspecting the peculiar tasting treat. Sunora giggled, taking another bite out of the Bunbarry without the slightest hint of disgust.
“It’s mostly ripened berries and breading, that’s all,” she remarked with a shrug. Murlé squinted, picking out one of the evil berries from the middle.
“Well these must be the leftovers they couldn’t sell,” he responded with the same exaggerated look of disdain. “Even in Solo un, they gave us better food than this,” he added with a half-laugh. Sunora shot him a surprised look, mouth full of the pastry. “Could you not look at me like I’m another one of those pastries,” he remarked, close to serious. She quickly retreated her eyes, opening her mouth before closing it again. “Are you . . . okay, Sun? My jokes aren’t that bad, are they?” he asked with a lopsided smile, glancing to Arathorn who was also a bit puzzled. Sunora hesitated.
“It’s nothing—you just never talk about Solo un. I was caught a little off guard, I guess,” she admitted slowly, nibbling at the dessert. Looking towards the gargling fountain where they sat, he fidgeted, saying nothing.
“You know what,” Murlé began with a renewed sense of cheer, “All this abomination needs is a little chocolate. I’ll be right back,” he said and sprung to his feet, not giving either of the two a second glance as he walked away.
Once around the bend so that they couldn’t see him, Murlé slowed, sighing deeply. He hated leaving like that, but he couldn't help it. He hadn’t even realized what he had said until the words left his mouth, now all he wished to do was never, ever bring Solo un up again. Or else.
Swallowing hard, he figured to mind as well get that chocolate from the vender up ahead so his excuse would hold true.
“Hey,”
The gray male turned, jumping at the abrupt sight of him; or other reasons.
“No offense . . . but I think this Bunbarry thing needs chocolate sauce. Got any?” Murlé asked cautiously, not particularly liking how the viscet was eyeing him. At first, he didn’t respond and continued staring blankly at him.
“Oh—yeah, we have that,” the gray finally replied, shaking his head as if to get out of his daze. Rummaging around, he finally pulled out a brown bottle. Murlé took it, squirting the liquid onto the pastry and handing it back to the viscet. Pausing, he took a step back from the vender as he was about to leave. “Wait,” the gray said quickly, glancing to make sure no one else was close by. Murlé bit his lip, meeting the viscet’s anxious gaze. “I know how strange this may seem--but I just wanted you to know, thank you,”
Murlé tilted his head, confusion written in his features. “If this is some sort of joke—”
“I mean it,” the viscet countered with an almost dreamy look, leaning over the counter. Murlé held back the fierce urge to back away further. “They all said how nasty you were for deserting, for wanting a better life. But I didn’t listen,” the gray added excitedly, rolling up his sleeve. Murlé’s heart stopped, freezing in place. Underneath the viscet’s sleeve, he revealed the all too familiar FFA tattoos he had tried to convince himself everyday he’d never see again, except on himself. “You inspired me to get away, and for that, I can never explain how much that means to me,”
This had to be some twisted trick—he could never move someone like that. He wasn’t good enough. “But, your face,” his voice trailed off unsteadily, feeling the coal black tattoos on his own cheek, in contrast to that bare of markings on the gray.
“I dyed it so no one would know,” he added with a pleased expression.
“This . . . this still must be a trick,” Murlé muttered under his breath, taking a disoriented step back. The gray shook his head.
“I can prove it to you, I did all the duties you used to do as well!” he insisted, taking a moment to think. “Woke up at four A.M. everyday, no exceptions, breakfast was either stale eggs or this slimy meat impersonation, and you were usually either part of a patrolling unit around the city to keep the “citizens” at bay as they worked, or—” the gray paused, speaking his next words like they were poison to his tongue. “The job everyone hated. Getting loaded into the cramped back of a truck and “collecting” new recruits—”
Murlé hardly breathed now, each little piece of information opening the floodgates to all the memories he had kept hidden away for six months. It was hard to focus, his whole body trembling. He was no longer listening to or able to hear the viscet who spoke next to him, instead, he began walking slowly away. He felt sick. Instead of butterflies in his stomach, fists punched his insides mercilessly. Whatever sense of direction he once had was gone, having no idea whether he was going towards Arathorn and Sunora or in the opposite direction. All he could think about was the screams.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Murlé collapsed on the hard pavement. His paws dug at the small shells in the cement, he just needed something else to focus on, anything else. Scratching and prying, nothing would happen, they would stay lodged in the cement, much like his memories which refused to subside.
He had gone on a “recruitment” mission a number of times. How he hadn’t screamed himself while on them, he didn’t know. It was burned into his brain, what he did. Children were the main subjects of the terror—they were easier to train. To brainwash. So, off he went on those missions, it was for the greater good, he would assure them as he forced their powerless figures into looming trucks. His superiors would tell him the same thing.
It was for the greater good.
Hearing footsteps behind him, he jumped to his feet. Vision blurring, he ran. Tired of those who did nothing but stare, he ran. Refusing to let anyone see him like this, he ran. Murlé must have tripped a number of times; his hands stung with blood, but he didn’t care. Snippets of frantic speech echoed behind him, scarcely audible against his pounding heart. He felt the hard ground suddenly give way to the soft earth, and he made out the outline of trees.
At that moment he came to a halt and closed his eyes tight, no longer caring. What he remembered—what he felt again—he just wanted it to go away.
“Murlé,”
His ears twitched, nonetheless ignoring the call of his name. He didn’t deserve to be found.
“Murlé!”
The same voice called again, closer, a paw touching his stiff shoulder. He flinched, jerking instinctively away.
“Are you alright?” Sunora asked quickly, the tone of her voice riddled with concern.
Like that, the world came back into focus, like someone had slapped him on the side of the head. Opening his eyes hesitantly, he was greeted by the two concerned faces of his friends.
“Huh, m—me? I’m . . . fine,” he remarked in a partial gasp, mustering the most nonchalant voice he could possibly manage. Sunora would know he was lying, but maybe he could fool Arath.
“Why were you running away from us, then?” Arathorn questioned suspiciously, crossing his arms as he gathered his breath.
“A leisurely jog never hurt anybody, did it?” he replied with a token smirk, coming to a sluggish stand. Sunora slit her eyes, she mind as well have been setting fire to his very being, because that’s how it felt. She hated when he lied. A sharp feeling of shame ran down his spine, remaining silent. Stealing a glance at his shredded paws, he casually put them behind his back.
“Are you ever going to quit joking arou—” Sunora stopped the start of her own rant to Murlé’s relief, looking past him, brows furrowing in thought.
Without warning, she darted past him and into the thick woods. Murlé glanced towards Arathorn and then back to Sunora, without a word the pair swiftly trailed after her. Weeds whipped at his ankles as they avoided the sharp spikes of long, wormy plants and hopped over fallen logs, but even then, they could hardly keep up with her. She stopped abruptly, still as the trees, and pointed.
Scanning the musty ground floor covered in death leaves, his eyes locked on something with matted and dirty fur, laying motionless in grass.

[Ranger of the North]

Murlé is officially my favourite thank you goodbye I'm constructing a portal from which to hug him thank you goo -

[~Teya~]

Murlé is officially my favourite thank you goodbye I'm constructing a portal from which to hug him thank you goo -

xD Everyone likes a poor broken boyo

[Ranger of the North]

Murlé is officially my favourite thank you goodbye I'm constructing a portal from which to hug him thank you goo -

xD Everyone likes a poor broken boyo

XD true that to be fair though I did like him right off the bat