quercu

I'm starving...

(Sniffs) That smells amazing!

Hey, have you heard the news?

The Druid's Treasure! Everyone's going mad about it!

Can't be stuffed, can't be bothered, don't care.

If there is treasure, it goes to the upper crust. Not gonna make its way to us, is it?

Who says not?

Oh, you think this is just our lot, eh? We deserve this?

Look, forget that...

Someone's making off with your stuff.

(Treasure... my bruv's looking for that, right?)

(Okay, while the man's distracted...)

(Ow, hot!)

Hey!

Trying to steal from me?!

Krgh!

Bloody runt! Don't you dare muss up my stand!

Get back here!

How are your injuries?

They're doing fine.

No word from the Doctor still?

Contact with them's been lost ever since they entered Londinium. All means of communication so far are kaput.

What about your end?

We've disseminated the news out.

At the very least right now, no matter how many believe it, the Duke's people are letting us have the pretense of an investigation in order to station at the duchy's north border.

If it all holds, we can come to the Doctor's rescue at any time.

Hm... alright, good.

For now, let's get these intel notes to the landship.

The Doctor's group will be fine.

They will.

Right, the children at the refugee camp...

Bring them here.

It's... safer for them here.

Susie wants you.

I'll be off.

Susie, didn't I tell you to get some proper rest first?

I'm...

I can cope here. I don't need help with anything, really.

What's wrong? What has you so unhappy?

The streets here, the city... everything's changed so much.

I've never seen so many of the Guards out and about before.

Everyone's rushing everywhere. We all look so tense.

Nobody knows what the situation in Londinium is like right now.

We have people escaping out here one after another, with nothing but scraps of testimonies and info contradicting info.

It's become the source of panic and rumor in its own right.

I know what's happening. You don't have to hide it from me, Quercus.

Everyone's busy right now... I want to help too.

Grani wouldn't even tell me about you and the refugees at first.

I know... you're all looking out for me.

You're a kind girl, Susie. That's why.

Hm?

Look, see the marks left on this leaf—bug-eaten, sun-bleached.

Everything that's happening right now will be figured out.

No matter if it's me, Grani, or anyone else who does it.

No matter if it turns out well or not.

And most people will forget it ever happened before long.

But the ones who've been through it won't. Some marks are left forever.

So...

Listen, I'm not a child anymore!

Quercus!

Look, I made this bread myself, I learned how to do it aboard Rhodes Island.

You always used to have to make me snacks, Quercus...

So... I want to help you.

Help everyone.

I know.

Oh, but still, it'll sting.

Eh?

Sting our little Susie, and Grani, and those children.

You'll find nothing in the refugee camp but cries of distress, sighs of despair, and howls of longing.

I've given everything I have to ward the haze of sickness from people, purely because they wouldn't resign themselves to death, because in their heart still laid cares.

Some have calmly accepted the end of their life, and I've accompanied them in their final moments, in their tranquil return to the earth.

But the endless spread of pestilence is drying and crumbling the soil beneath us, rendering it rough and unyielding.

And that's why you want them to get the children out, and bring them here?

Yes...

All that takes place there is far too stifling for the newborn saplings.

But that said...

I've never doubted your ability nor your courage, Susie.

So long as you're willing, you can come spend time with the children here from now on.

Mm-hm!

Also!

I'm not a child anymore!

And you're... so amazing, Quercus! You can use Arts to make withered plants regrow.

Everything will get better.

Arts are no panacea, you know.

Take that frail, sickly sapling, for instance.

The one in the corner.

On an evening in early autumn, Quercus is quietly stood in the garden, listening in stillness.

The souls are mournful, their cry as clear as ever on the wind.

Well, meow...

I have to say, this is my first time seeing the Druid's Arts.

Wuh! When did you get here, Haze?

Oh, I didn't. I've been here.

They say the Druid can hear what the trees make conversation over.

It's not conversation.

It's the passing on of emotions, between souls, through the roots that connect life and the earth.

Quercus softly chants an age-old incantation, Arts like stars falling down upon the mundane nature we inhabit, imparting themselves upon the earth.

In a bout of fierce tremors, a sapling ruptures through the ground, its finest form unfolding itself towards the vastness of the sky.

Atop the branches burst forth fresh buds, telling of the call that summons new life.

Wow!

It just grew in an instant!