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fifthfleetproven‌:

@lxttlest-blue-star​

It is nigh impossible to beeline through the Astera tradeyard. A body, adult or child, wyverian or felyne, will always slice through the chosen path at precisely the wrong moment. It is of equal difficulty to stroll, as Novus did, but he’d learned to sway from careening workers instinctively, giving his emerald gaze ample opportunity to hunt his desired stock. 

Boxes full of ambitious seeds and barrels of crystal clear water from the Coral Highlands swept by. Nourishing meats preserved via snow herbs were rolled to the canteen. Hard scale and soft fur lay in enticing bundles while his neck craned every so often to peruse materials as they passed him by. Upon spotting a pile of wood that resembled corkwood, his vision flared wide. In one decisive and predatory stride of four steps, he put himself on path to intercept. 

No escaping now. 

Not even a scoutfly flutters its wings faster than circumstance strikes. As he marched briskly after his prey, a ghost walked right by him, one single eye peering through a curtain of hair. With a startled expression, Novus turns sharply on his heels to double-take. His breath catches. Never mind the shipping crew member vanishing into the crowd. 

“Katya?" 

The name spilled out of his mouth with a harsh breath before his mind could properly reason. When it all became clear, when he could see that this girl was not his old friend, his expression eased, creases on his forehead flattening throughout and his naturally half lidded gaze reclaiming its place. Then he raised both hands, showing her his open palms to ask forgiveness. 

”My apologies. You resemble someone I … know.” 

Someone I knew. A haunting thing about living long enough to outlive many others; those that pass begin to manifest in complete strangers. The mind plays its cruel tricks. Always. 

Aaaaaaaaah, the tradeyard. The center, the beating heart of Astera, the place where everything came and went at least once, and the connecting point of a variety of offices, the docks, and the rest of town, containing hastily set up shops and, well, a small half-ton of wares. This was where, on the docks that crept up towards the sea, any shipments from the mainland were unloaded, sorted, cataloged and then sent out to the appropriate facilities, under the dutiful eye of the provisions head honchos.

Astera, though rather large and well equipped, was unfortunately not... completely self-reliant. It could reasonably go a long time without outside help, which was by design as the stormy seas could often make shipments from the mainland impossible. And so, for those who never left the outpost, some items could only be acquired through the tradeyard. Items that weren’t always necessary, but very loved by the comission staff.

Like, for example, pears!

Alright. You’re probably wondering how that’s any degree of relevant. Well, to Cornelia, it was. Worming her way through the crowd, the young girl was doing her best to slip between the compact sea of people drifting to and from the stockpiles, distributing goods and generally, going about their business. She most definitely preferred to this chaotic mess the navigation of wilder areas. At least, the dense undergrowth of the Ancient forest had the politeness to sit still.

Officially, she was supposed to help transmit a crumpled up note from the kitchens to the provisions. Truthfully, she was there because she’d been promised a fruit from the stack of wares for her efforts. And Cornelia really liked pears. So there she was, pushing, squeezing, trying her darndest to get through. Eventually, she had reached the stacked pile of goods the note’s recipient had been standing on, and had, naturally, climbed it. The note had been thrust towards them in a clenched fist, and the youngling had hopped onto her feet nervously, shooting them a piercing, expecting look until she was allowed to take a fruit for herself.

Upon which she’d near tumbled off the pile, prize in hand. She had excitedly begun munching on it as she squeezed herself back towards the kitchens to signify the proper delivery of the message, finding the sweet, juicy treat to be worth the claustrophobic crawl through the crowd.

Unfortunately, it seemed that fate had other plans for her. Despite the ambient noise, she could easily tell that the sharp call that pierced the humdrum was directed towards her. The name - wrong, but the tone had something piercing, that felt equally wrong. Surprise? Anguish? It was too loud. Cornelia spun around swiftly, stance wide and eyes blown wide open towards the source of the call, ready to run - no, fight? Neither. A moment of floating uncertainty passed as she scanned carefully the green-eyed stranger - hunter, well equipped, definitely unknown, before she relaxed as they both came to the realization they had the wrong person.

The youngling shrugged and huffed quietly, taking the apology with a nod and a rapidly calming demanor. Astera was small. Mistakes were honest. Now, where was that darned’ pear? Cornelia frowned, realizing it had flown out of her hand from the surprise, and immediately directed her gaze to the boards of the docks, looking for her half-eaten snack. She eventually found it... and crossed eyes with its new owner. A poogie in striped pajamas, with a twitching snout, and her pear in its mouth.

A moment of silence, before the animal turned around, pear in mouth and grunting happily, the sound covered by the loud, inarticular cry of protest and indignation from Cornelia, who threw her arms up as the small swine seamlessly disappeared into the sea of people.