[fortunately it doesn't take her nearly as long to track him down the second time. the only thing is it still takes the better part of an hour (give or take) to find jæger first, and another two to gather everything she intended to bring back from her last campsite. bag, bedroll, the works. she honestly hadn't expected on finding another person let alone julian out here, so she'd packed lighter than usual. and since she doesn't know how well he's been taking care of himself... morga wasn't about to make any assumptions. better to be safe than sorry in the wilderness, no matter how close it was to vesuvia. if anything, it was more of a reason to be prepared and cautious.
by the time she finds the trail properly - mostly thanks to malak - the sun sits low, painting the sky in shades of purple, yellow, and orange. one shoulder carries her supplies and jæger, while the other sits malak and her spear sits with several decently-sized fish lashed to the end. now, the unfortunate thing about all of this? she's not quiet at all.
or, well. malak and jæger aren't. they started to "bicker" some fifteen minutes ago, no doubt alerting everything in the vicinity. she doesn't see julian yet, so... she takes the time to unload everything. the bag is dumped unceremoniously onto the ground, spear and fish are propped against a fallen log, and that's when all hell breaks loose.]
Would you two stop squabbling for five minutes?! Jæger — stop antagonizing him! Malak! Stop egging him on!
[is... is he just cawing, or is that laughter? she doesn't know. jæger, bless his heart, takes it as a challenge and screams, prompting morga to shoo him from her shoulder and onto her forearm. that's when the real scolding starts. it's nothing but that guttural old language of hers, punctuated by a wag of her finger and the protesting peeps that only an eagle can make. malak? he's not helping by any means, and now she's certain that he's laughing.
gods help her.]
Don't take that tone of voice with me — Devorak! Julian!
[julian. julian, please. please, she needs help. these children are out of control and she's lost control of her life.]
no subject
by the time she finds the trail properly - mostly thanks to malak - the sun sits low, painting the sky in shades of purple, yellow, and orange. one shoulder carries her supplies and jæger, while the other sits malak and her spear sits with several decently-sized fish lashed to the end. now, the unfortunate thing about all of this? she's not quiet at all.
or, well. malak and jæger aren't. they started to "bicker" some fifteen minutes ago, no doubt alerting everything in the vicinity. she doesn't see julian yet, so... she takes the time to unload everything. the bag is dumped unceremoniously onto the ground, spear and fish are propped against a fallen log, and that's when all hell breaks loose.]
Would you two stop squabbling for five minutes?! Jæger — stop antagonizing him! Malak! Stop egging him on!
[is... is he just cawing, or is that laughter? she doesn't know. jæger, bless his heart, takes it as a challenge and screams, prompting morga to shoo him from her shoulder and onto her forearm. that's when the real scolding starts. it's nothing but that guttural old language of hers, punctuated by a wag of her finger and the protesting peeps that only an eagle can make. malak? he's not helping by any means, and now she's certain that he's laughing.
gods help her.]
Don't take that tone of voice with me — Devorak! Julian!
[julian. julian, please. please, she needs help. these children are out of control and she's lost control of her life.]