.80th of fall, 513av.
Ash flew in the air, soot stained her clothes, landing in the messy braid of hair that trailed down her back. An unfortunate swipe of her hand had left a streak of black across the bridge of her nose. Why was she here? Why had she come back to this smoking, smoldering heap of ash and ruin? The wreckage had barely cooled from the terrific blaze that had raged inside, blazing it down to bare stone and charred beam. And yet here she was, standing amidst the cooling, flaking mess, hopeful. Something must be salvageable, must have escaped the greedy pecking hands of scavengers more adept than she. Her mouth flattened to a thin line, compressing her fresh grief and replacing it with grim determination. She would find something. Surely the Gods owed her that much.
Her home had been taken from her, along with every possession she and her parents had owned. It was late fall, and she would need something on which to live. If it had to be scrounged and begged and dug for – well, she was not above it. She’d simply get her hands dirty with the rest of the scavenging folks that made their living off of other people’s misfortune. If they could do it, and survive, then so could she. So would she; she had to.
Resolved, Nellie strode into the midst of the ash, stirring up flakes and crunching over charred wood and who knew what else. Her mind flinched away from what the ‘something else’ might be, and she moved quickly to where she imagined her father’s storage cabinets had been. The stone shelves were there, though some had collapsed and now leaned at odd angles, contents long since lost to flame. Nellie knelt in the mess and stared for a moment, lost and unsure where to begin.
Finally deciding that one place was as good as another, she simply began brushing ash to the side. At first her efforts were too vigorous, and a cloud of ash surrounded her, obscuring her sight and making even breathing difficult. Nellie forced herself to slow down, to be thorough, even as she began to despair that nothing could be found. Soot-colored char and char-colored clumps of ash seemed to be the most common items she unearthed; with each discovery, her determination took a hit.
”Petchin’ ash. It’s everywhere. How’m I supposed to find anything?!” Nellie could hear the desperation in her voice, the rising hysteria and she fought against it. Closing her eyes, she shut out the desolate view, and focused instead on simply breathing; each inhale-exhale brought with it the scent of destruction. The unpleasant acrid tang of ash coated her throat, but rather than upset her further, the experience calmed her, reminded her that she lived, no matter how miserable that life might be at the moment.
After several chimes she reopened her eyes, peering carefully at the mess, hoping for some small item to offer itself up to her questing gaze. A pinpoint of something sparkling caught her attention and she leaned in for a better view. Bits of glass, burned and melted into unrecognizable shapes glinted here and there; reflective surfaces defying the light dusting of soot to shine in Syna’s light. Other than that, all was dull dross and Nellie couldn’t quell her disappointment.
Still, pretty baubles were better than nothing, and some of the glass had even been colored, which made the end result rather rather pleasant to look at, if one didn’t know its history. The orphan tried to view the situation as objectively as possible; she supposed someone might be interested in a bit of pretty frippery. Hands plunged into the ash piles and withdrew many small bit of glass, edges burned rounded and smooth. Most were too small to bother with, but Nellie selected two walnut-sized specimens that she thought she might foist off on someone. Braga the whore might be willing to take them off her hands. The woman loved baubles.
