Author's Note: Wow has it really been since October of last year that I posted a new chapter??? Life really got away from me there while I've been wrapping up a passion project I've been working on for 3 years and just too tired to do much but sleep or play video games when my day's work was done!
I also found this chapter particularly difficult to write. I always felt like after the high of Kalara's last parting that wrapping up the loose ends from that meltdown of the plot seemed too tedious and boring, but after forcing my way through that writer's block, I feel like this chapter ends on a high note!
And wow we're still in Gem! I thought our time here would be shorter than it has been, but I've happily unpacked more inspiration from its fascinating depths. All the research I did for the visual guide has given me so many ideas, some which I'm sure might show up later with another character I've been pondering a side story for...because having one draft constantly in flux is not enough, apparently! (Spoiler Alert: I'm thinking Kalara's surrogate father, Ahrun Vadras, has had his own interesting adventures in The South, considering his reputation as a traveling tinkerer and love of firewands. It'd be fun to explore the politics of the Houses of Gem, considering Kalara is not really party to all of their intrigue).
Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this break from the silence and the new chapter! I value any thoughts and feedback you have for me in comments, even if it's just to let me know you're enjoying my poor gal's meanderings in the mire of tragic backstory. Hopefully, the next chapter will not take so long to write now that we've kicked things off again!
RATING: G
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The quiet chaos of grief felt like it should have consumed her, that upon arriving at yet another home in the shade of a grander lava tube, Kalara should have cried for the loss of her friends and the loss of Djali. Instead, numbness set in as Farook rode with her to her new home. Life, as it happened, seemed to continue on, ignorant of the cares of a Scrap like her. Farook introduced Kalara to her new quarters in his shaded abode, a little room barely larger than a closet with a small bed, half of the space full of scrolls and boxes. He was an appraiser in the grand scheme of House Iblan, his humble holdings luxurious enough to be shaded from the sun and furnished with woven carpets, but not near as decadent as Kalara might have imagined for someone descended from the venerable goldsmiths of Iblan.
Iblan Farook cracked his back as he stretched from their trip in the sedan chair, the aging man more past his prime than he liked to let on. “Clean up the mess tomorrow and the space is yours.” He gestured lazily to the piles of parchment. “I wasn’t expecting to win a slave. Lucky girl!” He laughed and placed a hand on her shoulder, Kalara’s green eyes flicking up to take in his beard-lined face, searching there for some clue as to whether that touch meant good or ill. Apparent kindness, she had learned, did not protect you from being sent off to the next master. Every time a new master bought her contract was a gamble of Plentimon’s dice between kind and cruel. So far she had been rolling well, too well.
