I’m a sad, sad writer and my ink is dry. (previous)
Though it was a fair distance to Leola’s house, they made it there within minutes. The door was open. Mitchell yelled a short ‘Hello?’ as he entered the seemingly abandoned building and was followed by his friend a few seconds later. While Roy was catching his breath, Mitchell wandered around the house. ‘Anyone?’ he called out, impatiently. He heard some mumbling come from the basement and saw Mara crawl up the stairs soon after. ‘Mitchell!’ she exclaimed as she saw who it was. Roy came to inspect the ruckus, but went unignored by its source. ‘Is Mitchell!’ she repeated, this time directing her excitement down into the basement.
‘Well that’s a surprise!’ A middle-aged woman ascended the stairs wiping her hands on her dress. ‘Mara told me a lot about-‘ She froze when she saw Mitchell’s arms. Covered in a mix of shades, but all red as blood. ‘That…’
She wanted to speak again, but Mitchell went first. ‘Our friend’s been shot in the leg and she’s bleeding a lot and Lenart can fix it but needs something you can give us so?’ He didn’t know very well how to end his sentence and saw the woman appeared a bit overwhelmed. ‘You’re Leola, right?’ he asked, speaking a bit more calmly this time.
‘Yes I am.’ She bent sideways to look into the garden, to which the door was also wide open. ‘Bleeding a lot?’ she muttered. ‘I should have what Lenart’s probably asking for.’ She moved past her guests and into the garden, if it could even be called that. A few green sprouts were emerging from the dry, otherwise lifeless soil.
As he took a moment to look at the village, Mitchell realized it wasn’t that different. Most all houses were empty, and most of the few people that were left seemed to be readying for departure.
‘Mara and I were just packing, too.’ Leola said as she started unearthing unearthed the roots of one of the plants. The little girl had gone back downstairs after bouncing around Mitchell for a while. ‘It’s inconvenient, but it beats staying.’ Her attempt at smalltalk wasn’t catching on. The mood wasn’t exactly easy to lighten, after all.
‘Here we go.’ She brushed the dirt off a clump of roots before handing it to Mitchell. ‘Lenart will know what to do with it.’
‘Thanks, I-‘ Mitchell started, but Leola interrupted him.
‘Don’t worry about it, just go!’
There’s a lot more backstory available here which I sadly can’t cover because story flow. But here’s a little something: Lenart and Leola are divorced, Mara’s their kid (and often messenger, as childish as it is). (next)