#Power of migration

[migrantsday]

(4th meeting) International Dialogue on Migration 2024.

"Facilitating Regular Pathways to a Better Future: Harnessing the Power of Migration" is the the of the International Dialogue on Migration (IDM) 2024 (organized by the International Organization for Migration (IOM).

Watch the (4th meeting) International Dialogue on Migration 2024!

United Nations Headquarters

IOM - UN Migration; IOM - UN Migration in West and Central Africa, IOM Asia-Pacific, IOM Central Asia, IOM Arabic - المنظمة الدولية للهجرة, UN Global Compact for Migration, UNHCR, the UN Refugee Agency,

UN Web TV

[anna-scribbles]

haven’t had enough time to draw s5 adrinette to convey just how much this is genuinely the only thing on my mind

[reality-detective]

This woman is asking the right questions. 🤔

[moodboardmix]

Clayton Harris Photography

Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2024

[raointean]

Tolkien of Color Week - Day 4: Home, Cultural identity, Growing up

Arondir's life, told through the places he calls home over the centuries.

Arondir took one final look around the land he used to call home. He was young, only barely an adult, but he had already grown very close to this place and the memories he had made there. He had walked the hills under the eternal starlight, herding livestock. He had played, and fished, and learned to swim in the little, winding rivers. During cold seasons, he swam with his siblings in the volcanically heated pools. He had explored the caves with his cousins and they had carved pictures in the living stone.

He would certainly miss this place, he thought to himself as he and his family crossed over the three-walled mountain range that had protected them for so many years. It was time to move on though. They were the only intelligent beings they knew of and, no matter how idyllic their home, it was incredibly lonely; particularly for his older cousins who were now old enough to marry.

With that in mind, they were leaving to go West, to follow the trail of what Grandfather had described as hundreds and hundreds of elves, more than any of them could imagine. As excited and nervous as he was, Arondir could not help the feeling of calm that came over him. He knew, somewhere deep in his bones, that he would be back someday.

—----

Arondir groaned as he hoisted the final box of produce out of the family cart and began unloading it into the open-air market stand. The market was a cheerful place, located in a peaceful clearing a few miles outside of Menegroth. On a clear day like this one, it bustled with buyers from the city and growers from all up and down the river valley. There were even a few other Silvan migrant families like his own.

As he placed the last bundle of asparagus in its place, he turned and came face to face (or, well, stomach to face) with his little cousin, Naurion. “Arondir! Look what I caught!”

He held out his hands to show off a dead, blood-covered squirrel. It was all Arondir could do to keep his breakfast down as he patted Naurion on the head. “Well done, rend. Go and show Grandfather."

The boy ran off excitedly, taking the horrid sight with him. Arondir had never quite had the stomach for violence that most everyone else he knew had. No matter how many animal carcasses he saw or how many times his mother had made him break down a chicken for dinner, he simply could not handle it.

Luckily, he thought to himself, he would never have to handle it. He could marry a woman who did not mind it and handle the other household responsibilities instead. In the meantime, he could continue bribing his brothers to do his butchering chores for him. 

It was not as if he would ever have to live entirely alone or face some kind of battle. Doriath was the most well-protected realm this side of the Sundering Sea, protected by a maia! The Enemy Himself would be hard-pressed to send any kind of force to hurt them there.

—--

In the end, it was not The Enemy they had to fear. First, it was the selfishness and wrath of the dwarves that destabilized their realm, causing Queen Melian to flee and leaving them all but defenseless against attack. Then came the kinslayers that killed their new king and slaughtered their people.

Sirion, where the river fed the sea, was the place the survivors fled to. Too few survivors in Arondir’s opinion; his own family not among them. His sister, as the princes’ caregiver, was almost certainly dead. His parents, hearing that Menegroth was under attack, had run to their daughter’s aid, but never returned. His grandfather and two of his brothers had been killed in defense of their farm. His third brother had received a wound that had soured on the road and he had died of it. He had no idea what happened to his aunt, uncle, and cousins, but he had seen neither hide nor hair of them since the attack.

Arondir did his best to make a life for himself at the Havens of Sirion, but it was hard. He was alone for the first time in his life. Nevertheless, he built himself a ramshackle dwelling like everyone else and employed his time by growing food for the community.

He grew all sorts of things; potatoes, water chestnuts, paw paws, and blackberries; but his favorite were the strawberries he grew next to his porch. That was where he was now, tending them. He could feel the warm sun on his neck, the soft earth under his fingernails. He could watch the slugs try to slither away from him as he pulled the weeds from the shoots and “relocated” the pests. He could smell the scent of the river and the sea mingling in the air, as well as the less-than-pleasant smells of daily life in a refugee village. He could hear the sounds of distant waves and the excited shrieks of the pack of children that ran the streets during the day.

They quieted down as they reached him. “Redhor Arondir,” the ringleader of the group spoke up. She was a peredhel girl by the name of Daniel and was by far the boldest of them all. “May we have some strawberries?”

They were all sweet children, fixing as many problems as they caused, and Arondir was always happy to provide them with treats on his days off. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun with them first, though. “Hmm…” he said thoughtfully, enjoying the identical wide-eyed looks of suspense on each tiny face. “Do you happen to remember the magic word, children?”

Daniel straightened and took a deep breath. “Is it listo?”

“No.”

“Mecin?”

“No.”

“Enel?”

Arondir heaved a great sigh. “Oh, I suppose I can spare a few berries for a maiden who asks so sweetly.”

He ducked his head in an attempt to hide his smile at the cheers that rose up from the little group and produced the basket of strawberries he had picked for them fifteen minutes before. They raised the basket above their heads and ran off, crowing about their “victory” and sharing their “spoils” amongst themselves. A few of the older children threw a brief “thank you!” over their shoulders and promised to bring his basket back when they were finished with it.

After watching them go with a fond smile, Arondir turned back to his strawberry patch. Perhaps this was not so terrible a place to make a home. His family had built a new life from scratch once before and, while it would certainly be more difficult on his own, the war was far north of their peaceful little corner of the world. If they were careful, watchful, prepared, they would have time.

—----

Arondir looked out over the Southlands from the top of the guard tower. More than 600 years after the War of Wrath and twenty years into his current deployment, things were quiet. He had established a routine and befriended the (largely Sindarin and Noldorin) other soldiers within his regiment, but still he couldn't truly relax. The Enemy could still be out there, waiting to strike, waiting to corrupt these Men.

The Southlands looked different now than it did in his youth, under an endless starry night. Hundreds, maybe thousands, more people roamed the land he once called home. They had built and carved the land according to their needs. 

And yet, in many ways, it was still the same place. The hills he had walked, the rivers he had bathed in, the geothermal pools he had played in, and the petroglyphs he had carved were all still there (although the petroglyphs were faded and worn a little by now).

People still herded cattle on those hills. People still bathed in those rivers. People still warmed themselves in the volcanic pools. Children with too much time on their hands still wandered the caves, carving pictures by torchlight. 

There were times when Arondir felt more kindredness with the Southlanders than with his own regiment. He had been sent there to keep the outside world safe from the Southlanders; but the longer he stayed, came to know them and their ways; the more he found himself trying to protect them from the outside world. 

@tolkienofcolourweek

[neverlearnedtoread]

Uprooted

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐; my favourite kind of fantasy - classic fairytale with a side of 'dont worry about the details' and 'you gotta believe in the heart of the cards!'

Oh?? 👌😉😏

a really sharp, quick-witted, and willful female protagonist going 'fuck it!' every few chapters or so and doing something crazy (crazy fun) to drive the plot forward, off a new exciting cliff

a soft magic system that really shows off in the best light what makes soft magic systems so valid. its all about the metaphors!! you have to measure the chocolate chips with your heart!!!

nature is so magical and beautiful and deadly. specifically if you treat trees bad they will form a sentient vengeful forest to raze your civilization to the ground and salt the earth with your bodies

kasia. i love an atomic blonde unkillable bad bitch with the strongest queerplatonic vibes with her best friend from birth

a CLASSIC grumpy 'beastly' male love interest. he seals himself away in a lonely tower, makes girls hang out with him for 10 years at a time, and unironically calls himself 'the Dragon'. he even has the audacity to be offended that everyone thinks he's creepy!!!!!!

No.. ❌🤢🤮

if you like having explanations for how magic works and any semblance of a hard magic system in your fantasy, put this book back. 'round here we operate on Vibes Only, babey!!

similarly, if your love language is words of affirmation and/or you think that fanfic-style romance plotlines should stay in fanfic, this romance is Not For You. this is not a judgment, only a warning

Summary: Agnieszka loves her home in her little village in the valley - you know, except for the evil forest simply known as the Wood that's been around as long as there have been people in the valley, with terrible creatures and sentient walking trees. And the century-old wizard known only as 'the Dragon' living in the tower overlooking their land, who takes a young woman every ten years to serve him. But what Agnieszka dreads the most is that her best friend, Kasia, will be chosen next, and that Agnieszka is helpless to save her. Until the day of the choosing, when the Dragon picks Agnieszka instead.

Concept: 💭💭💭💭 I've never gotten along that well with a book blurb, but this one does its damn job - gives me enough plot premise to get me interested without giving it all away, and doesn't make me feel like I've been lied to once I start the book! some stories really don't do what they say on the tin, or take ages to get there at all, but Uprooted starts off exactly at the spot the blurb said it would - with a girl, in a valley, scared of a terrible wizard, about to be whisked away to a tower.

Execution: 💥💥💥💥💥 This story is EXACTLY what it says it wants to be, down to the cadence of the prose - a Polish folklore-inspired fairytale. The rhythm of Novik's narration even fits right - one day I'll get the audiobook for this and get to hear it the way I read it in my head, like a grandmother's bedtime story with twists and eddies and crescendos at the all the right bits. I was in love with the aesthetic of every character, they fit perfectly into the backdrop of what this story was.

Personal Enjoyment: ❤❤❤❤❤ This book aligns to my tastes much the same way An Enchantment of Ravens does, and shares of lot of the same elements without ever feeling derivative - smart girl meets magic boy, causes all kinds of irreversible political upheaval, and lives happily ever after being just as they are - a Girl with The Audacity. its a tale as old as time, and i'll hear it told just as often

Favourite Moment: you know its a good book when you really can't choose a favourite moment - one that comes to mind is agniezska choosing to save sarkan from being grafted onto the heart-tree in the Wood instead of setting fire to it. the 'fuck it!' energy agniezska brings to her moments of crisis is SO good, plus the motif of her always reaching out to sarkan to cast magic together - 'hey real quick, cast a spell with me while you're being pulled into an evil magic tree trying to twist your magic and life force against us. couldn't hurt, eh?' and then it WORKS

Favourite Character: now yall know i love a sarkan-esque character - pathetic wet cat men who are so offended by their own squishy feelings are a great time! and kasia is SO bad bitch extraordinaire, her and agnieszka's love for each other literally makes the plot go - every time, every time without hesitation she puts herself as the last thing standing between agnieszka and the Wood. but agniezska herself is really Something. the way she uses magic, her connection with nature and her refusal to be anything else than what she is - a grubby young woman who wields kindness as her weapon against the world, who holds onto her humanity with both hands and teeth - she shapes this fairytale to be the story she wants it to be, one of connection and empathy. and im still thinking about her introducing the lord of the whole valley to her mother 🤣 power move!!

[nicosraf]

The weird thing about the debate on Israeli's indigenousness is that "indigenous" doesn't mean... you're From somewhere. You can stop being indigenous; you can stop being indigenous while still existing in the place your ancestors were born. "Indigenous" isn't that you have the memory of belonging to a place or notice little cultural things in your family that tie into your ancestral homeland. I mean, there's a reason we don't call British people in Britan indigenous.

Indigenousness is about perpetual opposition to settler colonialism, which is about the complete uprooting of a pre-existing culture and forcing that land to accommodate an extractivist, export economy. That's what it is. It's not about being from a place or even having a """tie to the land.""" (The "tie to the land" is definitely an element of indigenousness but it's really just a romanticized simplification of indigenousness — a simple answer for why indigenous people are at the frontline of environmental movements.)

When the Spanish came to Mexico, they worked with the noble Nahua people to de-indigenize them. They did this by converting them to Catholicism, teaching them European writing (Latin) and academics, and relying on the Nahua nobility to help enforce the new political system. Fransicans are usually credited with converting Mexico to Christianity, but the ones who did most of the work were the young, Nahua "niños del monasterio" who marched into the villages and burned the idols of the gods — of both their own and other indigenous communities. (Nahua soldiers are credited with being the ones who helped the Spanish conquer the rest of Mexico's native people).

Indigenous/mestizo scholar Chimalpahin wrote about the history of the "Aztecs" by calling every Nahua god a demon, by positioning the Spanish like a good development and by arguing his specific Nahua city was better than the other by appealing to Spanish sentiments. ("But maybe he was just speaking to the Spanish!!!" He wrote in Nahuatl for presumably a Nahua audience.) (Academics don't agree on whether to call him indigenous).

"Chimalpahin and the noble Nahuas were violently forced into assimilating into Spanish nobility; you are sick for trying to argue that they weren't indigenous anymore." I'm not arguing that they weren't, but they were players in de-indigenizing Mexico, and it's important that it was forced.

De-tribalization and de-indigenization are always violent and ugly; you don't lose your indigenousness, usually, because you're evil. Chimalpahin and the noble Nahuas were still victims and horribly traumatized. They were also enforcers of de-indigenization.

Anyway, I'm mestizo and have ties to central Mexico and feel a sense of belonging there, at times. I'm not indigenous to it though. The memory of any indigenousness in my family is just a memory now. We visit, and I eat so so many poblano peppers. But we've detribalized, become borderline settlers by participating in capitalism, lightened our skin through generations, probably intentionally (many Mexicans have heard the phrase that we have to "better our race"). If I wanted to actually reconnect, it would be a lot of work; any reconnecting indigenous person can tell you how much work it is.

I know people get really prissy about how "You can't compare Israelis to white European settlers in America because we actually have a connection to the land!!!! We are actually from there!! >:/ some of us are not even white!"

Well let's think of the majority brown mestizo (mixed) population of Mexico. Are they indigenous because they might have "ties to the land" and because they have lineage from it?? Maybe they were once, but for the majority now — no. Without a mass effort to oppose settler colonialism and reconnect, mestizos are not indigenous and might never be again, no matter how much of their pre-colombian culture persists in our quieter traditions and language. And the Mexican state is happy to co-opt aesthetic representations of indigenousness, to talk about our glorious "Aztec" ancestry, while actively hurting indigenous populations.

So assume some, or lets say all!, Israelis have every possible connection to the land (lets say they love the olive trees and cry over the murder of all the Nile crocodiles), maybe they're visibly non-white, maybe they can trace their lineage to the exact spot where they stand. But if they're on the side of a settler colonial, capitalist state (say it was even forced on them!! say they were even made to move there!!! say they are like the Nahua nobles) — how indigenous are you?

How much longer will you remain " indigenous " ???

[charlignon]

PSA for artists: beware of Bluesky

TL;DR: Bluesky sends all content to a 3rd party that use it for generative AI content

I am reposting a thread from @/Oric_y on twitter, you can read it here !

So there's a lot of artists wanting to hop to BlueSky as an alternative to Twitter. You may want to be made aware that any and all posts to it are fed through 3rd party AI and will be used as training data for image/text generation.

Bluesky uses a 3rd party service to label posts contents. For this, they use "http://thehive.ai". Bluesky is open source, so this can be confirmed here.By itself, this would not be an issue. AI for labeling posts isn't problematic. However, hive also provides services for generative AI (images, text, video). Which, again, can be easily confirmed on their own website here.

Reading their privacy policy, they collect anything submitted and will use it as training data for ALL of their services. In full, here

Which brings back to the initial statement. Every post submitted to BlueSky is also submitted to Hive, where it will be used as training data for generative AI.

So yeah, proceed with caution !

[rena-rain]

Reacting to Migration

I did already hear some spoilers for this episode...wish I hadn't...

This boy is just everyone's therapist, huh?

"I don't know what I'd do without you" - gee, I wonder if this is foreshadowing something

NO. RICH CEOS ARE THE EXCEPTION TO THE GIVE PEOPLE A CHANCE RULE. DO NOT GET INTO A LEGALLY BINDING CONTRACT WITH THAT MAN

Yep. Not thirty seconds later.

Nonononono, baby boy, it's not your fault, you're fourteen and the corporate shill tricked you!

Now that Monarch knows that Luka knows, he's going to have a constant target on his back. That...is no way to live. Where is he going to go?

Oh ew. Now that is a villain design that appropriately conveys how skeezy this dude is.

The backpedaling on the gayness is so frustrating...but if it's the only way they were able to get it in, then I appreciate it

He loves the ducky record. That is too funny, I can't breathe -

That's about as perfectly a "reveal" as it could have gone. Did that sentence make sense?

I'm totally with Luka. Juleka's record was AWESOME.

It's Penny. Penny's the adult supervision.

"Well from now on, my family will be my only guitar." It's so corny, I love it

[migrantsday]

(3rd meeting) International Dialogue on Migration 2024.

International Dialogue on Migration (IDM) 2024 on the theme "Facilitating Regular Pathways to a Better Future: Harnessing the Power of Migration" (organized by the International Organization for Migration (IOM).

Watch the (3rd meeting) International Dialogue on Migration 2024!

[felikatze]

Question, https://instarsandtime.wiki.gg/wiki/In_Stars_and_Time_Wiki

is this the proper wiki link? I literally finished the game today, and I'd love to contribute. I'm really glad it's not a fandom wiki! since I've heard horror stories about that corporate bloated mess. Why do you prefer wiki.gg btw? I don't know much about various wiki options, sksksks, I just look at the drama with fandom.wiki curiously

that is the correct link, yes! We actually forked from the fandom wiki in November. (though i only started contributing to the wiki directly after the fork)

Honestly, wiki.gg is just a very convenient option! I know ITR handled the entire fork with help from the wiki.gg team. It's an established site and pretty reliable host for the moment (I know people were talking about miraheze being shaky, but I don't really know.) We have support from an established team, we don't need to pay for independant hosting, we get a lot of resources and help, so it's a pretty sweet deal. (Thank you to the bureaucrat who made me admin this week~ mwah~)

All i remember is, I knew the wiki existed, and I said I'm not adding to it till we're off fandom, and boom, we were. (I wasn't the catalyst for it, mind, but I'd like to think I helped motivate the move at least a little bit.) (In the end, we are just one of many wikis that migrated in the wake of the Hollow Knight wiki and the famous mossbag video which motivated many, many wikis to finally ditch fandom).

Actually, watch that video for a good rundown on the troubles with Fandom. The tldr is: way too much censorship, too many ads with no control over them, basically no customization options, absolutely no respect for wiki editors, and the potential that your wiki will be subjected to corporate vandalism with no way out. Fandom sucks!

Hope you enjoy your stay on the isatwiki!! I'm actually so ecstatic my little post got people to contribute.

[cosleia]

Unpopular opinion: the best thing young people can do early in their careers is kill off all the other Jedi

[mazhai]

i feel like that one nicole kidman/tom cruise post

[raointean]

Tolkien of Color Week - Day 5: Change, Migration, Time

Life… is like a trail. It was winding and unpredictable; some trails going on for miles and miles, some coming to a sudden stop. There were also many different ways a Harfoot could take to get where he was trying to go, but only a few ways that were safe. 

Sadoc's relationship with the trail from his boyhood all the way up until his death. I saw the word "Migration" and couldn't resist.

Co-written with my dad, @famhaircloiche

Few sights are more rare in the world than a young boy too tired to eat his breakfast. Less rare are the thunderstorms that scour the tall grass of the wide lands during the weeks before the summer. Not many hours prior, a particularly fierce storm had raged against the peace of the predawn hours. Animals of all shapes and mostly small sizes had scurried about in the dark for whatever shelter could be found from the rain and thunder. The large animals here and there, like the wagons of the Harfoots, had to stand alone against the wind and hail. 

Children don’t sleep well in rain-battered wagons with the wind howling outside.

The Harfoots, a hardy, traveling sort of folk, took such things in stride as they always did; small strides, as they were not large people. The morning fire had still been lit, though the towering massif of the storm’s anvil cloud had only just moved out from overhead. The orange rays of the day’s first light landed upon the cheeks of Harfoots, already bustling about their business. 

One such order of business was to warm breakfast for the caravan. Another was to eat that breakfast quickly so as to return to the trail as soon as possible. For if the Harfoots didn’t cross the grasslands before the end of the summer, what water that could be found would have dried before it could ease their thirst; and more dangerous than that thirst, the specter of fire on the trail. Little boys refusing to eat their breakfasts cause delays, but Sadoc didn’t care. In that moment, the peaceful light of dawn in his eyes chasing away the sound of thunder from his ears was all his little mind could want.

“Sadoc?” his mother called. He looked up to see her in the midst of strapping his baby sister, Hyacinth, to her back.

“Yes, mother?” he piped up from where he sat on a rock, a bowl of porridge growing cold in his hands.

Her eyes lighted upon him and she beckoned him over to her. “Come, I need to make sure you’ve packed correctly.”

Obediently, for Sadoc was always an obedient boy, he scurried over to and presented his pack for her to dig through. Evidently, everything was to her satisfaction and she sent him away with one last tug to his straps before calling his older brother, Falco, over.

Falco was a big, strapping boy of about ten or twelve, a few years older than Sadoc. As their mother was redistributing the weight in his pack, Falco focused his attention on his brother. “Hey, Sadoc, how many snails d’you reckon you’ll catch on our way to Rhûn!?”

“More than you, that’s for certain!” Sadoc taunted right back. 

“No way!” Falco protested as their mother finished with his pack. “I’ll collect… ten buckets more snails than you!

“Ten buckets?” their mother interjected. “You’re lucky to get five on the whole journey!” Falco pouted, but said nothing. 

“Now, before you boys run off,” she continued, “I need you to promise to stay together and Stay. On. The trail.” Her words were pointed more at Falco, who had a bad habit of wandering off, but Sadoc nodded and agreed eagerly.

Falco, on the other hand, rolled his eyes and grumbled. “Yes, mother. I promise I’ll stay on the trail this time.”

She eyed him disbelievingly. “See that you do. No good comes to anyone what leaves the trail by themselves.”

~Falco Burrows, consumed by the fires of the wide lands, we wait for you.~

—------

Sadoc enjoyed the peace and quiet with his wife Chrysanthemum, known to most as Krissy, and a bowl of snail mix. They didn’t speak, looking to most as a couple in the midst of a long argument, but Sadoc knew better. Occasionally,on a long stretch of particularly boring trail, they would share the thoughts that had come to them over the course of the week, or month. But generally speaking, there was nothing either of them could say that was more interesting than their own thoughts, and they both knew it. 

They both enjoyed silence, and each other, in a way that only they could understand. That was how Sadoc knew that his Krissy was probably thinking of flowers and trees and all growing things. She liked to think about where they came from, how they grew, why some things grew in certain places but not in others. Always trying to figure things out.

Some said they were one mind in two bodies for the simple ways in which they completed each other. Sadoc pulled the wagon, but, were it not for Krissy, the wagon would never have been full in the first place. She always liked puzzles, and making every pot, skillet, and doily that they’d gotten as wedding presents fit into that sturdy, if a little small, wagon was just the sort of puzzle she could get lost in.

Sadoc preferred to think more of organic life: the fishes in the little rivers, the little beasts he ate, the big beasts he hid from, the tribe that surrounded him, his own life… and the stream embankment that cut through their path just ahead. 

The spring rains had moved the streams some, pushing back the higher ground beyond. Standing on the low, broad bank staring up at the insurmountable four-foot high cliff of the high bank on the far side of the stream, it occurred to Sadoc that Life… is like a trail. It was winding and unpredictable; some trails going on for miles and miles, some coming to a sudden stop. There were also many different ways a Harfoot could take to get where he was trying to go, but only a few ways that were safe. 

Nothing about getting up this embankment was going to be easy. Just so, nothing in life came easy either.

His mind was as empty as his snail mix bowl as far as ideas for getting the wagons up that monstrous crag was concerned. With huff he turned his attention away from the cliff and back to his own thoughts.

Sadoc did his best to stick to the safe ways, the traditional ways, the old ways. He followed his father and learned everything he knew, he helped to pull the family wagon during migration, he wove his own wagon and carved his own wheels when the time came, he courted his dear Krissy for exactly one migration cycle before marrying her.

He stayed on the trail and never walked alone and, because he followed all of the rules and traditions, his way had been smooth and pleasant so far. All he had to do to keep it that way was put one foot in front of the other. 

The next step: Children.

Caught up in his planning on how best to raise a little one to walk the trail behind him, Sadoc failed to hear Krissy’s sister, Malva, come to join them near the edge of the cottonwood shade. 

“You two will not believe what the Goold girl just did.” She said, without preamble, plopping herself down in the (admittedly generous) space between them.

She was an arrogant, unpleasant woman who talked too much and thought too little. In the past, he had always avoided her whenever possible, but now she was inescapably his sister.

He took a deep, calming breath, and reminded himself that even the smoothest trails had a few roots.

—--------

The power that smell holds over the mind baffled Sadoc from time to time with how clearly a scent could recall the past. Just then, he was certain that the apples would be ripe for the pickling by the next week from the faintest whiff of sweetened air. His amazement only grew when he returned from the sweet memories of the ripened apples of his youth to find that the scent even had the power to wash Malva out of his mind, if only for a moment.

“We carry on like we’re doing,” he huffed to Malva, who sat beside him. “Go around the town and make our way back to the usual trail after.”

The Men living in the land north of the Great Rhûn Sea had always lived in villages thereabouts that were easy enough to avoid. The trail gave each little hamlet a wide berth. During the summer while Sadoc oversaw the Harfoots’ comings and goings in the forest near the sea, the Men had begun building a new… something… just upriver from their usual crossing where the river began to widen out into the Great Sea.

His sister-by-law scoffed. “Right, go a little north and try to ford a chasm with little ones and wagons or go a little south and swim the Great Rhûn Sea.” Sadoc did not appreciate the sarcasm just then. Especially as she was right, not that she’d ever hear it from him.

Sadoc forced himself to take a deep, calming breath and folded up the map; he knew exactly what he had to do, he just didn’t want to do it. There was no barely-out-of-the-way shortcut around the strange construction and there was no way his tribe would be able to sneak through under cover of night. Not to mention, human settlements had a nasty habit of growing rather than shrinking. Even if they could find a viable shortcut, in all likelihood, it would be gone by next migration.

No, there was nothing for it. They would simply have to cut a new trail.

He turned his eyes to an ancient map in his lore-book. It had belonged to his great-great-grandfather, who led the tribe more than a century ago by different paths. Those paths were long abandoned. 

Not because they were choked by weeds or blocked by sinkholes. They were abandoned because south of the Great Sea there were no longer any groves or long grasses. That land left them nothing to conceal their passing. Although he knew that the southern route would be empty; mostly, Sadoc just hadn’t been willing to risk such an open trail.  

He soothed his doubt with the conviction that travel would be faster through that dry land. Perhaps the longer trail traveled quickly would match a slower, shorter trail that they would have had to clear. They’d have to move quickly and carry extra water with them; uncomfortable, even by Harfoot standards; but it would still be better than bushwhacking through uncharted wilderness.

“Alright then Malva,” he set the book between them. “What about this trail?” Sadoc pointed to a trail that bent away far south. 

Malva shook her head exasperatedly. “No, you dimwit! We abandoned that trail two hundred years ago when the rains stopped, and all of the grass and trees died. Do you think they’ve all just magically grown back!?”

“Listen!” he sighed. “It will take too long to explore the banks of the North River to find a new crossing. Even if we find one, too much delay and we risk getting stuck in the Brown Lands during fire season.” No horror gnawed at the minds of the Harfoots more than that of fire when the trail led them over the endless grasses west of the Western Hills. “If we took this here trail south around the sea and swung north again after the foothills, it could work.”

Malva eyed the map skeptically. “That’s a mighty long walk… And there doesn’t seem to be much to drink along it.”

‘That, my dear Malva, is why I’m in charge!’ is what Sadoc desperately wanted to say.  

“Yes, I had already been chewing on that,” was what he said instead, his tone slightly more cordial than he would have liked. “But if we move quick and ration our water, we might just make it.”

Malva raised her hands in insincere deference. “Whatever you want to do, Sadoc. You’re in charge after all.”

Sadoc shot her a sharp look but said nothing. She had no idea what the right decision was and they both knew it; she just wanted to be able to place the blame elsewhere when things inevitably went sideways. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing he had a child to teach this to. They would likely be no more unhelpful than Malva, and would give him a lot less lip while they were at it.

Unfortunately, he and Krissy had never been blessed with children and she had no head for maps. So it fell to Malva of all people to help him.

Delightful.

~Birinus Goodenough, Clover Goodenough, Odo Meadowgrass; dysentery. We wait for you.~

—-----

Sadoc cursed himself as he went about picking up the wreckage that remained of the camp. Nothing good ever came from anything new, he knew that, and he had still let that ratty giant trail behind like a lost dog. Sure, he had fended off wolves and made the grove flourish overnight, but he had also burned one of Sadoc’s star charts, terrified Elanor Brandyfoot, almost killed the other Brandyfoot girl, and then brought those damn witches right to them!

Distantly, he heard Largo assuring his eldest daughter that everything would be alright. His wife, sensible woman that she was, of course pushed back, insisting that Nori was too old for lies now. 

Instead of listening to his wife, Largo argued, stubbornly insisting that everything would turn out fine in the end. Sadoc butted in. “For pity’s sake, Brandyfoot! Give us a moment to weep.”

Maybe they would survive this, but it wouldn’t be easy. Harfoots didn’t carry much with them as a rule, but even the very little they did have had just gone up in flames. People were grieving, people were mourning, and they needed the time to do so. There was bound to be more loss in the coming days.

“Weeping!?” Largo burst out. “Is that all you think we have left in us? We’re Harfoots!”

Sadoc said nothing and let him rave. The man was grieving, just like the rest of them, in his own strange, optimistic, Brandyfoot way.

The whole camp fell silent at his outburst; looking to Largo for what? Hope? Entertainment? Because they had nothing else to do? Sadoc didn’t know. Largo himself floundered for a moment. He had no idea what he was going to say next, and no one knew what they wanted to hear.

At last, Largo met his daughter’s eyes and it gave him the strength to go on. “Look, we don’t slay dragons. We’re not much for digging jewels. But there’s one thing we can do, I warrant, better than any creature in Middle Earth. We stay true to each other,” he encouraged gently.

“No matter how the path winds, or how steep it gets,” he went on. “We face it, with our hearts even bigger than our feet. And we just keep walking.”

With that, he took his wife by the hand and led her away, leaving them all to think on his words. Sadoc shook his head and turned back to his work. The man was delusional, crazy. And yet… he couldn’t deny that he felt a mite better hearing that somebody still had some spirit left.

That didn’t change the fact that he was a barking mad optimist though.

Sadoc was drawn out of his thoughts by the voice of Marigold Brandyfoot. “Nori, where are you going?”

The girl was packing a few apples in a bag slung over her shoulder. “To help my friend,” she replied. “Warn him what’s coming. He deserves at least that.”

Of course she was, Sadoc thought to himself. That girl never had any sense to speak of, especially not when it came to outsiders. And unfortunately, since her parents had obviously failed to restrain her or at least make her think before doing something stupid, the job fell to Sadoc himself as the tribe’s leader.

“Going off trail? Now? Alone?” Maybe he could at least convince her to take some precautions, like a map, or a friend.

“She won’t be alone.” Poppy Proudfellow spoke up. “We’ve left enough folk behind, we’re not leaving him.” When those two had become friends, he had hoped that Proudfellow would be a calming influence on Brandyfoot. Now, it was clear that the opposite was true.

“You girls aren’t going anywhere,” Marigold interjected. Finally! A sensible voice in this madness. “Not without me.”

Sadoc’s jaw nearly went slack in shock. Marigold Brandyfoot was one of the most level headed people in the entire tribe! That big fellow must have had more of an impact than he thought.

Vilma, Malva’s dearest friend, tried to dissuade them. “If you go into those woods, you may never come out alive.”

To Sadoc’s, and likely everyone else’s surprise, Malva contradicted her. “They might if a trail-finder were to go with them.” 

Sadoc stared at her in shock. They had disagreed on many, many, many things over the years, but there had always been at least one rule that neither of them would dare violate: nobody goes off trail, alone or otherwise. It had only ever brought them disaster. But here she was, staring directly at him, suggesting that he himself lead the expedition to go find the giant; the outsider she had never liked to begin with!

He said nothing, so she went on. “The Brandyfoot girl was right to help him; was right all along; and if you think Malva Meadowgrass is too proud to admit it, well- What’s the point of living, Sadoc, if we aren’t living good?”

Damn her. All of his life, Sadoc had stayed on the path as well as he could. He had studied under his father to one day take over as trail-finder, he had carved his wheels when he came of age, he had courted and married a beautiful woman, he had led the tribe on countless migrations, he had helped to raise every child born into their little family despite never being blessed with his own, and it had been good. It had been good for a long time.

But now, they were without carts and wheels. Their food was all but gone. They had nothing but the love in their hearts, the hair on their feet (most of their feet, anyway), and an honorary tribe member wandering who even knew how many miles away.

He knew what he had to do. “You know, Malva, once- just once- it would be grand if you weren’t right all the time.”

The small smile on her face almost made it worth it, though it didn’t change the fact that he was getting too old to be putting up with these ridiculous, youthful shenanigans anymore. “I’ll fetch provisions and get me stick,” because, regardless of what the Brandyfoot girl thought, a few apples were not enough to sustain a person on a bushwhacking journey. “I’m coming with you.”

As he tramped off to get his things, he threw a grumble over his shoulder in an attempt to keep their expectations low. “Doesn’t matter anyway; we’re all gonna die.”

—----

As the Brandyfoots (and honorary Brandyfoot) had their reunion, Sadoc sank down on a nearby rock. The wound in his belly burned, his head spun, but most of all he just felt tired. He could feel the very life draining out of him as his blood drenched his tunic.

There wasn’t much time left and he knew it.

He blinked and Marigold was at his side, pulling his hand back to examine the wound. “Hold still,” she said gently. “We’ll find a way to carry you back.”

It was an empty platitude. He was going to die and there was nothing for it, and as much time as Marigold had been a Brandyfoot, even she couldn’t blind herself to reality through sheer, stubborn optimism.

“I’m sorry, good lady,” he said to her. “I’m afraid I’m about to go a’wandering off-trail.”

Poppy Prowdfellow couldn’t hold back her tears. “Mr. Burrows…” 

She had lost her whole family and almost everyone she had ever looked up to, Sadoc knew, and he did his best to comfort her. “It’s alright, Prowdfellow.” He looked up to see the sky brightening with pre-dawn light. “The missus will be waiting.”

He could almost see her now; curly yellow hair like morning dew caught in a sunbeam, a straight back that never bent for anyone, beautiful brown eyes that betrayed the depth of her thought. Sadoc couldn’t wait to see her again.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” he went on. “I’d just like to sit a while- watch the sun come up.”

Marigold nodded tearfully and moved to sit beside him on the rock. One by one, the group gathered around him to watch the sunrise, trying to stifle their sniffles.

He thought of all the people who had wandered off the trail before him: his brother, his father, his mother, his wife, and many of his friends. Some of them had passed peacefully, in their own wagons, but a few had gone far off the trail and died alone.

Some part of Sadoc had known he would die once his feet left the path, he thought. Perhaps the feeling came from long experience, perhaps it had just been apprehension at leaving the trail for the first time, but perhaps something had really been whispering to him ‘It’s time.’

And yet, he had walked on regardless. Now, because of him- because of his sacrifice, Nori was still alive and breathing, huddled up next to him. He may have been off trail, but even now, he wasn’t alone.

Perhaps there were worse ways to go…

He felt the cold grip of death grasp his fingers, his vision started to go. No longer able to see the light of the sun, he closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and let it wash over his face. There, on that rock in the forest, surrounded by good folk that loved him, Sadoc breathed his last.

[brionysea]

when a new season of a show comes out and makes your old edits look SO good

[bumblingbabooshka]

Sometimes when I start getting too down about life I picture Tuvok dozing in a patch of sunlight and I think you should all try the same with your favorite guy