There are no “benefits” to being disabled.

But they do rather enjoy lying by the fireplace and being read to, for lack of sight to do so themself.

Guy who has never been on a “date” or in a “town” and has never worn much of anything but a cloak or two.

A date night on the town and nice clothes would fix them.

Days asleep and they dreamed first of siblings never met, tiny and numerous and hollow-eyed just like them.

Then the little ones were children of their own, newly-hatched and impossible and huddled around them like kids beneath a summer tree.

Then they woke.

Strange.

// Thank youu 🫶 These messages definitely make resuming as normal feel a bit more approachable

// 🥺 thank you !!

// I’ve been having a Time health-wise and now it’s been so long I’m all anxious about coming back aughh

Spring approaches. (threat)

// (pushing a whole horde of more ideas behind my back) Never again I tell you! Never!

// My April Fools joke is that I will never come up with or write another iteration of Hollow ever again.

No. They shan’t say.

They need that second arm so they can

// A lot of writers (reasonably) assume my HK guys are more or less bug-sized and it kills me because I am LOCKED IN on Hollow being absolutely huge even to humans, but I would love to write an iteration that actually is tiny. Just imagine a guy who fits in your hand like an action figure. Very cute

// I would be happy to write with them if you do!! Back then, Hallow was my only guy and I was too new and shy to do much but politely observe 😭😭

// WAIT YOU’RE QUIRREL/THE OTHER HOLLOW FROM BACK THEN!!? It’s been so long but I remember them so fondly…..

Long enough, at least, that the edge of hunger leaves them susceptible to turning their head to look at all. How improper, for a guardian and former knight, to do anything but look forward.

Not that anyone’s keeping score.

And so they will watch, with open curiosity, until he makes it to them.

Whatever it is he carries, the scent of it turns the guardian’s head before he even reaches them.

Standing downwind from him, at the northern exit of their settlement and the base of the sloping snow-drifted hill facing a distant city, Lantana has dutifully remained here on guard for hours.

Though the unease from earlier still gnaws at them, now, they seem nothing more than curiously cautious. Certainly, any good guardian would wish to absorb as much information about their situation and surroundings as possible.

little logic in getting into it right here and now.

‘If there is writing here, that I cannot see,’ the bug-thing returns to their earlier curiosity, looking to her instead. ‘It’s the finer details of objects that are lost to me.’

And apart from 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, ‘What is it that you mean by “changing”…?’

Having bent their head low to inspect the signpost from where they still stand, so caught up are they in the concept of a 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘸𝘢𝘺, they almost don’t register her question.

‘Light or dark, my surroundings look the same,’ they assure quietly. There is nuance to it, certainly, but there is

‘Some. There is talk of venturing into the forests come warmer weather to gather rarer supplies.’ Absently, their hand smoothes along the underside of their mask, pensive and unsure. ‘The dangers will be less with the snow melted, but present all the same. I intend to go with when the time comes.’

It would be an understatement to say Lantana is heartened to see him take the matter just as seriously as they do—even if, habitually, they draw no excess attention to it. If they could smile, perhaps they would. Instead they nod once in grateful acknowledgement, and move on.

state of her tattered clothes, they get the sense, almost, that she may be worse for wear. That, too, they can empathize with.

‘Would you tell me of these other bugs? Are you in need of assistance, perhaps?’ May as well make the most of their portal blunder, they suppose.

That discomfort they understand well, and bow their head as if in apology. Would that they had means to communicate other than something so invasive.

‘Keep it for yourself,’ they assure gently. ‘For now, nothing is required.’

Other than satiated curiosity, maybe. Though they cannot quite see the

‘Lantana,’ they supply at last, the edge of caution persistent, but leaning curious. ‘Interest how? You play a dangerous game, approaching a vessel in dreams.’

They hate using the word, vessel. But here it is succinct and necessary: A being made to contain a god of virulent dreams.

How much they detest the whimsical, illogical nature of dreams. And how predisposed they are to react poorly to intruders or inciters of dreams at all.

At least her name is unfamiliar, and her visage. For a mercy, despite her fluff, she is no moth. They can afford her at least a lack of hostility.

A cavern—

The realisation strikes them next, with a sharp glance around, that this is not the settlement with its open air and stinging gales, but Hallownest—before its complete fall, before they had fled.

Slowly, their attention returns back to her, tense and on edge, despite what she says.

// Doctor or merchant.

Though unrefined, they already have a healing “spell”, and an aptitude for it in general.

Because they keep tabs on the needs of the settlement, they already serve as an unofficial coordinator for incoming merchants. The transition to merchant themself wouldn’t be difficult.

// This is narrative IC it’s all good! Thank you though 🫶

(Who needs April Fools when you’re already the fool)