turnsheet_bureau:eternity:juno [Contagion]

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======Farewell, My Friends.======

//Step. Clink. Step. Clink.//

The rhythmic sounds draw her along, giving her mind something to focus on as she trudges through mile after mile of woods, plains, hills and the occasional cliffside. It's all quite familiar, she thinks: once upon a time, she was in this same situation, albeit with one more organic leg and a few more family members. Their faces are still so clear in her mind's eye: April poking Mayes in the side, Mayes chasing after April in retaliation, Julia looking at all three of them with a tired yet genuine smile. Some time ago, such a memory would have her smouldering in angst and //saudade//. But that was some time ago. Now, it just brings a sense of nostalgia.

Does she miss them? Yes. Of course she does. 

But they wouldn't want her to spend the rest of her life chasing after what is now but a memory. Not when there's so much life left to live. So much life left to give to herself, and to others.

So she walks, once more, away from one home to another. Such is the way of the Eirs.

----

The Sanctuary is an echo of grandeur. Buildings (not tents, //buildings//) dot the inside of the camp, with an impressive radio tower and slithering cables. From the outside, it looks resplendent, nothing like the shabby encampment the Bastion was... or had become. But, as one gets closer, they'd see it: concrete fracturing, rebar rusting, windows broken and never repaired. This, too, is a place in decline. Zephyr was right: they're on their last legs.

The Juno of the past may have seen this place and thought it lost, doomed to decay and rot just like the rest. Many have. But things have changed, and not all is yet lost if one chooses to look yet closer.

Buildings crumbling? Yes. Walls rotting? Yes. People broken? Not even close. The physical Sanctuary may be deteriorating, but the people remain. Cries both tearful and joyful echo between tent walls as though nature herself is too stubborn to forget the sounds of life. For a moment, Juno stands at the perimeter, a stranger to a family dinner, an acquaintance at best to the shared joy of friends. 

That moment is brief. Eyes and hushed voices turn, slowly but surely, into the extended hands of welcome. Someone shouts -- the spell is broken -- all are on her, curious, offering a helping hand to her load, to her arm, examining her unabashedly, granting her smiles. Counting her as one of their own.

Such was the Bastion, at first. Such, now, is the Sanctuary. A remnant of life, burgeoning stubbornly on. Lending each other food, helping each other repair what little they can.

A community.

A family.

{[]}{{tag>writeupeternity gm_alyssa complete}}