I’ve mentioned before that I really need to incorporate Myra back into a full story. But for now, here’s Wintermorn with Myra and the Red Wolf Pirates.
“What are you lot doing here?” Myra Morningstar asks, looking up from her lonely seat at the head of the Red Wolves’ dark and empty dockside meetinghouse. “I gave you the holidays off.”
“We know you did, Captain,” the first Wolf says.
“And we appreciate it, Captain,” a second adds.
“But—” ventures a third.
“—We remember that you said that your parents are wintering in the Southern Keys this year,” the first concludes.
“And, Captain,” the second continues. “It just isn’t right for someone to be alone on Wintermorn.”
“Well,” the third muses, “except my Cousin Albin. He’s a real piece of work. He can scarper right off.”
The other two start blankly at him.
“What?” the third Wolf asks defensively. “Clearly, you’ve never seen Cousin Albin after he’s gotten into the eggnog!”
“Anyways,” the first Wolf says, turning back to Myra. “We didn’t want you to be alone today, Captain.”
“So, if you don’t mind, Captain,’ the second says. “We’d like to spend Wintermorn with you.”
“We brought dinner!” the third adds eagerly. He looks over his shoulder and calls towards the door of the meetinghouse. “Come on in, lads!”
A long procession of Red Wolf pirates streams into the meetinghouse, lighting the lamps on the wall and laying out a multi-course meal on the tables.
The three Wolves stand in front of Myra’s table and lay down a something that Myra can’t help but think is a birdcage covered with an old blanket in front of her.
“We all chipped in and bought you a present,” the first Wolf says. “We got to thinking: it’s not fair that the Captain has to be alone on Wintermorn, so how can we make sure she’s every lonely again?”
“And, well, we bought you a friend, Captain,” the second Wolf explains.
“Idiot,” the third Wolf whispers harshly to the second. “You’re making it sound like the Captain hasn’t got any friends!”
“Anyway,” the first Wolf says. “We bought you a parrot!”
He sweeps the cover off the birdcage and opens the door. There is a flash of red as parrot leaps from its cage and settles on Myra’s shoulder.
“Reportin’ for duty, Cap’n,” it squawks.
“His name is Polly!” the first Wolf says eagerly.
“His name is Polly?” Myra asks.
The second Wolf nods. “It’s short for Apollodorus!”
“Don’t, uh, don’t look at us,” the third Wolf says. “That’s what the guy we bought him from told us.”
“I see,” Myra mutters. She looks up at the colourful bird perched on her shoulder. “Good to meet you, Polly.”
“Reportin’ for duty, Cap’n,” the parrot squawks again. “Roll the ol’ chariot along!”
As the Red Wolves’ Wintermorn feast goes on, Myra feels her spirits brightening.
“How are you enjoying the roast boar, Captain?” the first Wolf asks.
“We thought about maybe turkey, or goose,” the second Wolf notes. “But, well…” He gestures to the parrot.
“Hey, uh, thanks,” Myra sheepishly murmurs to the Wolves. “This really means a lot to me. Merry Wintermorn, guys.”
“And, uh, Captain, if it’s not too much trouble,” the third Wolf says tentatively. “Could we possibly get a raise in the New Year?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
Now, if any Realmgard character would try to steal Wintermorn, only to end up discovering the true meaning of the holiday and getting their heart embiggened, it’s probably Myra.
And, like, Dunstana would clearly be the kid who precipitates her Face Turn.
Note to self: make a story out of that.
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