Chippy let the soil fall from his open hand. It was dark, rich, and old: the soil that could birth a paradise, or a nightmare. It spoke to him, told him the stories only the earth remembers, of battles a thousand years gone. As the last thick clumps of earth tumbled from his palm, he rose from his crouch, stretching and shifting his travelling gear. He was of average height and fair complexion, slight of frame yet full of spirit. Of his age, there was no trace, not a grey hair on a head that had seen many seasons, not a wrinkle on a face that had laughed and smiled innumerable times. Chippy returned his tall hat to its place on his brow, and retrieved his gnarled staff from its resting place. The staff was carved upon its entire surface, deep runes and crests inlaid upon the ancient wood, flowing with the powerful and indomitable will of mother all herself. Chippy exhaled slowly, and turned to the shadow at his side.
"You know you don't have to skulk around back there like a goddamn psychopath, right?"
There was no answer. Chippy could have guessed, but the silence was killing him. He knew his companion was just being careful, just looking out for both of them. Stealth was a powerful ally, and had it not been for the ghostly sigh of the spirits around as they passed, Chippy would not even have been aware he was travelling with company.
He looked beyond the copse of trees they were concealed in, to the city spawling below them.
"They have a strong presence here. I'm sure it's a fact they have tried very hard to shroud beneath a cloak of spies and disguises, but nature can't be fooled, she's a pissed old wench who never forgets a face."
He smiled broadly, his features bubbling up with mischievous glee.
"I suppose you'll be off murdering people then. I'm going to plant some.....stuff....here. Won't be a minute, but if you manage to somehow off some poor bastard in that period of time, don't forget to bag the hands. Leave all those little bones lying around, birdies will choke."
He stooped back in to a crouch and began pushing seeds firmly into the soil. He wished he could talk more, he felt like he had been silent for ages, and the brief and one sided conversation he had just engaged in had roused his rather talkative spirit once more. He wished he could, but the land told him his shadow was already far away.
Oh well, there's always the birdies.
The Earth Tells All
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