Come little Children {ANY}

[Straia]

i am the violence in the pouring rain

i am a hurricane

She is endlessly lucky that Erebor raised himself. Actually, he was born as an old man and just grew in body. Because truthfully, she is not all that good with children. She’s not terrible. She can keep an eye on them, teach them a thing or two, but generally there’s not much coddling. And clearly this one had no help early on in life. The boy is somewhat clueless, left alone too long to wander around. Not helpless, clearly. He’d stayed alive without sight and without help. But clueless.

When patience is required, she starts to suck.

The boy moves closer, and she does not shy away, but adds, “I’m not food, nor do I honestly know where to find you any. So you might need to learn to eat grass quickly. It’s on the ground, beneath your feet, and is not warm.” Because clearly this boy had gotten used to blood and meat. Grass may not help much, but it was something. The Chamber was not littered with all that many critters for eating. Mostly there were her ravens, and they were definitely not food.

“I’m Straia. That is my name. Do you have a name?”  

straia

the raven queen of the chamber