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246 years ago : Chihuahuan Desert

The sun beat down heavily across the landscape, but the lone rider was relatively unbothered. Despite a heritage filled with northern snows and the gentle chill of death, Sindri was a creature of forges and mines, and the heat held a homey sort of oppression. Besides, she'd taken a few things from a less fortunate traveler (they had been wearing red even though it was a new year, so their's was an unsurprising fate) and was very pleased with the comfort they offered. The shade of the sombrero was especially nice, and though the poncho had red upon it earlier, the blood had since dried to brown. Most auspicious.

It should be said that the rider was not traversing the wastes and ways upon her noble mount, but rather a little burro, also relieved from the dead. The beast's eyes were wide with fear, and when given opportunity to pause it trembled terribly. Noting the foaming flecks upon its mouth, Sindri gave it a friendly pat on the neck that only served to intensify its terror.

Oblivious or at least, incredibly uncaring, the horsewoman took out a pair of stolen maracas and began to shake them at seeming random, until suddenly it began a sort of music.

Sindri managed to be clear of the burro as it collapsed, heart having given out in the abrupt doubling of terror. Calmly she began to remove her bags from its corpse, every now and again patting the body with both continued affection for the beast and a quiet reverence for the onset of death.

Glancing up at the other, the Famine child, she nodded, "Does it mean anything to you, the shaking?" There were rituals and signs and lovely superstitions that involved such sounds. The phrase death rattle was one she found particularly pleasing.

Behind the bandana tied over her mouth, Sindri gave a small frown at the aimless disrespect toward the death, but it slid away quickly with nothing but calm in her eyes. "I'd heard Famine used such things in an interesting manner. Home and mother are powerful forces to relate to such a simple sound, yes?"

A pause and then, "Make sure you count the needles that stuck in you, every single one. Otherwise you may be lost here forever, and the End will occur without you."

"I promised to help you from time to time, should you be lost, as you so often are," Sindri corrected sagely. Crouching down, other business forgotten, she plucked needles from the ground with slender, skillful hands.

"You must keep good count, Looms Under, none of the a lot's or many many's or you'll lose yourself as you've lost them numbers and that would be terrible." The advice was sincerely given as the Crafter got into the task. Sindri was a firm believer in the value of her own lies, and often went about pursuing them as wholeheartedly as those who thought them to be a truth.

"But if you do well, perhaps we can make them into a blessing for you, rather than an awful curse that turns your bones to salt."

"Numbers are important, no wonder you are always so lost, even time is beyond those who cannot tell it. If you are not lost at the End, then you will simply be late for it. It is, perhaps, a lost cause to try and correct your fate." Sindri commented pleasantly to petulant creature.

"But if you collect them all and sort them from most painful to least, I will do the counting for you," she graciously offered, eyes narrowing in a possible smile. "And perhaps I will even explain the vast importance of salt."

Several of the beetles and flowers found their way into one of her many hidden pockets as Sindri watched him work. Hearing the petulance in his voice, Sindri tried a slightly different approach, explaining what is rather than whys and hows.

"Life in this world," she began quietly, "is salt. Without it, the many many of humanity would die, as would their beasts. There is salt in their blood, and such danger it is to lose too much. There is salt also, in their tears. Through their very emotions they can give up their salt. But..." she held up a hand. "Where there is life, there is also death. The salted waters of the seas will not sustain a human life, but rather kill it all the quicker. There is more of course...salt can be a weapon against our kind, so be cautious of those who toss it toward you."

Sindri accepted the needles with a grave solemnity, and began to sort them into groups of three. "If you wish to drink the ocean, you must first tied rocks and chains to your feet, so it doesn't carry you off. Within the ocean is a secret desert of perpetual night, where few have ever been. That desert is vast and hungry, and would gladly swallow even your existence."

After finishing her count, the horsewoman's hands began to work, weaving the long needles together with a swiftness that would have her crafting instructor give her a look but perhaps not a lecture. It was rare for her to work so quickly.

It does, she nodded, "It is said that the world ended once already in ice. The remains of that still crawl along the world, ready to creep up and swallow and trap unwary Famine colts. The best way to avoid such a thing it to catch a fish and wear it around your neck. If you begin to freeze, it will wake up and start thrashing its tail, hard enough to break the ice."

Pulling a small item from one of her pocket, Sindri continued to work until finally, in her hands, was a little ball, woven from the needles. Holding it up, she shook it, and the cheerful sound of a small bell jingled across the landscape. Stringing it on a fine copper chain, the offered it to Lurks with great ceremony and importance, "If you ever get lost and it seems the End is nigh, shake this charm and perhaps someone will hear it."