> Anybody you feel like you ought to apologize to before you leave for presumably-ever? Maybe go do that.
>Maybe some apologies are in order. Think everyone will accept them?
You're not sure you have enough time to apologize to give an apology to everyone who deserves one—that would probably take more time than you have left. But you do spot Farmer Oliver in the crowd, looking quite unhappy. That's the guy whose corn you stole to... well, you know. You figure you can make your way over to him and make what amends you can.
"Hey, Farmer Oliver," you say, tapping your fingers. "I just wanted to say... I'm sorry about everything. I know it doesn't count for much at this point, but I legitimately feel bad for what I did. You're a hard worker and you provide a lot of value to the community. I understand that. You didn't deserve what I did to your crops."
"I'm actually really glad to hear you say that," Oliver says with a gentle smile. "I can't tell you how much it warms my heart to see you grovel in your lowest moment. Thanks but no thanks for the apology. I don't want to see you again. I hope the elder sentences you to fucking die!"
Well, okay. Can't win 'em all.
> Spend some time with Mom. Give her a hug.
> Tell Mom about trying to reach Boiling Water. Would she want you to write a letter when you make it there?
>Hey, you're the daughter of a famous chef, right? Maybe some cooking skills could be useful once you're on your way to Boiling Water. Asking Mom to teach you may be out of the question, but there has to be a way for you to learn.
You're sure you'll see her after your sentencing. For now, you can't bear to face her. Anxiety is written on her face like a long and flowery novel. Besides, you're not sure now is the right time for cooking advice.
Just as you're contemplating what to do next, a shadow passes over the clearing. You might mistake it for a passing cloud—but the sky is clear. Your heart becomes molten. You know what will come next.
The Elder descends from the sky, so huge and mighty that his landing sends a breeze rushing over you even from twenty yards away. Even the great bonfire on the platform flickers a little, then roars back bigger than ever, sending a curtain of blood-ruby embers into the sky.
"Here I am," the Elder rasps in his stony, rumbling way.
And there he is indeed. A mountain of fluff and scale and pretense, arrived to weigh your soul.
The Trial.
"Eschalotte Kurrat, the guilty," he booms. "Ascend the platform. I would see you through the flames."
Heart in your throat, you do as the Elder commands. Your body seems to resist you—you feel every ounce of your weight, each step up the worn wooden stairs like lifting a huge sack of rice over your head. The fire is almost unbearably hot on your face when you reach the top. Almost as uncomfortable and nauseating as the feeling of every pair of eyes in the village on your back.
The Elder cranes his massive neck to see you better, twinkling little eyes straining. "Ah. I see you now. Eschalotte. How big you have grown. How... disobedient."
Your voice is molten in your throat, but somehow you manage to speak even over his thunderous breaths, over the harsh crackle of flame. "If it's alright with you, Elder, I would just like to hear my sentencing. I've been shamed enough."
The Elder makes a deep rumble. You're not sure if it's laughter or grumbling. "So you have, have you? Ah... I have known you since you were quickening yolk. I love you as I love all members of this village. Might I not mourn what I lose, too? Mmm. Very well. Long have I meditated on this matter. Your sentencing."
He pauses, and the heat and sound of flame torture you.
"I have considered your position in this village. It is one of discord. You sow chaos for your own amusement. I had hoped you would grow out of this, given time, but you have only become bolder. You have not acquired skills as I had hoped, or realized your role in this place. You have only grown more adept at your troublemaking."
Ouch. Didn't you just ask to stop with the shaming? You're surprised he didn't go for gold and take a shot at your virginity.
"It has brought me to wonder... perhaps you are bored. Unstimulated. Unchallenged. Perhaps this place, this village, is too small for you."
It's everything you have not to laugh out loud at the absurdity of that sentence coming from an actual talking fucking mountain.
"Eschallote Kurrat, I hearby exile you from the village of Last Hill. When the next sun rises, we will close our doors to you—your words will be as wind to our ears. Your life will wind on, but it will be away from us—away from this place. So it shall be."
It's funny: the words don't crush you. If anything, you feel... relief? It's over. And it went essentially as you expected. The best outcome you could have hoped for, really; you were prepared for this. You take a deep breath, and suddenly the fire in front of you doesn't feel quite so hot.
"There is another matter."
Holy fuck the fire feels so so hot
"Last Hill operates a small jail. You know this better than most. Ah. Since before you were born, this jail has only ever housed two individuals: yourself, and Peter the Piloswine. With your departure, it seems to me rather redundant to continue operating this facility solely for the sake of a single individual. What is to be done, then? Mm. The Foxway is perilous. I am not sure you are ready to brave it alone. Peter, however, is an experienced combatant..."
"You can't be serious," you plead.
"Mm. I am not like you, Eschalotte. I do not litter grave moments with humor." Despite that, his eyes twinkle a little. "You will be placed under the care of Peter the Piloswine immediately. I have seen to his unwavering loyalty. He will lay down his life for you if the need arises. You will embark before dawn. This is the justice I have determined. I adjourn this trial."
"Can't we talk about this?"
With a beat of his wings, the Elder is gone, leaving only the dancing grass and pirouetting flames.
What now?
