Initially this story was going to have chapters for the Lord Captains and a number of other characters, but I've changed my mind. I'm counting The Lord Captains as one installment, and will hopefully get around to another one, tentatively titled "Lords and Longtreaders." Helmer the Black: Two brutish bucks stood at the foot of the ladder leading up | Fan Fiction | New Seddleton

Gome the Agile: Gome “the Agile” Fletcher* strode the top of the wall around | Fan Fiction | New Seddleton

Stam the Stout: Stam the Stout whistled an old Drekker tune as he strode thr | Fan Fiction | New Seddleton

Perkin One-Eye: Perkin One-Eye watched grimly as fires sprang up around Firs | Fan Fiction | New Seddleton

Fesslehorn: Fesslehorn ran as he had never run before. He wept as he ran | Fan Fiction | New Seddleton

Pickwand: Pickwand watched as the Walter  made…

Fletcher Farthing peered through the damp, misty forest as he strolled along on patrol. The other members of the patrol walked in front of him while his brother, Cadan, jogged beside him.

“See anything?” Cadan asked, wiping his wet paws, white like the rest of him, on an equally damp leaf.

“Nothin’,” replied Fletcher.

“What do we do if we run into wolves?” questioned Cadan worriedly.

“We lead them as far from Cloud Mountain as we can,” Fletcher answered. “We can’t afford to let any get in there, especially with all the lords gathered.”

They continued on through the bracken, squinting through the dense fog on either side of the path.

At long last, the series is complete! Links to all seven chapters below:

Moments of the Mending: Whitbie

Moments of the Mending: Louise

Moments of the Mending: Naylen

Moments of the Mending: Heyna

Moments of the Mending: Coleden

By the kind permission of @Bea Lardinois, here is a not-very-little one shot about Whit's insomnia. I honestly loved writing this. It serves as a sort of prequel to Here and Alive, but it's totally readable (and even more depressing) alone. Hopefully you enjoy it!

~

Whit could not sleep. This had become normal, the fear of closing his eyes and the visions of destruction that filled his mind once he forced himself to try to block out the fear. In his eight years, Whit had had his share of nightmares, but these days they were being pushed out by lack of any sleep at all. Instead, he found his way to the palace library, creeping between the shelves with a carefully guarded candle in his hand. The shadows flickered almost welcomingly as Whit picked a book of history from the shelf and sat down in an armchair, sinking a…