Outside the little hut at Homeward Wilds, several Inkbound Order disciples are in the middle of a lively debat…
Outside the little hut at Homeward Wilds, several Inkbound Order disciples are in the middle of a lively debate over the origins of the stone lions. One is certain they once stood along the spirit way of an imperial tomb; another insists they are merely an artisan's flourish, nothing more than a display of skill; a third is convinced that some long-lost treasure must lie hidden beneath them. The moment they spot you, they crowd around at once, chattering over one another to offer their theories and ask what you think...
[A brushstroke left by an old friend.] You remember the brush you once found here. It belonged to Huajing. He painted a picture; he painted a dream. And these stone lions were part of the landscape that wandered into his painting.
At your answer, the disciples fall briefly silent and trade bewildered glances. They scratch their heads, and after a long pause, someone ventures that this place used to be nothing but wilderness, so perhaps the sudden appearance of the stone lions is due to some strange stirring in the earth's veins; another still refuses to yield, insisting there must be an imperial tomb here, with the lions marking the way... With no one quite able to follow your meaning, you can only let out a wry, inward smile. Turning back, you look once more at the largest stone lion. It still stands there quietly as ever, head lifted proudly into the wind, immovable, timeless, unchanged through the ages.