![[Faugar.png]] Faugar never knew what it meant to be small, not in the way others meant it, anyway. Sure, he was a halfling, barely reaching the waists of the older orphans. But that never mattered to him. His ideas were big. His words were big. His dreams were bigger than all of them put together. Or at least, they would be, if his tongue didn’t trip over them so much. “Thhso, here’th the plan,” he’d say, gathering the others around, explaining some brilliant, foolproof, genius scheme to get them food, or shelter, or just a good laugh at someone else’s expense. And then someone would snort, and someone else would say, "What did you just say, Faugar?" And then it would all fall apart. Because no matter how many clever ideas he had, his words always got in the way. He never meant to be the leader of the orphan band. That had been Pirate’s job. Pirate was smart. Pirate had confidence. Pirate had a way of making people listen. But Pirate wasn’t always there. And someone had to come up with plans while he was gone. So Faugar stepped in. He made sure the little ones had food, even if it meant giving up his own. He kept them laughing, even when things were hard. And he always had a plan, even if it didn’t always work. Because trying was better than doing nothing. And Faugar never did nothing. Some of the orphans didn’t get Erin. She was quiet, strange, always talking to flowers and staring at things no one else could see. But Faugar got her. She didn’t laugh at his lisp. She didn’t roll her eyes when he messed up his words. She just listened. And in return, he made sure she never wandered off too far, even if he was pretty sure she always knew exactly where she was going. She liked plants and dirt. Faugar liked stories and mischief. Together, they made a pretty good team. The night the orphan band met Sordia Vignti, Faugar was already planning an escape. He didn’t trust grown-ups. Grown-ups left, or lied, or gave you something one day and took it away the next. But these ones? They weren’t normal. They were strong. They were loud. They were a little ridiculous. And, for the first time in his life, Faugar felt small. Not in a bad way. In a way that made him realize maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be in charge anymore. Maybe, for the first time ever, he could just be a kid. Now, with a home and food that he doesn’t have to steal, Faugar is still figuring things out. He still makes plans. He still talks too much. And his lisp? Still there, still frustrating, but it doesn’t seem to bother his new family. And that’s enough. For the first time, Faugar doesn’t have to lead. But that doesn’t mean he’s gonna stop talking.