Ramona: Post-Bedlam

I think I'm beginning to see what Ragnarr saw in this bunch. There's something strangely endearing about them.

It's like the puppy my parent's foolishly bought me when I was small.

I think they thought it would protect me from the predators they thought haunted the shoreline. And he might have done a good job of that that. He was a big dog, strong, with a killer grip and sharp teeth.

My father learned this well. We never did see any predators, but Bucky had a great love for my father's boots. And for pissing in my parents bed, and eating anything that was left on a counter, or on a plate, or in a poorly-closed container on the kitchen counter.

It wasn't that he was particularly good at getting into things. He just couldn't seem to figure out that he wasn't supposed to be on the kitchen counter, and he was too clumsy not to knock everything off once he was there.

He never figured out how doors worked, either. If the door was closed, he would just run at it, full speed, over and over, and smash his face into it until either someone let him out or he broke the door again.

By the gods, did he break a lot of doors.

Bucky never did learn his own name, either. Or to come when I called.

If he had, he might not have stayed on that sandbar. If he was smart enough to swim, he might have made it back to shore, even with the tide coming in.

Umberlee has little respect for loyal, strong, and stupid. But she does like sacrifices, and likes flattery and worship from those who would otherwise shun her.

I'm sure my father thought he had hidden his makeshift shrine well. He was never good at keeping things from me.

And now I find myself with an entire group of poorly house-trained Buckies.

I can only hope that Umberlee hasn't noticed them enough to care, and that she doesn't have it out for them.

If she does, they might as well give up now.