Meridy has never really had a home to speak of. Sure, the few years they spent with the Merrin were wonderful as they learned how to farm and fish and cook. The ceilings were a little low, but that just meant they had more of an excuse to be outside. Then there was the time they went up north to Frostholm, where the bitter cold sharpened their survival skills and that one kindly old woman had taught them how to swing a sword and temper their wild heart into something productive. A while in Caldris, getting so badly sunburned the healer had had nearly an hour to scold them while helping apply the aloe that let them sleep. They'd seen the healer plenty of other times as they'd struggled to pick up the basics of dock work and sailing, but at least he had been kind enough to explain how to bandage and clean basic wounds while he worked. They'd even spent a few months in Windell and travelled along the borderlands of the different people of the Old Lands, learning as much as they could.

And then the world began to fade, rumors flying across the roads they walked upon. Slow in some places, fast in others, everything leading to the same hollow death that even the greatest minds and most powerful leaders could not stop. One by one they heard of the towns they had known, the people they had learned from fading and falling apart. It was hard to tell what was real and what was fake, what was truth and what was just made up by scared, lost folk trying to make sense of something that did not want to be understood. Some fought, some clung, some simply...died.

Meridy did what they had always done. Packed a bag, said their goodbyes, and kept moving. Onto the new lands.