Patch and Thatch once lived on a desolate farm, far removed from society. They shared their days with their frail, aging mother, who taught them everything they’d need to fend for themselves when she was no longer there. Just like Tip, they don't remember their real names. All they remember is the nicknames their mother gave them.

 

When they woke in The Nowhere, it was a place neither of them understood. Fear clung to them at first, but having each other was their anchor. Together, they knew they would be fine.

 

Patch was the older sibling, her courage burning like a reckless flame. She rarely hesitated, her daring nature often unsettling Thatch. Thatch, the youngest, had a quieter strength—his mind sharp, always calculating, always two steps ahead. Back in the counties, they had been exceptional at their tasks, a perfect pair, earning their mother’s pride even as her health dwindled.

 

But The Nowhere  does not favor the exceptional. It takes and twists. It breaks. No one among The Nomads knows what drew these two to this forsaken place. They speak of a mother, ill and fading, but the rest of their story is fragmented, swallowed by the shadows of memory. Still, Patch and Thatch are admired by those they travel with. They are relentless workers, their bond unshakable, their movements in perfect sync—traits that make them invaluable to the group.

 

Yet, their kindness ends where their enemies begin. When confronted with a threat, the siblings become something else entirely. They harvest not crops, but fear, leaving little behind but echoes of their rage. No one dares to ask what truly became of their mother, nor what they left behind in the counties. Some stories are better left untold.