Marnie Thatch is a young living scarecrow raised on her family's farm, where burlap skin, straw stuffing, button eyes, and yarn hair are ordinary hereditary traits rather than evidence that somebody's autumn decoration has achieved consciousness. Her parents and relatives are built much the same way, and Marnie finds questions about who “made” her approximately as strange as anyone else would.

Growing up on a working farm made Marnie practical from an early age. She can mend fences, handle animals, maintain equipment, stack a trailer properly, identify what needs doing before somebody asks, and work through the kind of long dirty day that makes romantic ideas about farm life evaporate by lunchtime. Being stuffed with straw provides surprisingly little exemption from chores.

It does create some unusual maintenance requirements. Tears in her burlap are injuries rather than wardrobe malfunctions and need to be stitched closed, while lost or damaged stuffing can be replaced. Marnie learned basic sewing partly for this reason and has become very good at making small repairs to herself. Open flame deserves considerably more respect. Heavy rain is mostly just unpleasant, and after a thorough soaking she has been known to spend an evening near a fan looking deeply offended.

Marnie's practical upbringing coexists with an enormous appetite for fantasy. She loves sprawling novels, folklore, tabletop games, old ruins, costumes, and stories about people setting off toward distant horizons with swords and impossible objectives. She knows perfectly well that real adventures involve wet socks, bad directions, expensive fuel, and nowhere convenient to pee. This has not diminished their appeal.

She's enthusiastic, grounded, and usually dependable, but possesses a streak of spontaneity that emerges whenever life becomes too predictable. Marnie is the person who will spend all morning sensibly repairing a gate and then suggest driving two hours that evening because she heard about a strange little festival. Her favorite plans tend to occupy the narrow territory between “that sounds fun” and “we probably don't need to tell Mum until afterward.”

Marnie also has an easy relationship with the corvids around the farm. Crows and ravens frequently perch on her shoulders or nearby fence posts, and she's been known to leave treats for particular regulars. She insists this is simply mutual respect and not evidence that she's assembling an army. Nobody has produced enough evidence to challenge this statement.

At home, she's equally happy disappearing into an oversized armchair with a fantasy novel and a slice of cake. Marnie doesn't actually want to abandon farm life for some grand heroic quest. She likes where she comes from, likes useful work, and likes knowing there will be something familiar waiting when she gets home.

She'd just appreciate the occasional side quest. 🌾🐦‍⬛