At the Base of the Watchtower
The Northern Wood is a dense and varied woodland. It consists primarily of oak and white pine trees, with a variety of other groves growing here and there. Some of the thicker trunks bear black, ribbed scars from some ancient fire, which might help to explain the large natural clearing that has formed here. The trees thin out to buckthorn and gorse bush about a large tower built of rough-hewn stone. The tower is in good repair, and stretches high enough to clear the tree canopy, presumably affording a good view from all approaches.
Jana walks toward the tower from somewhere northish. She is removing a wrap as she walks, as the day is growing more comfortable.
Lanisen is sitting on a stump near the line where the new forest meets the older forest. More visibly, a big bay gelding stands placidly, his tail whisking at flies.
Jana stops and frowns.
Lanisen doesn’t notice immediately, his head bent over a book, but the massive black wolfhound at his feet that sits up and raises its ears as Jana nears gets his attention. He glances up.
Continue reading reaching & falling
Lanisen is kneeling on the outskirts of the clearing, digging through a pack. A stolid old gelding grazes on the new sweet grass under the trees, and a soaking wet wolfhound gallops in cheerful circles, pausing occasionally to shake itself with great vigor.
Skarlieth comes into view overhead from the north. As his flight curves into a wide circle, he lets out a cry to announce himself before beginning to descend.
Continue reading arrival
Lanisen is packing. There is a rucksack open on a chair half-full of travel supplies and clothing, and he’s wandering around the kennel to see what else he might need, distracted.
Megren comes down the stairs holding up a sachet of tea. “This one?”
Lanisen halts his wandering and blinks at the sachet. “What was it doing up there?” he wonders.
Megren asks, “We brought the whole pot up that one night, with all your teas, remember?”
Continue reading packing up
Lanisen makes his way through the market in the early afternoon. Despite the sunny day, he’s wearing a scarf and a jacket. He’s got bags under his eyes and looks a little pale.
Deonyc walks along the marketplace aside a fellow guardsman, they are both in uniform but greeting people as they meet.
Dalia slips out from the stables, dusting off her dress and brushing a hair behind her ear.
Continue reading concoction
Megren sits at the short table under the window in her quarters. Despite a comfortable spring day, she has her wrap pulled around her. Her knees are pulled up to her chest with her feet on the seat of the chair, and she leans forward against them with her arms tucked between her body and her thighs, only reaching out to turn the pages of the sheafs of parchment that sit on the table.
Lanisen knocks three times on the door.
Megren drops her legs suddenly enough to make a small ‘thud’ and gets up to open it, sticking her face between door and frame. Tiny winds around her legs and whines, then slips out and bolts down the hall.
Continue reading plague party