You stand in the Library of Anvard, a room well-lit by a multitude of wall sconces. The air is heavy with the unique, but pleasing smell of books, old and new. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of volumes line the shelves from top to bottom, and a number of tables have been provided for reading and writing. The room appears to be well-dusted and well-kept, its contents carefully maintained and repaired throughout the years.
Lanisen prowls up and down the section of the shelves containing books on Archenland’s nearest neighbors, his head tilted oddly to one side as he reads the titles. His stick clacks loudly against the floor in the ubiquitous library silence no matter how quiet he tries to keep it.
Tyre enters the library and surveys the territory to see if it is safe.
Continue reading crash course
You stand in the Anvard Stable. All around you are stalls and equipment. There are horses of all colors, but all are high caliber. The far wall is hung with saddles, bridles, stirrups and other tack. There is fresh straw in every stall and buckets for water are hung on hooks. There are several special stalls for visiting talking horses. The floor is hardpacked dirt.
Dar’s tall, lanky frame can be seen through one of the open stall doors. He is grooming a grey stallion, tall enough to be a good height for him. Dar’s back is to the door and he is focused on his work, using the curry comb to rid the horse’s coat of any traces of dirt.
Lanisen makes his clumsy, thumping way down the stable’s alley and turns to one of the stalls close to the door. The latch gives him some trouble, but he at last lets himself inside without letting the big dappled-gray gelding out, and closes the half-door behind him.
Dar, alerted by Lanisen’s halting progress, peers over the divide between the stalls, his height making this rather easier than it might otherwise be. He sets the comb aside. “Ah-”
Lanisen has already sagged against the gelding’s warm bulk, obviously thinking himself alone. At Dar’s voice, he straightens immediately, turning toward the source of the sound. “My lord,” he says after a beat, and bows, steadying himself on the horse’s shoulder.
Continue reading equine therapy
Drune is in between two bunks, in the process of attempting to stand up fully.
Lanisen is halfway curled up, trying unsuccessfully to sleep. He finally opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling.
Aliyah is curled in a corner, lightly snoring.
Continue reading moving on
Lanisen is sitting up in his bunk, looking tired and bad-tempered and very very bored.
Colin enters the barracks, looking freshly washed and laundered with a clean tunic belted at the waist. Now that the dirt and blood have all vanished, there are various scrapes and bruises to be seen but nothing too serious. “Good mooorrrrrning, sunshine!” He crows, well aware of the fact that it is evening.
Continue reading menagerie
A wolf with thick black fur and tired blue eyes (Tempest) follows two soldiers closely as they help her wounded packmate into the area. A healer sees to the wound in his side and gives him a sleeping draft. She lays down beside him, still panting a little from the battle. She lays her head between her paws and huffs out a huge breath. Her fur is dirty and matted, sticky in spots.
Lanisen sleeps fitfully on one of the cots about halfway down the room, heavily bandaged around the leg and shoulder, and heavily drugged. He seems to be trying to wake up, low noises of pain escaping him.
Tempest lifts her head when one of the wounded sons of adam starts fussing. She drags herself to her paws once more and pads over to him, peering at him anxiously. She sniffs him carefully. Not smelling death, she places her cold nose in his hand, trying to help him.
Continue reading the sun comes out again