Megren knocks on the door.
Lanisen calls, “It’s open!”
Megren slips inside. “Evening!”
Lanisen is just setting out the hounds’ dinner, and it’s accordingly noisy, until all of a sudden it’s not. “Hey,” he says, going to rinse his hands. “How’re you?”
Continue reading come raingiver
Lanisen is wandering the empty pasture with Nia, slowly making his way down toward the lake.
Darrin leads Gambol back to the horse pasture from the stables and lets him off his lead.
Lanisen shades his eyes against the late afternoon sun, squinting toward Darrin and Gambol.
Darrin watches as Gambol shakes his mane and trots off immediately, without so much as a backwards glance. “Typical,” he snorts to himself, with a shake of his head and a smile.
Continue reading cheese to come
Glora appears outside of the window, peering in. The bright sun casts her in semi-silhouette, but she’s enough larger than a normal cat that it’s impossible to mistake her for anything but herself. The purple ribbon around her neck also helps.
Lanisen appears at the door a moment later, peeking out at her in mildly bewildered amusement. “Afternoon, miss,” he says gravely.
Glora looks towards the door, ears perking forward. “Oh good, you’re here.”
Continue reading apple muffins
Glora is curled in a pile of blankets in the middle of the bed, despite the afternoon hour. A few snowflakes curl past the window, but the room is plenty cozy.
Lanisen knocks on the door lightly.
Glora opens her eyes and looks towards the door. For just a moment, she curls up again and tucks her nose under her tail; then, with a yawn, she calls, “Come in.”
Lanisen opens the door a crack and peeks in. “Oh,” he says. “Should I come back?”
Continue reading catseye view
Glora wanders through the ward. The afternoon crowds part before her pointed remarks, more in surprise than response, so she makes fairly easy progress, if not in any particular direction.
Lanisen steps out of the kennels, winding a scarf around his neck as he goes. A gentle snow is falling, with a heavy sky to suggest that more is on the way, and he makes his way through the crowd toward the inner gate. It takes him a moment to notice the mild commotion, and he pauses before passing through to see what is going on.
Continue reading unexpected company
Lanisen is sitting at a fire a little after sunset, wrapped in a blanket. He has the same pale, bloodshot, anxious look as many in the party, and watches the path east into the trees without any particular focus.
Wintermoor draws close to the gathering Circle, pausing to take in those assembled there.
Lanisen resettles in his blanket and sniffs, chilled. He glances up automatically toward the Centaur, looking at his face to see if there’s any news, then looks down at the fire.
Continue reading day 2: borrowed shelter
Cor comes out of his tent looking poorly rested, and a little disheveled. He is warmly dressed, but still looks a little cold.
Petria rises from her place by the fire stretching and moves the greet Prince.
Bracken glances toward the prince. “There’s coffee if you want it Your Highness.”
Lanisen, sitting with his arms on his knees by the fire, rouses and straightens as Cor emerges. He gets to his feet, a little wobbly with lack of sleep, and bows.
Continue reading day 2: moving forward
Here is a wide open space carved in the rock, roughly circular and no more than twenty yards in diameter. The cliffs loom high on every side, providing shelter from wind and weather, but a great opening very far up lets in sunlight and sky. A thin jet of water, perhaps a daughter-stream of the river that pours into Caldron Pool, cascades down the western cliff face and feeds into a deep pool the color and clarity of a well-cut emerald. The ground, except for a ring of vegetation surrounding the pool, is dry and sandy. A single ancient larch tree grows tall near the north wall.
All around, the cliff face is etched and pocked with half-open tunnels and dark holes, entrances to small caves hollowed out years ago by the long work of water on stone. Some are fitted with wooden doors and appear inhabited, but many still yawn empty. Up above, ledges and crevices in the rock provide nesting spaces for eagles and hawks. In the east wall, through a wide crevice like a wound in the stone, the forests of Lantern Waste are just visible.
Lanisen is alone in the sunlit basin, wandering about idly. He kneels on the edge of the pool where the water is the most still and peers down into its depths.
Glora strolls into the basin, tail held high and ears perked. Someone has made a chain of autumn leaves to drape about her neck, the reds and oranges a bright contrast to her grey coat.
Lanisen sits back on his heels, looking up at the waterfall, then back down into the pool.
Continue reading prejudice and sauce
Outside the Twin Oaks Inn
Megren stands outside the inn, dressed in sparring clothes. A group of Narnians is gathered around her, all chattering away, seemingly about the kings and queens, if the words that rise above the talk are anything to go by.
A faun with brown curly hair (Tumnus) comes walking in from the south, surrounded by a small group of Beasts.
A magpie with black-and-white plumage (Tooey) half hops, half flies in after the faun chirping something about treasure.
A centaur with dark serious eyes (Wintermoor) stands with the circle listening to the daughter of eve speak to those gathered. A faint covering of travel-dust covers him still.
Continue reading lost caches and wishes
Outside the Twin Oaks Inn
A large clearing opens here, surrounded on all sides by dense forest. Massive oaks loom on the east and west sides, their great spreading branches providing a pleasant shade to the area without entirely obstructing the sky. Clover and thick grass carpets the ground, but a path curving up from the south to the northeast is trampled bare by frequent passage.
A small greystone inn sits to the west of the clearing. Its peaked roof is golden thatch, and its windowframes are charmingly whitewashed. There is a sturdy wooden bench outside the front door, and the path that branches off from the main route to the inn’s door is pebbled with smooth river rocks and bordered by marigolds.
Lanisen sits on the bench just outside the inn door, his right ankle resting on his left knee. There’s a cup of tea steaming gently on the bench next to him, and he seems to be writing a letter.
A cat with brilliant green eyes saunters through the trees, tail and chin high. When she reaches the path, she turns, starting to head along to the northeast. She gives a passing glance towards the Son of Adam, keeps walking, then pauses and looks back at him. “/You’re/ not a Faun.”
Lanisen glances up quickly at the voice. He shifts, putting both feet on the ground, and sets his letter aside, and grins once he finds the speaker. “No,” he agrees.
Continue reading touring the waste