The great brute had caught her at vunerable moment.
She slid to the cobbles, a hand to the wall as the visions took over. She found herself snarling at a face before her, her hand reaching for the claw to her belt. The calm voice pierced the haze, she heard her name and saw the pale face and hood before her and she dropped the claw.
She had barely regained composure and risen to her feet again when the great brute stomped up and she found herself in a bear-hug, swiftly released to see it pick up her companion in a more lengthy one. The action caused her hackles to rise, the feral curse to take hold again and she jumped upon its back, scratching, kicking and gougeing with finger and nail to get it to let go. Her puny attempts had left no mark to the tough leathery skin of the huge orc as it continued its 'embrace' and suggestive grunts and comments. The Moon-Father was left with potential cracked rib and severe bruising to one side. The two elves slid off swiftly to avoid another 'attack'.
If she were not so occupied with keeping her own curse at bay, she would deal with that orc for orc-handling them both, moreso the Father in that way. A slicing claw to its privates, arrow through eye, she seethed and plotted....or laxative herb to its drink.....save that the great brute, she thought, would likely not care where it did its business and the revenge she intended would likely backfire literally against the peoples of Sigil for the vile behaviour and stench it would make.
Lyra was tired. The wrinkling of arm from the mark had spread and she was near out of the mandrake. Twas only with aid and embrace of friend that she finally managed to achieve the state of reverie after demanding favour from him, insisting that should it come to 'that' she would rather see her death at the end of his blade than to face life as a zombie, without her grace. He agreed, easily, and she realised that he had planned for such anyway. She accepted that thought calmly, practically knowing something now of his faith. Her reverie was a calm one, save for a short awakening, her companion had stirred. She noted the tears with curiosity and brushed them away gently and slowly found that meditative state again, still locked in his arms sharing the warmth and contact.
*****
One friend had enchanted it to a flutter, another had given big heart beat, the third, her lover, had teased it. How did she describe this one...
She raised her hands pressing them close to her small breast above her heart cupped them together as if she held a small bird. She pretended to massage with thumbs as if stirring life back into that small creature from a healing, careful touch.
Lyra Fereth
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*Pashan01
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Fresh mandrake root cuttings to pocket they returned to Sigil, only to be faced in the backstreets by one thug whose words branded him one of the Brotherhood, a messenger. Having only just been revived from an escape and a dogai's sneak attack, the visions and urges returned with the messenger's presence and she was out of time and control.
With a snarl, she leapt at the newcomer standing before her, drawing blood but upon a shout of her name she withdrew. The vial slipped from the man's hand to roll to the cobbles by his feet, she knelt to snatch it, released the stopper but hesitated to drink until another urge and another wave of bloodlust came upon her again as she watched the Bronze-Witch spar word with the male and felt the need to kill again surging through her. Though advised to hold back from drinking the liquid she couldn't wait, her willpower tested strongly, it was only a matter of time before she would take claw to the Father's throat and that was the last thing she wished for. So she drank it.
New parchment was left to the elves but the Moon-Father hesitated to touch it. The two unafflicted elves hovered over the coded parchment as she allowed the 'cure' to ease the urges...for now.
With a snarl, she leapt at the newcomer standing before her, drawing blood but upon a shout of her name she withdrew. The vial slipped from the man's hand to roll to the cobbles by his feet, she knelt to snatch it, released the stopper but hesitated to drink until another urge and another wave of bloodlust came upon her again as she watched the Bronze-Witch spar word with the male and felt the need to kill again surging through her. Though advised to hold back from drinking the liquid she couldn't wait, her willpower tested strongly, it was only a matter of time before she would take claw to the Father's throat and that was the last thing she wished for. So she drank it.
New parchment was left to the elves but the Moon-Father hesitated to touch it. The two unafflicted elves hovered over the coded parchment as she allowed the 'cure' to ease the urges...for now.
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*Pashan01
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The first was a rough portrait of male beauty, simply drawn with focus on eyes, ear and hair. The style was light, not serious, more fantasy than reality.
The second, was more artistic, drawn from imagination than reality and again a only rough simple sketch. Indeed it was incomplete in that regard, as the body form was unclothed and she had not given attention to detail to all of the physique. It was her attempt to draw natural beauty, free from the hindrance of cloth or metal. But without live model, she could only go so far with imagination. There were hints, subtle hints of another in the two faces, drawn also from memory, but the beauty of the elf she spent time with was more predominant in the features...the distant memory of one, fading, blurring, merging with the present.
((ooc not my original sketches))
******
The sketching did indeed bring her comfort. Where there was time to do it for her own passion of the art and not for gold to live, where she could choose her subject of beauty and not have to deal with the smug and arrogant custom of grotesque orc-kin, vividly displaying their protrusions for her to paint. The last time she had seen such beauty, the two oil paintings had been paid for then destroyed by the owner. She would be keeping these sketches as a study to perhaps doing a fuller painting in time. She would keep that one too.
The second, was more artistic, drawn from imagination than reality and again a only rough simple sketch. Indeed it was incomplete in that regard, as the body form was unclothed and she had not given attention to detail to all of the physique. It was her attempt to draw natural beauty, free from the hindrance of cloth or metal. But without live model, she could only go so far with imagination. There were hints, subtle hints of another in the two faces, drawn also from memory, but the beauty of the elf she spent time with was more predominant in the features...the distant memory of one, fading, blurring, merging with the present.
((ooc not my original sketches))
******
The sketching did indeed bring her comfort. Where there was time to do it for her own passion of the art and not for gold to live, where she could choose her subject of beauty and not have to deal with the smug and arrogant custom of grotesque orc-kin, vividly displaying their protrusions for her to paint. The last time she had seen such beauty, the two oil paintings had been paid for then destroyed by the owner. She would be keeping these sketches as a study to perhaps doing a fuller painting in time. She would keep that one too.
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*Pashan01
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A treasure in a book gained easily by a simple question. The Bronze Witch had done her more favour than she realised and if she wanted teaching, lessons that had been offered too. She hugged the book to her chest, girlishly pleased at finally getting her hands on this knowledge. The book was stuffed with the Witch's own notes and scrawls too. She no longer felt it necessary to complete the task for the imp and its master in order to acquire this knowledge.
She shared sight of the first page with the Moon-Pops, as the Witch had called him, though Lyra had new name for him now, one offered, a true name, one that she was happy to use carefully. They sat higher and in the green and she studied the text while the tea brewed in the tin pot over the small campfire. Warning had been given not to try out the spells upon self but to use one of the undead from the gray waste, which brought a groan forth from the Father. She was capable of few of the spells she saw listed on those first few pages she flicked through and would have to read more upon the subject and see. At least she had the book now. It was one Lervak did not have to his shelves.
Since she had drank the contents of that vial she occasionally felt tired, but not too weak, between that and the roots she chewed on, there had been no more 'urges' of bloodlust and she was relieved. Nor had there been contact from the Brotherhood and the Father and the Witch still made their researches on her behalf. She had obtained some enchanted headwear from the red-haired tail and had it enchanted further by the elven Witch - both would help to ward and give her power of will against the Beast curse. The boots the Father lent her too would help her fortify her health and stamina.
In the limbo between, her life continued nearly as normal though Lervak had agreed to lighten her duties, albeit begrudgingly. Tattoo work was at a minimum, though she started work on a private one for the Moon-Father taking no cut herself but ensuring cost was still paid to the parlour. So far she had done the tracing and sorted the outline of the large symbol upon his chest to cover that ugly scar of the flame. The rest would take a couple more sittings when the skin had recovered. She was mindful of that previous scar and of her promise to be gentle. The Father would not take of the sannish to dull the pain. The next phase of shading would be worse but she would still attempt to persuade. It was a balance of will, wish and promise.
It was a little clearer to her now...or becoming so, yet still there were veiled messages and feelings. She read what she could, absorbed and observed, assimilated it all into what she knew and had seen. No longer the father figure, still the mentor, definitely a friend and....of more? She watched the movements of his emotions carefully, noted the contentment that matched her own...used the time to study, learn, align, place....yet....she found this lesson harder than all so far.
A game, several in fact, a way of learning. Surprises, exploring, coin tossing decisions, dares, teases....new ones to those she had shared with her lover. And it was during one new game that she had let down her guard...allowed it or face forfeit of the most dire....and in so allowing had seen the response and made an assumption, one supported further following her first swim lesson with him. Whether she would act upon it was another matter.
***
The tone had become serious after that game and it ended as soon as begun.
''Does that thought bring you sorrow or happiness?'' he asked after learning that he no longer seemed as father to her.
''Both'' she let him read of her lips.
***
She shared sight of the first page with the Moon-Pops, as the Witch had called him, though Lyra had new name for him now, one offered, a true name, one that she was happy to use carefully. They sat higher and in the green and she studied the text while the tea brewed in the tin pot over the small campfire. Warning had been given not to try out the spells upon self but to use one of the undead from the gray waste, which brought a groan forth from the Father. She was capable of few of the spells she saw listed on those first few pages she flicked through and would have to read more upon the subject and see. At least she had the book now. It was one Lervak did not have to his shelves.
Since she had drank the contents of that vial she occasionally felt tired, but not too weak, between that and the roots she chewed on, there had been no more 'urges' of bloodlust and she was relieved. Nor had there been contact from the Brotherhood and the Father and the Witch still made their researches on her behalf. She had obtained some enchanted headwear from the red-haired tail and had it enchanted further by the elven Witch - both would help to ward and give her power of will against the Beast curse. The boots the Father lent her too would help her fortify her health and stamina.
In the limbo between, her life continued nearly as normal though Lervak had agreed to lighten her duties, albeit begrudgingly. Tattoo work was at a minimum, though she started work on a private one for the Moon-Father taking no cut herself but ensuring cost was still paid to the parlour. So far she had done the tracing and sorted the outline of the large symbol upon his chest to cover that ugly scar of the flame. The rest would take a couple more sittings when the skin had recovered. She was mindful of that previous scar and of her promise to be gentle. The Father would not take of the sannish to dull the pain. The next phase of shading would be worse but she would still attempt to persuade. It was a balance of will, wish and promise.
It was a little clearer to her now...or becoming so, yet still there were veiled messages and feelings. She read what she could, absorbed and observed, assimilated it all into what she knew and had seen. No longer the father figure, still the mentor, definitely a friend and....of more? She watched the movements of his emotions carefully, noted the contentment that matched her own...used the time to study, learn, align, place....yet....she found this lesson harder than all so far.
A game, several in fact, a way of learning. Surprises, exploring, coin tossing decisions, dares, teases....new ones to those she had shared with her lover. And it was during one new game that she had let down her guard...allowed it or face forfeit of the most dire....and in so allowing had seen the response and made an assumption, one supported further following her first swim lesson with him. Whether she would act upon it was another matter.
***
The tone had become serious after that game and it ended as soon as begun.
''Does that thought bring you sorrow or happiness?'' he asked after learning that he no longer seemed as father to her.
''Both'' she let him read of her lips.
***
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*Pashan01
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She glanced about the attic room in the dim light. It was but a stone's throw from the parlour. He kept it simple, few objects, minimalistic, clean....he had asked of accommodation nearby and she had told him of the street harlot below she knew dealt with rooms...noisy though, as half of the building operated as a brothel.
Her finger tip touched to the black object upon the desk and a feeling of calm overcame her. The books she helped carry to his new room were placed nearby but her eyes were drawn to that unusual ornament, he had noticed and guided her hand to it. Something switched and darkness had engulfed both Where there is Light, there is Darkness She did not mind. The shadows and dark were her friends that enabled fulfilment of task and justice.
She enjoyed the challenge of the hunts that day, those times were rarer in the circumstances of her cursed health but she was given support by means of prayer in the more difficult regions and the wards she believed were helping. Travelling to the deeper parts of undersigil with her companion had enabled her to see how their two styles complimented and adapted to the hunt, something she had not expected given that he was essentially a priest...an unusual one though she had to admit.
A chance find, a rare one, had brought smile to her lips and she showed to him the small instrument. A little careful cleaning, it had been upon the dead corpse of a wererat after all, and it would be ready for use and would bring her more voice and song where her own failed. He had heard the ugly reality a couple of times now and gave beauty in words to its replacement. Though she needed no flower in words for much else, she felt beautiful when he praised her in that regard. It was her voice. Richer and rewarded with new flute to pocket, she in turn enjoyed the haggle with the merchant in the village to secure an interesting belt for her companion.
They passed two elves on their return and one had caught his notice in particular and once to the attic room he had quizzed her on her observations of that elf's clothing. She took note of his mood and made small attempt to comfort...and it was he who now questionned whether it would bode rejoicing or sorrow.
He alluded and described the nature of their friendship from his perspective and that was when she asked her question.
But she had read the signals all wrong and misinterpreted the gestures, understood them for something based on her experience of the past. It had been innocent enough question but the assumption false it seemed...for the most part. She would need to start again and build up the pattern to a logical one. She only hoped there was 'time' for the fourth had happened, albeit briefly, giving scant time for reflection and withdrawal and she knew that it usually followed with a disappearance and an ending. Her fear of that, near surpassed her others, despite a promise that it would not occur.
Deeper connection she pondered on that term as she refilled her quiver, checked the string of her three bows for tautness and ran an oiled cloth over each bow stave in turn. The embarrassment of earlier had left her to be replaced with deeper thought.
"You may never be close if you do not try." her nose twitched remembering the smell of leather and moss.
"You will never get to know him if you do not call to him when you can."
"There is always time...if you cared enough."
Well she cared.
Perhaps a better bond with the runt would help her with this one rather than the other way round. Lyra gathered her bows, quiver and pack and slipped out of the room and parlour, heading for the Brux.
Her finger tip touched to the black object upon the desk and a feeling of calm overcame her. The books she helped carry to his new room were placed nearby but her eyes were drawn to that unusual ornament, he had noticed and guided her hand to it. Something switched and darkness had engulfed both Where there is Light, there is Darkness She did not mind. The shadows and dark were her friends that enabled fulfilment of task and justice.
She enjoyed the challenge of the hunts that day, those times were rarer in the circumstances of her cursed health but she was given support by means of prayer in the more difficult regions and the wards she believed were helping. Travelling to the deeper parts of undersigil with her companion had enabled her to see how their two styles complimented and adapted to the hunt, something she had not expected given that he was essentially a priest...an unusual one though she had to admit.
A chance find, a rare one, had brought smile to her lips and she showed to him the small instrument. A little careful cleaning, it had been upon the dead corpse of a wererat after all, and it would be ready for use and would bring her more voice and song where her own failed. He had heard the ugly reality a couple of times now and gave beauty in words to its replacement. Though she needed no flower in words for much else, she felt beautiful when he praised her in that regard. It was her voice. Richer and rewarded with new flute to pocket, she in turn enjoyed the haggle with the merchant in the village to secure an interesting belt for her companion.
They passed two elves on their return and one had caught his notice in particular and once to the attic room he had quizzed her on her observations of that elf's clothing. She took note of his mood and made small attempt to comfort...and it was he who now questionned whether it would bode rejoicing or sorrow.
He alluded and described the nature of their friendship from his perspective and that was when she asked her question.
But she had read the signals all wrong and misinterpreted the gestures, understood them for something based on her experience of the past. It had been innocent enough question but the assumption false it seemed...for the most part. She would need to start again and build up the pattern to a logical one. She only hoped there was 'time' for the fourth had happened, albeit briefly, giving scant time for reflection and withdrawal and she knew that it usually followed with a disappearance and an ending. Her fear of that, near surpassed her others, despite a promise that it would not occur.
Deeper connection she pondered on that term as she refilled her quiver, checked the string of her three bows for tautness and ran an oiled cloth over each bow stave in turn. The embarrassment of earlier had left her to be replaced with deeper thought.
"You may never be close if you do not try." her nose twitched remembering the smell of leather and moss.
"You will never get to know him if you do not call to him when you can."
"There is always time...if you cared enough."
Well she cared.
Perhaps a better bond with the runt would help her with this one rather than the other way round. Lyra gathered her bows, quiver and pack and slipped out of the room and parlour, heading for the Brux.
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*Pashan01
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The young wolf slinked out of the undergrowth towards her as she approached the den. She offered it a morsel of the 'pandemonium talking' steak....raw. The steak, or piece of it, didn't have time to suggest the best method for its cooking before the runt wolfed it down quickly. She had shared such a steak a day or two ago with her 'friend' and while the meat had been griddling atop a hot stone upon the campfire it had sizzled instruction for when ready to be flipped.
The runt sat to watch her. Lyra sat down too amongst the ferns and long grass, unsure of where to start. She looked to its ears...forward, alert, occasionally turning to the side catching sound of a distant snake's slither but no curl...well they wouldn't, not a wolfs. She leant forward, laying finger to top of its head and it allowed her to scratch a bit there. The ears flattened a bit, yellow eyes watching her closely. Holding its gaze, she clicked her tongue to it. The ears pricked up attentively.
She spent a few hours in its company, there in the forest of the Brux, allowing it to follow and following it in turn, making eye contact and touching regularly, smoothing hand over fur and tail, while moving carefully in and out the forest growth, mindful of the woodland creatures living there and avoiding their path....until eventually she felt time press upon her to return to the parlour.
..the lesson you must learn is best learned alone
The runt sat to watch her. Lyra sat down too amongst the ferns and long grass, unsure of where to start. She looked to its ears...forward, alert, occasionally turning to the side catching sound of a distant snake's slither but no curl...well they wouldn't, not a wolfs. She leant forward, laying finger to top of its head and it allowed her to scratch a bit there. The ears flattened a bit, yellow eyes watching her closely. Holding its gaze, she clicked her tongue to it. The ears pricked up attentively.
She spent a few hours in its company, there in the forest of the Brux, allowing it to follow and following it in turn, making eye contact and touching regularly, smoothing hand over fur and tail, while moving carefully in and out the forest growth, mindful of the woodland creatures living there and avoiding their path....until eventually she felt time press upon her to return to the parlour.
..the lesson you must learn is best learned alone
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*Pashan01
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The gift was left with Lervak together with an unsigned note with instruction to give it to Lyra. She was handed a bag with a dry look from that tall, robed, narrow headed male that was her boss. The bag was as light as it was empty and made of a soft leather bearing what she sensed was a high level of enchantment. She knew the handwriting of the note for having glimpsed a little of his journal. Despite just having returned from her trip to the Brux, still with grass stain to tunic and seed trapped in hair, with bag and note to hand, with the barest of peeks inside to the contents, she made her excuses in gesture to Lervak and dashed out to skip across the street to the brothel building entrance, making her way up to his attic room.
Not repayment...but a measure of wish to aid with a grin she opened up the magical bag and reviewed the contents in his presence. The bag itself was the best, reminding her of the elven ones in the weave of cloth and magic. It was like a birthday and, despite the awkwardness of their previous meeting, she took pleasure in the discoveries and surprises.
Inside she found a suite of arrows of all kinds, yew, ash, oak, adamantine, many with special enchants. Amongst theses there were afew armours and simple weapon. One armour she'd never seen before that would surely fetch interest in the market. One headpiece and a ring too bore interesting enchant...but it was when she drew out the larger chiv that she noted his more attentive look. It was larger than her claw, her small hand found it heavier and she brought out cloak to see how she would manoeuvre it between the folds, hiding and drawing it. It would take practice and teaching...and for her needs, she would need to see about further enchant and while she was uncertain at using such a larger blade, it did have potential.
The two elves made trip to the market for supplies for a meal prior to agreement to perform the tattoo shading. Lyra was not convinced the Moon-Father would enjoy the next parcels of food she had sourced and proposed he ensure bread and leaf to hand just in case but was daring him still to try and brave more of Sigil's surprises.
They were just completing purchase of the additional foods when a bat flew up, approached the Father with a letter to its beak. The edges of the paper caught the hood of the elf, tipping it back slightly. Peering over his shoulder, Lyra caught sight of the words within but made no connection to the initialled signature. She did note however, his change of attitude, the frown and sterner expression to his face. The mood had taken a downturn, the contents of the note and the method of its receipt seemed to cause the Father consternation. She encouraged him to follow up on the note, it seemed to her of more importance for him to do so given his change of mood. She padded off, leaving him there in the market, to take her own meal alone. She had already taken more time out from her duties in the parlour than she should have. He would come to the parlour for the tattoo shading when he was ready, she thought.
Not repayment...but a measure of wish to aid with a grin she opened up the magical bag and reviewed the contents in his presence. The bag itself was the best, reminding her of the elven ones in the weave of cloth and magic. It was like a birthday and, despite the awkwardness of their previous meeting, she took pleasure in the discoveries and surprises.
Inside she found a suite of arrows of all kinds, yew, ash, oak, adamantine, many with special enchants. Amongst theses there were afew armours and simple weapon. One armour she'd never seen before that would surely fetch interest in the market. One headpiece and a ring too bore interesting enchant...but it was when she drew out the larger chiv that she noted his more attentive look. It was larger than her claw, her small hand found it heavier and she brought out cloak to see how she would manoeuvre it between the folds, hiding and drawing it. It would take practice and teaching...and for her needs, she would need to see about further enchant and while she was uncertain at using such a larger blade, it did have potential.
The two elves made trip to the market for supplies for a meal prior to agreement to perform the tattoo shading. Lyra was not convinced the Moon-Father would enjoy the next parcels of food she had sourced and proposed he ensure bread and leaf to hand just in case but was daring him still to try and brave more of Sigil's surprises.
They were just completing purchase of the additional foods when a bat flew up, approached the Father with a letter to its beak. The edges of the paper caught the hood of the elf, tipping it back slightly. Peering over his shoulder, Lyra caught sight of the words within but made no connection to the initialled signature. She did note however, his change of attitude, the frown and sterner expression to his face. The mood had taken a downturn, the contents of the note and the method of its receipt seemed to cause the Father consternation. She encouraged him to follow up on the note, it seemed to her of more importance for him to do so given his change of mood. She padded off, leaving him there in the market, to take her own meal alone. She had already taken more time out from her duties in the parlour than she should have. He would come to the parlour for the tattoo shading when he was ready, she thought.
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*Pashan01
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He lay to the bench while her hands worked carefully to complete the shading. She forced the dark ink through each prick of the skin, tiny darts, shaping and infilling the black hand tattoo within the outline she had worked two days before.
The image was that of a large palm, fingers slightly apart, lighter shading at the tips and edges, deeper shadow between thumb crease and finger joints, its whole covering the remnants of the scar tissue and the imprint of the flame mark...it was as if a large presence had covered its hand in ink and stamped it upon the pale skinned chest of the elf when she was done.
The remaining work, that of the holy scripts and Lai'Oo'ran texts would be done afew more nights hence.
The image was that of a large palm, fingers slightly apart, lighter shading at the tips and edges, deeper shadow between thumb crease and finger joints, its whole covering the remnants of the scar tissue and the imprint of the flame mark...it was as if a large presence had covered its hand in ink and stamped it upon the pale skinned chest of the elf when she was done.
The remaining work, that of the holy scripts and Lai'Oo'ran texts would be done afew more nights hence.
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*Pashan01
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"Ah. Greetings"
She nodded to the 'customer' keeping hood and cowl well across her face. She watched him count out the coin and place to a leather pouch.
"Here, this is for the fine polishing of my diamonds"
She smirked beneath her cowl, taking the pouch being offered. They both knew there had been no polishing and no gem, but simply paper, ink and information. She left a short folded note to his hand in exchange.
Jink or belief? Answer is both.
For future services for 'information' .....still offers aid.
The note bore her 'other' name.
She retreated slowly, quietly as the man turned to his thoughts and she tucked the coin pouch away into the folds of her cloak.
She nodded to the 'customer' keeping hood and cowl well across her face. She watched him count out the coin and place to a leather pouch.
"Here, this is for the fine polishing of my diamonds"
She smirked beneath her cowl, taking the pouch being offered. They both knew there had been no polishing and no gem, but simply paper, ink and information. She left a short folded note to his hand in exchange.
Jink or belief? Answer is both.
For future services for 'information' .....still offers aid.
The note bore her 'other' name.
She retreated slowly, quietly as the man turned to his thoughts and she tucked the coin pouch away into the folds of her cloak.
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*Pashan01
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The learning of the day had been to watch people in the bazaar at her request. They watched the three guard and shared knowledge of each. Lyra overheard the elf-tail call upon others for particular gem to complete an enchant. As it happened, Lyra had just looted one off a cambion after a brief hunt in the Abyss. They made trade with some easy negotiation that seemed to suit both and Lyra considered the girl's friendly attitude carefully, avoiding the girl's attempt to pat her head, noting too that her friendliness seemed to stem from her link to the Moon-Father who stood nearby.
Lyra scribbled a note to enquire of her skills at wand crafting. She had not seen the Bronze-Witch in a few days and there were preparations to make while the throes of the Beast were still held at bay. The Father had also given her a re-stock of mandrake advising her to keep it to the enchanted bag for freshness. Now was the time to begin, once the right wands were acquired. Some days ago she had approached the dark haired mage, asking of such, but he was unable to help and he would not sell her any from his own stock. Unfortunately, nor was the elf-tail able to assist her at that time. Lyra had to hunt further and soon.
Higher and green Lyra regarded the view below from the other side of the hill, where her gaze tended towards the higher roof tops and spires of the Hive and Sigil city normally. Some 'conversation' of earlier had her on her guard again but, tired though she was after the hunt, she relaxed in the company and agreeable location, until gentle enquiry and challenge turned deeper...and deeper.
***
The young elf stood upon a rock at the water's edge and crouched down to look across the expanse of deepwater. The overhanging trees cast their shadow upon the forest pool, small ripples and circles forming where fish would rise to take gulp at insect on the surface. She watched the motion, listened to the buzz of dragonfly and heard soft footfall to stone.
A dark presence crept to her side, attempted to wind his huge body about her, nudging great black head and shoulders against her bent thighs, ears flicking and curling at her with affection....but its bulk caused her slight form to shift, unbalance, slip and fall from the rock to flail and plunge to the deep waters below, long white hair trailing, floating then sinking behind.
***
Lyra scribbled a note to enquire of her skills at wand crafting. She had not seen the Bronze-Witch in a few days and there were preparations to make while the throes of the Beast were still held at bay. The Father had also given her a re-stock of mandrake advising her to keep it to the enchanted bag for freshness. Now was the time to begin, once the right wands were acquired. Some days ago she had approached the dark haired mage, asking of such, but he was unable to help and he would not sell her any from his own stock. Unfortunately, nor was the elf-tail able to assist her at that time. Lyra had to hunt further and soon.
Higher and green Lyra regarded the view below from the other side of the hill, where her gaze tended towards the higher roof tops and spires of the Hive and Sigil city normally. Some 'conversation' of earlier had her on her guard again but, tired though she was after the hunt, she relaxed in the company and agreeable location, until gentle enquiry and challenge turned deeper...and deeper.
***
The young elf stood upon a rock at the water's edge and crouched down to look across the expanse of deepwater. The overhanging trees cast their shadow upon the forest pool, small ripples and circles forming where fish would rise to take gulp at insect on the surface. She watched the motion, listened to the buzz of dragonfly and heard soft footfall to stone.
A dark presence crept to her side, attempted to wind his huge body about her, nudging great black head and shoulders against her bent thighs, ears flicking and curling at her with affection....but its bulk caused her slight form to shift, unbalance, slip and fall from the rock to flail and plunge to the deep waters below, long white hair trailing, floating then sinking behind.
***