The Cottage

[Sjira]

(Posted: Tue Jun 02, 2015 8:11 pm)

After a time within the city, the small one made her way from it for the day to see to her home.

Eyes had not seen Panther in a while, with much that kept him. And the gods were at play with offering so much purpose for her within the great, busy city of RhyDin until in and of itself proved a distraction.

The small woman sat upon the large, black horse while she stood within the yard of her home that lay within the woods, north of the city and before one might reach the mountain's range.

A spring breeze rushed by them and she leaned forward, in against equine neck and mane to enjoy the moment of sweet, fresh air before she tangled her small hands up into ebony horse hair to hold onto, then started to slip from Trygg's bare back. She had never truly needs a saddle with him, though in the winter months, it was far warmer for them both to have the hand-woven blanket across her horse's back.

She hung there for a very brief time before letting go and dropping to her bare feet beside a horse that seemed far too tall for so short a woman. Gentle was her hand that petted and soothed the beast beside her. He bent his head down so that she could remove the rope halter, so carefully yet deftly from its poll strap at the top to the lead loop at the bottom. Then s'jira pushed him away at the side of the horse's head to insist him to head off towards the far end of the meadow.

The meadow was a clearing, in part, with woods all about the area that was hers. The cottage stood of stone, mortar, and a thatch roof behind her while she watched Trygg wander off. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the brook that afforded plenty of fresh water for the drinking and where she had spent many a forlorn and happy moment over the time she had been there.

S'jira lifted her face skyward to watch the bluest of skies, even in comparison to the feral one in Llothgar. Then smiled to see the birds at play on the cross-winds above. Singing aloud, as none were there to hear it except for the horse, self, and the local animals, she headed off towards the cottage.

The home was a very simple one, but strong and sturdy were its walls and solid was its foundation.
After Panther and she had been gone for so long, almost six months earlier? it had been so very, very long. Over a year? almost two?

S'jira shivered to have seen how timeslips worked. The small woman had heard of people 'losing time', but she had never experienced it for herself. In fact, even when the couple had been in the barbaric and vibrant lands of Llothgar, neither of them had felt the difference or noticed anything at all to alert them that the passage of time there was different. Had Thale, the fisherwoman, not told her many times about the people that had been lost to what the old woman had called slip-streams?

As she stood at the counter and washed the dirt from her hands, she spent a look out the window that faced the dooryard of the old woodcutter's cottage. Perhaps it had been that they had stayed too long? Had it happened like this before? 'jira lowered her head a moment, pensively so, and glanced at her damp hands. It had happened. When she had gone for a visit and lost Kruger due to being gone too long.

The thought pained her and another shiver moved along the course of her spine. A heart ached to realized that if she went back to her homelands again, that she risked loosing months and years within the lands of RhyDin. And that heart was learning from it.

Suddenly, she laughed, presented with Trygg's nostrils soft and snuffling against the side of the window she was looking out of. The small woman shook her head at the horse trying to push his head inside to get to her.

?come? come!? S'jira laughed aloud and set the towelling cloth down neatly to the counter's top. Her short, brown leather dress was met with now dry touch. Bare feet padded lightly against the flooring of the open room that served as both a kitchen and living area. When her hand met the handling of the door, she pulled it open and stepped out of doors.

The door was beautiful, full of warmth and light. And there was a friend who wanted to run the meadow and walk the miles of woods with her.

***

Freedom. Of mind, body, and soul. As steep a series of thoughts that might cause for others, for s'jira riding Trygg was simply just that. Freedom to all things that were the small woman.

The horse had been let to run full through the large meadow. As he sought out the water of the nearby stream that she could easily hear on the gentle, quiet day, she eased forward against the back of his equine neck. Her face was buried into that long, thick black mane. And her eyes that were as dark as the animal that carried her slid shut contently.

There was between her and him a steep trust. Eyes did not open as he brought her to the water's edge. She was aware that Trygg had stopped and movement of his neck told her that he lowered his head for a drink. She could hear the waters rushing by before and a bit below, but loosely her arms held to either side of his neck and lay at his back without saddle or blanket amongst the shade that a great many tree branches about and above them cast; shielding them from the direct light and heat of the day.

In those moments, the harshness of the dark dreams that had plagued her lately and missing Panther did not touch her so acutely. She relaxed and smiled while eyes stayed closed. The wind found them and rushed around and over them in a sweet passing. It played with the leaves and branches, even her hair and Trygg's mane and tail.

How she smiled to finally open her eyes slowly and pushed self up to fully sitting upon the back of her horse. Her head tipped back and face lifted to passed attention along the organic canopy. As Trygg's head lifted too, she urged him off to the side and back up the slight incline to wander elsewhere and enjoy the day.

***

Horse and rider rode, wandering pleasantly throughout most of that day. But as it was at this time of the season, the rains came swiftly and without warning.

They hurried home and she got Trygg into the barn where the straw was fresh. After seeing that he had food and water, and wiped him down to rid him from the touch of the rains, s'jira stopped in the door's way of that place of shelter that was for her horse.

The rains poured just beyond the broad door of the barn, without an immediately hint of easing up. Bare foot was first out the door as she sprinted across the muddy dooryard that lay between barn and home.

She rushed inside, pushing the door open. The banging about had not been meant, though the door clattered against the wall directly behind it. It was pushed closed against the rains spattering over the threshold and to the flooring of her home. When it was closed, she leaned against.

Water rain down her face. Dark brown hair looked black when it was wet, as it was. Thin locks of it stuck from moisture against her cheeks and neck and dripped from its ends.

As no one was there and there was a need to see to it, she peeled the short, brown drew from her form and draped it over the back of a chair in the portion of that open room, more where she use it as a kitchen. One of the towelling cloths was snatched from its hook and used dry self as much as something that small could. The air would do the rest.

Bare of everything, save for the necklace with the two pendants (cat's eye and starburst). A Llothgar song, one of the men on hunt, was sung while she set about straightening and cleaning after putting some meat into a large, wooden basin to soak up some spices. There would be need to make something to eat in the next few hours. And so while she waited, that cleaning was done and the flesh was allowed to dry well without cloth or else to it..and no offense to the sense as she was very much out of others' ways and sight while she was there.