Along The Way [RhyDin]

[Sjira]

(These are various little stories about S'jira while in RhyDin. Watching others, interactions with others, etc. etc. This is an open topic. Feel free to write!)

[Sjira]

The small one had neglected new purchases of late. Heavy-salt that she used to store meats and fish in clay jugs was very low. She also needed flour, fruits, cloth, thread, beads, and so much more!

Too much of the fall and winter had been spent completely out of site of everyone within the realm. Not a mention to even those at the docks about how ill she had been, or the elder woodcutter that had brought her wood and found her that ill. Nor of how he and his elderly wife had seen her back to health.

But the small woman was making the effort to return to the Red Dragon's inn and seeing to the cleaning of some of its rooms, as well as washing clothing and linen, and definitely to the huge, neglected pile of mending. A soul felt terrible that she had been remiss in the duties and chores she had helped with for a long time since she had first made her way into RhyDin.

She had also kept the rooms that she and Panther were known to often occupy, as well as The Loft -- a more private dwelling for the pair of them; above the livery. The rooms at the Red Dragon's in were used when getting home to the old thatch-roof cottage in the northern woods was too far a trek late at night and for other reasons.

With all of that in her thoughts and the items from the market delivered home, to the old cottage, she had finally made her way back on foot into RhyDin Proper. All of the sights and sounds could be overwhelming for the small woman. But in its ways, she missed them. In ways, she needed them.
A return to the inn and mending to be done that evening, to be certain.

[Sjira]

It has been snowing all morning.

Work at the docks had ground to a standstill and the only ones she had found there were folks rushing to get to their destination; into somewhere warm. Even the Red Dragon’s Inn was so quiet that she wondered if there was a grand event somewhere that everyone was attending, or if illness had kept them at home.

Thoughts were wondered, flitting from one possible notion to another, while she sat atop Trygg. The sleek, beautiful black horse was so tall in comparison to the little Llothgarian woman that she must have looked like a child.

Heels of her feet, within a pair of brown softleather boots, nudged inward against Trygg’s ribs as she drew the reins to the right to guide him from the more populated areas and into the large meadows. They had been there many times to enjoy walks and rides through the tall, golden grasses or to rest beneath the boughs of the ancient white oak that stood like grand, amaranthine noble beside the pure waters of the lake there.

That day, the golden grasses could not be seen with inches of heavy snow blanketing the area. And those large branches of the white oak with a few tiny houses of the four-winged, fairy-like creatures she had discovered years ago, was bare of its leaves and held snow on every limb.

Off in the distance behind them was the great city of RhyDin, and before them on the craggy horizon were the foothills and mountains where caves and some lived above the treeline. Snow was still falling in large white tufts to land on Trygg’s mane and the woman’s cloak and hood.

S’jira rode the black horse further into the expanse that, even in winter, held a beauty that she could not help smiling to witness. Then to hear the sounds on the air above them. She tipped her head back, bettering a look skyward, and caused the hood of the old cloak to fall away from her head and hair.

Above them was a large, feral dragon. Its scales varied head to tail from Dark crimson to a reddish gold. S’jira felt her breath hitch with a soft gasp, uncertain if it meant harm or it was searching for something…or someone. In a large, elliptical pattern, it came and went from one end of the large territory of the meadows. Here and there, it came in low and pulled back upwards to the sky.

After a few passes by the great and grand dragon, ‘jira leaned in to quietly speak with Trygg. “It is thought…perhaps the winged-one wishes to run with us? What is felt of that, Trygg?” The small woman smiled all the more and urged Trygg into motion.

He was at a walk, at first, but gaining speed into a trot then a gallop. They made their own circling over the meadow where the tall grasses were often known to grow when it was not winter’s season. And when the huge, winged beast came in from behind them, s’jira sought a look over her shoulder and suddenly met her leather-clad heels with Trygg’s ribs.

They bolted forward into as fast a run as the horse could. S’jira gave him full rein since she knew he loved to run without being held back. His black mane whipped back against her but she did not mind it atall. Laughter left her, free and warm as they raced the area. As if they could win against such a creature.

Strong leather wings hit the winds and crosswinds with the sound of sails flapping against the touch of a tempest at sea. ‘jira was cold with her cloak, skirts of her dress, and hair flowing back with the pace she rode at.

Soon enough, the dragon had enough of playing with the small ones that were s’jira and Trygg and veered off in the direction of the jagged horizon where the mountains stood. The pair slowed until Trygg was prancing in the snow, as if he were showing off for others of his kind.

The small one laughed and leaned in to hug against his neck. “That was a bit of fun, was it not?” She knew he was happy in that. Both needing warmth by then, she moved them in the direction of the great city. It was time for the livery where Trygg could get hay and feed, and she could visit the Red Dragon’s Inn. Her heart was light and her smile was something unveiled despite the bite and tug of the cold wind and snow.

[Sjira]

Near the home, that old woodcutter's cottage of stone and a roof of thatch, S'jira made her way to the creek.

The ground was still frozen and, in some areas that were fully shaded from the sun, patches of snow were here and there along her path. Softleather boots kept her feet warm and dry. She wore a thick, warm double-layer dress and the old cloak. No gloves were on her hands when she picked up a short, thick and sturdy stick from the ground and walked over to one of the large trees.

The stick was used like a crude trowel to pull back a blanket of leaves to expose some winter's mushrooms that could just bee seen peeking out from a few of those fallen leaves. Another tree was visited and dug about until she found green "balls". The black walnuts were not exposed yet, but she could remove it to bring the husks of it to the market's apothecary for use in medicines. Chokeberries were found as well. None of them were needed for self, but for selling or trade at the marketplace.

Humming a Llothgarian song beneath her breath, she put the rest of the items in the clothsack she often carried with her. Then she retraced her way back along the path she often travelled from the creek to her home. It was time to get Trygg and go into the huge and bustling city of RhyDin.

[Sjira]

Thanks was given to the gods beneath the setting of RhyDin's moons.

Dawn was just starting to break when the small woman headed down the stops of the porch belonging to the Red Dragon's Inn. She had been too tired and the hour too late to dare the venture home to the old stone and thatch home of hers that stood beyond the northern wall of the great city. Brown softleather sleeveless dress was worn over a long sleeved, heavy cotton dress. About her waist was a black belt of leather where a single cinched pouch for coin was tied tightly there. An unbleached clothsack was worn shouldered and kept in closed to her left side as she moved.

It was not long before she soon retrieved Trygg from the local livery stable.

The ride was cold, but far warmer than the air had been for days. Perhaps it had been longer. She guided the tall, black horse for the meadows. They did not run the meadows and it was still far too cold for swimming in the waters there. When close enough to giant, ancient white oak that stood noble and stoic beside the waters, s'jira drew Trygg to a stop still come hundred paces back from the tree. She did not want to alarm the tiny ones she had come to visit: the Nesipas.

She had found them when she had first made her way into the realm of RhyDin with Master Kiroth. The little creatures were incredibly fast and territorial, frightened and fierce to defend a few of the currently bare boughs of the ancient tree. Eyes of hers had seen them as being without cloth or else to cover their forms. Inches tall, at the most. And having four wings. 'jira called them Nesipas since in Llothgarian it meant four petals.

Trygg's reins were left wrapped around the saddle horn of leather and wood. He roamed off a little but did not go far.

S'jira's booted feet carried her towards the tree. Beneath the lowest of the branches, just without stretching reach to do so, she removed a few things from the clothsack bag she had beneath the weight of the old cloak. She placed on the bare branch a polished length of brown, thin wood that was better meant and used for the burning of incense by some. It was used as something else entirely for the tiny, four-winged creatures. Only about a foot long and a shallow grove the length of its middle, she placed bits of food, spice, and a handful of bits and pieces of twine, thread, and cloth for them to use in nesting in the miniature home they had in the highest of that tree's branches.

As soon as that was done, the small woman started backing up. Unafraid, but she respected the creatures' wish for that distance from their realm of boughs. One, then two dove down so quickly that it might have reminded others of an angry pair of wasps. But they never went more than a handful of inches beyond the limb where the gifts were left for the Nesipas.

A smile touched her gaze with another stride backwards on her part, before giving into a turn to head back towards Trygg. She took the long, thinly braided reins in hand, took a little measure of effort in hauling self atop his back and booted heels softly nudged against his ribs. It was one of a few things to do that day before the evening could be for rest and warmth at the Red Dragon's Inn.

[Sjira]

The little one had spent the day at the old woodcutter's cottage, her home for a while now, in the woods north of tall walls belonging to the great city of RhyDin.

A bale of hay she brought with others for the horses, she used the extra one to practice her archery. It might have surprised some that she even had a bow and arrows in her possession. The smaller, lighter version of the tall, beautiful Elven bows had been given to her by a friend. And it had taken her a very long time to learn to hit a target atall!

Practice and more practice was needed. She had not learned to play the flute pipes for a very long time and still, she feared, she might make ears bleed to play in public.

Two of the arrows had missed the bale of hay and one was off-center but had found a place deep in the right side of it. S'jira in her dull, but sturdy dress layers of brown and the added warmth of the old, large woven cloak, brought the bow up again. She pulled that next arrow back until the line was taut and near the gentle swell of her naturally tinted right cheek.

Suddenly, something caused some birds in the trees to burst from the branches they were perched on. Wild, sharp and screeching noises startled her and she loosed the arrow. "Aeii!!" 'jira let out a cry of pain. The line from the bow had snapped harshly against her cheek, nearest the hinge of her jaw, as well as smarting the side of her right hand.

Lips frowned with the pain endured. The bow was half tucked between her elbow and her side so she could sooth her cheek and hand. But, even as she did, darkly colored eyes were searching the woods that surrounded the clearing where her home, the two-stall barn, and more where she lived. It was mutely wondered what had suddenly frightened the birds.

No further noises followed the raucous, no hint atall. She blinked away unshed tears that had resulted from the welt on her hand. She was sure she would feel it for days. Unknown in that moment, the reddish line on her cheek would leave a bruise.

Not to give up, she sent one more arrow loose towards the bale of hay, but missed it with the distraction of her aching hand. She did not sigh, but a breath was released quietly. 'jira smiled a little at self and what had happened. The arrows were gathered up and put into the quiver and took them inside.

It was time to see to making something for dinner...and if there was a bit of salve in one of the many little jars she had.

[Sjira]

Marty Graw time!

The street lamps were still lit and workers had not been there yet to clean the cobblestone streets of papers, bodies, or evidence that the horses and untrained dragons had been there.

S'jira's hair was still a little damp when she was hurrying down the stairs from the second of the inn's levels to the common room below. She had not gone home the night before but had spent it in the rooms at the Red Dragon's inn. She had enjoyed the bath too long with oils and salts that hydrated her against the harsh, dry winter air she had been in a lot lately.

A sleeveless dark brown dress was worn over a sleeved unbleached white dress. She had a belt tied about her waist with a coin pouch hanging from it. Boots were tugged on as soon as she arrived at the door and then hauled the old, large cloak about those shoulders of hers. With a little bit of effort, she hauled the main door of wood and metal open to leave the inn behind.

Hems of her dress fluttered about her shins and ankles and her long, dark brown hair flowed back on the cold, winter morning air as she was almost at a run. There was still a little bit of distance between the inn and where Delvoena's bakery was. She would have go faster if she was to get there to help as much as possible with all of the orders of King Cakes!

[Sjira]

The way home was as it usually was, quiet and uneventful, until Trygg and s'jira were turning the corner for that last little stretch of forest path known to lead to her home of stone and thatch.

Somewhere beneath the sound of Trygg's hooves, she heard the faint sound. Her hand peeked out from beneath the old, heavy cloak to draw the reins back and bring them both to a stop. Trygg's right hoof dug at the hard ground. "Shh... Trygg." Again the sound came but she wasn't quiet sure what it was. The length of reins were wrapped about the saddle horn of wood and leather, the same she held to as she slid down from the tall horse's back.

Again, she stopped. S'jira didn't even breath so that she could listen as best she could for the sound that seemed to very distant.

When she heard it, she turned. Stopping after a few feet to listen again. There it was, in a bit of snow that had collected about the bottom of one of the ancient trees of the northern forest. The little thing found was frozen solid with the snow, leaves, and some water that had pooled sometime when the temperatures were just warm enough to do so...before it froze again.

By the light of the moons, S'jira pulled a little knife, one of two that Kitty had given her so very long ago, from inside of her right boot. With great care, she work it against the ice and know around the little kitten that she knew might not make it through the night. As soon as she was free, 'jira ran for the house that she could just see in the distance.

She could hear Trygg following along behind her and didn't bother with hollering for him. As soon as she untethered the door and pushed it open, she headed inside. A rabbit pelt and a fox pelt were grabbed from atop one of the chests at the far end of the room. She wrapped the half-frozen tiny feline up in them with a gap to allow air to breathe.

A fire was started in the small but well-used hearth. She checked on the little beast again, then hurried off through the door to see to Trygg. Everything she did was hurried that night in order to get back to the kitten. Tack was removed from the back of the horse that had been as much a friend and companion to her than anyone else, having spent most of her years alone in the lands. "Please forgive, Trygg. There is understanding, yes?" Gentled smile and a pat to the side of his neck, she was soon bringing in more hay for him and feed. Water was good and protected by more of the hay about it to keep it from freezing; insulated. The colt was eager for attention as well, in his stall. He was seen to as best she could in those few moments. Then she saw the door soundly closed to protect them against cold and beasts alike before she bolted back to the old woodcutter's cottage across the yard in that little clearing in the middle of the woods.

As soon as the door of her home was closed, she drew a shaky breath into her lungs. She shivered with cold and kept her boots and cloak on. A quick check of both animal and fireplace was done before she grabbed a couple of clean cloths, a little wooden bowl and pour some milk into it.

After the bowl was set close to the fire to warm it, she small woman eased down upon the animal pelts that littered and layered the flagstone flooring of her home. Never was she more at ease or rest than when she was settled on such warmth and layers. The half-dead creature was gently taken up and put on her lap. One of the cloths was used to dab lightly at the kitten's face. It stirred but eyes were not opened yet. Mottle fur of black, brown, white and orange.

"You breathe yet, little one. Be at ease...care and warmth are here for you." Merely whispers in gentled tone. It would be a long night. She did not even dare to think it might live to see the break of dawn, but 'jira did hope for it.

***

The moons' light did not reveal the one that had watched the rescue. Merely a shadow amongst plentiful shadows.

[Sjira]

Time away had been spent in Llothgar. Each year, at least a month’s time was spent there. But upon her return, S’jira had not immediately gone back into the heart of the great city. So many were gone from the lands that she felt the dagger of it in her soul. It was a gentle fight not to be lost to the sadness of things lost, forgotten, and endured.

When her heart was light again, with the knowledge that she could only cast light upon the shadows that sought to engulf her, the small one started to seek out the shoppes, marketplace, the glen and finally even the Red Dragon’s Inn.

How she missed helping with the mending and cleaning at the inn. That first night in return, she had slipped into the Outback to watch the games of war that were called sparring. Then soon found her way into the infamous inn. A few new patrons had been met and the kindness of names were exchanged in greeting. But against Panther’s long-ago warning not to do so, ‘jira fell asleep in the common room hearthside. She had not meant to, but the day before had been so tiring and form was weary.

The rest she took from that night was much needed. When she woke the next morning, rains were pouring from the skies with thunder rolling off in the distance without the threat of lightening. She stretched to work the kinks from her joints and muscles before putting the mending back into its basket to work on at a later time.
Wearing a pallid shift that met her shins, she wandered out into the warm, pouring rain. She did not hurry out of it but enjoyed the touch on her face. The water darkened her hair until it was almost black and cloth she wore clung but she did not care.

Heart lifted and she hummed a Llothgarian song of the plain’s people as she headed to the docks to see if there was still work for her in the coming days and weeks. She paused beside the statue of a man and a mermaid and smiled for while to look upon it. For a little while more, she lingered beside the two that were frozen in time and facing the waters and incoming ships. Warm, brown eyes closed and her head tilted back to feel the rain on her naturally tinted features.

Finally, she opened her eyes, blinking the rain from them a little and laughing at the silliness of herself. A heart was not worried of getting sick. There was just pure enjoyment of being in those moments. With the rain still pouring down, and thoughts of the fisherwoman she once knew, ‘jira headed towards the piers, ships, and more.

[Sjira]

Shylah had mentioned to Anne, just the night before, that she had known s’jira for decades. Decades. Had the small one truly been within the lands of RhyDin that long? She did not feel old. In fact, the little woman from the barbaric lands of Llothgar didn’t feel any older than she looked: in her mid-twenties. She was certain that time within the realm moved differently. When it was mentioned to the butcher and one of the shoppekeeps that very morning after that particular conversation, each had different answers. The cloth dyer said she thought someone had cast a magicks spell on her to keep her young and the butcher scoffed to know that and told s’jira it was her wild, Llothgarian blood and that some folks in the realm – plenty of them, he said—were not affected by years’ passage atall!

S’jira left each shoppe bewildered and wondering at what both had told her. Her ways and thoughts of thinking were not as swift-paced or full of sageness like those who knew these things better than she did. From the butcher’s shoppe, ‘jira headed towards the marketplace itself. She was overdue for a long visit there with all of the vendors and merchants – belonging to self-proclaimed guilds or not—as well as those who were known to frequent it.

The marketplace of RhyDin has always reminded her of when the tribes gathered annually for trade in Llothgar. Those of all sorts and walks of life were known to be there. After years there, only a few seemed to surprise the small woman, though it had taken years and years for that to not startle her. From gargoyles and talking beasts to Humans, Elven ones, those made of metal, mist and smoke, and other creatures she still knew not the names for their races

That particular day, after the thunderstorm the night before, dawned bright and hot. She had chosen to wear her soft-leather tunic dress that was sleeveless and its slightly uneven hems met just above her knees. About her waist, she tied a braided, black leather cord and hung from it her coin pouch that was cinched closed well to keep the contents in it. Lengths of her dark, brown hair were braided back into a loose plaiting, allowing her long bangs to flow against her cheeks. Neither boots nor sandals were worn. If the weather was pleasant enough for it, she preferred to be without them and know the ground well beneath her feet.
As soon as she stepped into the area of the large marketplace, she was met with a plethora of scents: spices, wood, leather, foods, and more. As well, the wonderful noise of the place made her smile. It was all very familiar and welcome to her senses. At the center of the market where the multi-level fountain of stone stood sturdy and flowing, she saw Setia and Jesling with their son. The little boy of their, barely able to toddle about, was splashing in the water of the lowest of the fount’s teirs. ‘jira lifted a hand and offered a hand upon the air with a gentled wave of greeting their way. When the parents smiled and waved back, she gave into a turn to venture amongst each of the merchant stalls to see what things could be found that day.

[Sjira]

Trygg had been made a promise: the beaches would be visited for long walks and runs. He was a horse bred for the hot desert climates or the steepest of mountain sides. That gift from Panther was still with her and she cherished Trygg as one does a beloved friend or brother.

That promise was kept a few times already that week. It was their second visit to RhyDin’s eastern coastline that stretched for many miles north and south. The run had been a good and hard one in the deep sands along the pulsing surf until she slowed him for a long walk.

The day had been a particularly hot one and she finally drew him to a stop before leading him to the water to walk through it for a while. She felt the refreshing tide wash up against them as they walked and at times a good, strong wave caught her enough to almost sweep her off her bare feet. Laughing, ‘jira pushed against the much taller, black horse that looked so beautiful that it would have made an Arabian breed quite jealous of his stamina and strength. He pranced then pawed at the water, intentionally splashing them both.

“It is well… it is well! Enough, good Trygg!” The small Llothgarian woman laughed aloud as she pushed soaked lengths of her dark hair out of her face and flicked a playful handful of water up at the left side of his neck and front shoulder there. “Come. Let us enjoy the rest of the day dry that now…” S’jira laughed again as Trygg threw his head upwards a few times and they headed off from the beach towards the southwest, walking beside one another. Perhaps by the time they reached the Red Dragon’s inn they would both be dry again!

[Sjira]

The small one had not been to RhyDin for a while. Or so it would seem to those from the outside. The facts were, as those with eyes and ears in RhyDin might quietly knowm s’jira had only left the realms and world of RhyDin for a few weeks at a time. Never longer than a month’s span at any one time.

But she had not wandered into the heart of great city regularly for while now. And she mourned it. Down from the foot of the mountains to the north, beyond the Great City’s walls, she had spent most of her days at the old woodcutter’s cottage. Her companions were her horse Trygg, a couple of cats that were unusual for any place outside of the realms, a cow, a few goats, an a little four-winged creatures she had found in the place near RhyDin City she simply called The Meadow. S’jira had long ago named them Nesipas since in the Llothgarian tongue it meant “four petals”.

Nesipas were tiny things that seemed to resemble fairies from tales she had heard in the way they were small and flitted about so fast that they could become little blurs of color. Several of them had come with her to her simple plot of land that consisted of little more than the little thatch-roof cottage, a barn, and a couple of small storage areas to keep wood and food stores from the weather and wood’s animals. An a small well.
S’jira watched two of the Nesipas as she carried a bucketful of water from that well and set it upon the stoneslab doorstep of her home. The pair of them seemed to be arguing one moment and then flitting to and fro with zeal and happiness with the next. It happened so abruptly that it brought laughter from her and a shake of her head. “Sweetwater and meats will be soon!” Called out to the playful little creatures. They no more understood her than she them when she spoke aloud, except for the few little words that meant something was coming to sate thirst and hunger.
She hummed a warm melody while some small bowls of sugar water and meat left over from the night before were set on the unshuttered window sill. Suddenly, there were not two of the Nesipas but half a dozen, by the count of them. How she smiled to see them zoom about happily and fuss over who was going to get a little more of the treats than the others.

They were left to it as her gaze came to rest on the parchment on the surface of the kitchen’s table. She neared the table and picked the letter up to read it for what must have been the seventh time. It was folded then twice upon itself, carefully, before putting it into a wooden box the sat on the right end of the fireplace’s stone mantle. Fingerstips lingered at the edge of the mantle while thoughts distracted her into a gentled smile. Slowly, her hands then worked long lengths of brown hair into a braid.

After a nod to self and a look about a most humble little dwelling she called her own for some time now, she set about cleaning. A heart had a wish to start going into the heart of the Great City, to the inn as well as its much-missed docks. Perhaps even a visit to the marketplace. It was time to be around others. Everyone needed such, even she.

[Sjira]

Out of the view of others, the small woman had been for the better part of a year. But she was still within the realms of the world called RhyDin.
Most of it had been spent at her home in the northern woods, beyond the great wall of RhyDin city. Often alone, when she was seen, as little more than a quiet shadow.

Rare did she dance anymore. Rare did she see the barbaric homelands of Llothgar. But travel to the south, over the bridges and from where the roads when from stone, to gravel, then dirt she had to travel eight months before to a seaside hamlet with no more than a dozen thatched homes and no public house or inn to speak of. For a few coins, she was allowed a few nights in the barn of one of the elderwoman there.

There was a reason for the trip, and with none too close to her much these days, she had travelled the road and paths alone. After a few days, the nameless hamlet was left with a grateful smile to the older woman to continue until the s'jira and Trygg road no path any longer but entered into the woods. If any had seen them disappear into the forest, they did not see them come that way again six months after.

A few, tiny scars, healed for some time was now on right forearm, a few feathers in her dark hair were not the only things the small Llothgarian woman carried back with her to the north towards RhyDin City. Canvas and leather bags were stuffed full of items and skins of wolves, deer, rabbit, and more were bundled on the back and sides of Tryggs's saddle. Dirt smudges to her cheeks, neck and along her arms and shins were nothing to bring worry though she was longing for a very long bath as soon as she was home.

The road home was long but otherwise uneventful since her parting with the forest's tree people that has simply called themselves "Nurahii". Along the road, she sang and hummed with a spirit revived from spending time with them. Soon enough she would be seen by eyes in the great city she had long called home.

[Sjira]

Pushing up from the bed from laying to sitting was a bit slower that morning than S'jira had expected. A moan left her low and quiet. In the privacy of the rooms kept by her and Panther for years at the Red Dragon, she peered towards the nearby window. The pale light of morning was barely visible, but it was there just above the various rooftops.

Muscles ached from the long ride endured recently from the woodlands at the continent's southernmost tip. Muscles that would likely complain for days to come. But the small woman frowned only once as she slowly abandoned the bed and saw to making it. Sheets and blanket were smoothed with care and an old, large pelt that had fallen to the floor in the night was folded up and neatly left over the top of one of the three trunks in the room.

Pallid shift of white moved against her skin, cool and familiar with its touch on the already warm morning. Curtains were pushed open further to allow light in while she pulled the last of the feathers from her hair and set each of them neatly into a wooden box on the dresser that looked like it was meant to hold a set of lady's gloves instead of the feathers of owls and hawks. She laid them atop some ribbons and closed the box gently. After the braid was worked out of hair and lengths were brushed for a while, a bath was taken.

S'jira had scrubbed from head to toes the day before, but she still felt filthy from the long journey. When she completed this second of baths and worked scented oils over her skin, a dress of plain softleather brown was tugged on. About her waist she tied the old, familiar braided black leather belt that she used to cinch the waist of the dress and carry a few coin pouches of coins and other items. Sandals were soon at her feet with the strips of leather latticed about her ankles, shins, and calves to below the bends of her knees.

She did not forget to take with her an presently empty sackcloth when she left her rooms and the inn itself. The early morning heat of the day was already serving to dry her long, dark hair. Leather sandals made their own sounds against dirt and stones along the way as she entered the marketplace for a few things she needed. Time was taken to speak with several of the merchants and vendors within the large area, though she did not step into any of the nearby shoppes. There would be time for that at a later hour, at a later date.

The small Llothgarian woman was soon headed in the direction of the main cemetery known to the city. A heart never cared to stay too long within its boundaries since it unsettled her but at least once a year, she might be seen moving among the graves to visit six in particular: The Fisherwoman Thale, The Barbarian KIroth u'Lor, The Woodcutter Martyn Gren, the death-born child of Fisherman Huron and his wife Eliora, The Labyrinth Guardian Sarishorn, and the Wayfarer Statue when any could go to remember those no longer seen in the realms -- possibly dead, possibly not.

The hour spent there each year made her heart mourn as well as heal. Each of them she missed greatly but took the time to remember as many good moments as she could. By the time she left the cemetery, the morning light was touching each of the markers of those buried in the area, whether it was touching stone, marble, wood or even metal and glass.

Her path was then for the area dockside. It was time to be yelled at by a few known there. The thought of it made her gently smile and she hurried along with the bag inhand.

[Sjira]

S'jira had been in the Red Dragon Inn the last few days, but she had found it very still and quiet. Very much as a heart preferred since more chaotic happenings made the small woman seek the shadows like a gentle cloak at times.

The day was starting to wane as she headed from the marketplace in the direction of the inn. Along the way, she passed a building she had never been inside. It had been mentioned to her, in passing by someone, that it was a very old place that housed books, scrolls, and tablets. She adjusted the sackcloth pack at her left shoulder as she started to slow her pace. Laughter was heard somewhere in the deeper of shadows of the still library. No lamps, torches, or light of any source lit the place, inside or out.

Over her other shoulder, she spent a look to the near-empty road behind her. A few were seen. A man and woman on horseback. Three children playing some sort of game with an old wagon wheel's metal hoop rolling it down the hill. But the latter were laughing in a different way. S'jira started on her path again, taking one of the many roads that lead to the inn of the dragon.

A snickering, a giggling had a low sound but her ears could hear it better from above somewhere. She stopped and glanced to the steps of the library, then along the façade of it until she could see the statues of creatures made, formed to guard it along the rooftop.

"Greetings...?" S'jira called to the shadows that were there. Surely she was imagining it. Her pulse quickened to wonder who might step from them. Again, the sound of giggling came. Mischievous, perhaps. Then she caught sight of one of the statues move ever-so-slightly. One of the gargoyles come to life! Her heart stuttered a little as she forgot to breathe for a moment's time.

"Greetings. Salutations. S Mae govannen. Vemu. Haloion. Drem yol lok! Kal. Tal! Hello, hello, hello!" The gargoyle leaned forward, grappling one of its talon tipped hands over the stony eave at the front of the dark library. He eyed hear closely after the onslaught of greetings he had just delivered upon her.

S'jira could just make out the form and its movements. Dryly she swallowed. There was much wonder in the lands of RhyDin, and just as much danger. Her head lowered slightly, offering a respectful nod but she could not stop staring for those moments of time.

"Hurry along! This is mine to guard, little one! Mine!" It seemed to growl it out but laughing all the while.

Gargoyles were known to her to guard the cemeteries, churches, and other great buildings, but as many times as she had passed the ancient library not one of them had ever come to life to tell her to hurry and leave the play they were guarding. Without a word, S'jira turned and quickened her pace to put a bit of distance between self and the stony sort whom she could hear giggling and giggling in her wake.