Along The Way [RhyDin]

[Sjira]

After leaving Trygg, the very large, friesian sort of horse gifted to her by Panther years before, at the livery with the stableman's son Jesif she made the small journey to the inn of the Red Dragon.

The heat of the day had not been felt yet, but the summermonths were upon everyone and she knew it was only a few hours before she was longing for a swim at the meadowlands. With the warmth of the day in mind, she had pulled an airy, light dress of varying quiet colors of blue and brown/copper. It was strapped over her shoulders and tied about the waist with a ribbon of the same material as the rest of the dress. Its hems caressed against her shins and the lowers section of hem at the back brushed against ankles that had not known a string of bells in a long time.

Sandals protected her feet against what might be along the road's way of cobbled stone and further from earth, stone, and else when she turned to venture through the inn's foreyard. She was no more than a few small-paced strides into that front yard of the inn when she pulled up short. Dark eyes took in the wonderous sight of an old, white leafless tree with a base and trunk that was as wide as four men standing abreast. It great, pale arms reached skyward as if in some imploring prayer.

"..no, this was not here before." It was murmured half-whispered on a wondering breath. Most carefully, she neared it. Fingerstips passed against pale bare of the trunk, then upwards against the underside of one of its many branches that could have supported any number of great weights tested upon it. When it occurred to her such things could happen in an instant -- like the sudden appearance of a centuries old tree -- from someone with knowledge of magicks it was not as much of a surprise as it had been a moment earlier. She gave that bough a gentle touch of her hand, as if it were Trygg's neck. Perhaps the local children would enjoy climbing it as soon as they knew it to be there.

Humming and smiling still, the small woman moved up the steps of the inn's porch. Soon, its heavy door of oak and iron was managed open enough for her to slip inside. There was mending to do as well as to see to the cleaning of a few of the rooms known to be kept by a few of the Ancients of the realm.

[Sjira]

For a few days, there was an undercurrent that could not be seen but could be felt. A change on the rise, but where and when?

Whatever it was, the shadow of it plagued dreams for the last two night of sleep. A heart and soul refused it that next day. She did not let it trouble her heart and steal away happiness of good weather and plenty of purpose in the form of work at the inn as well as the docks.

As the sun was setting, she made her way from the docks where one of the fisherwoman had birthed her sixth child. She could not fathom one child to call her own, but s'jira knew well that even with a sixth child the fisherwoman Palma could get her work finished and see to each of them...and a husband!

The butcher's shoppe was stopped at to hand a key to his wife before she was slow and steady one foot for the inn that was her second of homes. When she took to the steps, she paused before the door's way that was the red dragon's main entrance. Eyes curiously narrowed to see that someone seemed to have carved a few runes or images into the outer otherwise overlooked and plain wooden trim. Fingerstips passed over a couple of the carvings: a horse, a dragon, and what seemed to be a fairy but she wasn't certain.

Much like the tree that had come out of nowhere to stand tall and strong in the dooryard of the place, she had found the carvings. Something about the latter...in the way they happened to be there...made it seem as if they had been there a long time.

As she mused over it in pensive, curious silence the heavy door was pushed open just enough to make her way inside.

[Sjira]

Rooms were kept at the Red Dragon Inn for years. It had been her first home within RhyDin, beyond that of the common room or the nearby livery. The main room held a bed, table, chairs, trunks, dresser, hearth. Along one of the walls was a shelf that had a few trinkets, an empty vase, and a few books. Connected to the main room was bathing room.

The hour after the tournament has been late. Riding back to the old wood cutter’s cottage would at that hour would not have been wise so the rooms at the inn were rested in. Hours later, well before the morning’s dawn, S’jira tossed in her sleep. The light linen summer sheets had been kicked off at some point and a pillow was on the flooring nearby.

Suddenly, a sharp set of sounds of a staff hitting the floorboards three times in rapid succession caused her to bolt upright in the bed. A glean of perspiration on her forehead and her hair was damp. In the darkness, she tried to see what had woken her. The noise had sounded so close.

“What do you dream of, S’jira?” Soft clinking of metal and something else were the only hints of where the person was in the dark room until a candle was lit.

The single, small flame seemed very bright at first. S’jira lifted a hand to half cover her eyes and face almost immediately. Slowly, the image of the person became clearer. Standing near-middle of the room at the foot of the bed the small woman was sitting in was another woman. Long blonde hair against the dark green of her dress. Her pallid flesh was adorned with earrings, necklace, bracelets and anklets.

“Althrae...?” S’jira blinked at the woman. “Is something amiss?” The details of that troubling dream she had been torn away from were not mentioned.

“Amiss? Certainly not. Come. Wash the sleep from your eyes.” Althrae was a far bolder person than the smaller woman from Llothgar. She closed the door to the rooms, leaned her slender dance-staff in a corner and dropped a few bags on the floor beside the unlit hearth. Several candles were being lit by the time S’jira had washed her face and brushed her hair.

Althrae had the grace of a seasoned dancer as she poured herself into one of the two chairs at a table in the room. “You will have to forgive me. I know that the sun is not up yet. And the criers haven’t even dropped parchment to doorsteps in the city, but I have little time this morning. A quick visit and I will return the day after tomorrow.” She waved S’jira to sit.

S’jira sleepily looked at the dancer of the Caravan that travelled the known and unknown lands to perform. She poured them both a cup of water from a pitcher before drinking from her mug. Each of them took a brief moment to drink the water.

The dancer reached down to snag up one of the packs she had dropped a moment or two before. The flap was thrown open and she pulled out a garment of blue and gold. A few other pieces were pulled out of the bag as well that were highly polished brass to go about her waist, biceps, and wrists. “For you, my little friend! I need your help if you are free to do so. And even if you aren’t.” Althrae’s laughter was like something a man drunk to soothe him warmly from the inside out.

“A set of dancing silks?” S’jira was awake then and her heart eased. The woman was not in danger and had not brought such to her door. “Eyes find it a beautiful blue!”

Althrae laughed again as she watched the smaller woman. “Yes. And they are yours. On one condition, hmm. You dance with me…with the caravan the night after tomorrow. At the usually spot on the green beside the river. At the Westbridge.” The latter was stated to clarify. RhyDin was vast.

The garment was cool to her touch and she smiled a bit more, even if she was still sleepy. Gaze found the famed dancer again. “A heart would be happy to dance with you.” ‘jira knew it brought Althrae and the rest of the Caravan coin to do so.

The caravan’s gem then rose with the ethereal movements of a queen. “Easily settled then!” Blonde head nodded. She closed up the bag and picked up her other one. “The caravan is headed to the northeast for a day. To one of the islands. But we will be back in time.” She hugged the smaller woman before she had her lithe dance-staff back in her other hand. “Be well, S’jira!” Gone out the door’s way of the rooms kept at the inn with just as much ceremony as she had arrived with.

[Sjira]

The northern, grassy portion of land near Westbridge was where some of the travelling merchants, dancing troupes, and a few festivals were known to be held. Althrae and her troupe among those who visited The Green to perform for the locals.

The Caravan was an old gypsy wagon, an open wagon loaded with supplies, and several on horseback. In all, there were eight of them and six horses.

Althrae l'Kres was the gem, the prize of that particular group. It was she who had the talent of dance and instruction for it, as well as a head for business that had kept the lot of them with coin in the pockets for years. She stepped out of the back of the old, but brightly painted gypsy wagon she had bought several seasons before. She wore simpler clothes than those of her more eye-catching outfits she performed in. But she liked green and wore it more often than other colors. Even if it was in leather.

Althrae seemed have a mixed heritage, especially noticed by those who were purely blooded. Tapered ears, long blonde hair and alabaster flesh were lovely though. She left the covered wooden little wagon. “Alright then,” Her accent was there but not easily traceable to exactly what city, region, or land. “Set us up. We have until dark to ready.” It is rumored that she is on loan by a great Sultan, but few have ever seen him. But those rumors also suspect that if Althrae was in the caravan at all, it must mean that the Sultan owed a very, very steep debt to someone. But rumors were rumors and the muddy view of rumors had never cleared on that matter.

It was the norm but as she was in charge, she was well within her right to cast the direction their way. Green leather vest over a blousy white shirt was worn tucked into leather britches that matched the make of that vest. Her boots met the ground certainly but without being heavily footed in any way. Her blue eyes cast a look about to see if the small woman was already there among the already standing vendor tents and stalls.

The fine line of her nose wrinkled at the smells of wood, leather, and metal that still hung in the air like a musty old attic and assaulted the caravan dancer's senses. She was used to the open air of travelling. Or the spiced winds of faraway silk markets across the great waters. And those it was not an enclosed area, sometimes peoples and animals held less attractive smells.

Balthane was wiping the back of his hand against his beardless, gaunt face as he entered the room. A tunic was belted with a simple strap of leather. His trousers were brown, to match his green tunic, with the leggings tucked into a pair of boots. He was already busy with two of the other men setting up the planks for the platform to stand and dance upon with plenty of room for some of the others to play the instruments needed for those dances.

It was to the man who left his horse last that Althrae glanced to. Santarem. He was always with that particular caravan and always a witness to its activities and accomplishments. This too was a mystery to some of what part he played in the dancer’s life. She neither smiled not frowned at ‘Tarem. He was doing what he was supposed to be doing. Merely, she acknowledged him with a nod.

“Greetings to you, Althrae!”

The Dancer slowly turned and started to smile. “S’jira. There you are!” Lithe hands wrapped over her leather clad hips as she took in the simple little woman. No bells, not pendants worn, and a more utilitarian look to her softleather brown dress that was sleeveless and had a hem to the little woman’s knees.

S’jira offered a respectful nod but she could not veil or temper the smile she felt. “Not late atall.” Quietly, the little Llothgarian spoke it with a minute measure of confidence as she took in the sight of Althrae and the others with open curiosity before glancing back to the dancer.

“You are not late.” Althrae smiled at her and opened her arms to welcome a hug if it was wanted. “You look well.” Blue eyes regarded S’jira keenly. “You still wear things very plainly.” If she meant to chide the woman it was not in her tone.

S’jira hugged the gem of the caravan briefly and stepped back to a more respectful distance. She unshouldered the clothsack bag. “The dance silks and the items you gifted with them are brought.”

Althrae eyed the smaller woman and then the bag with a slight smile. “Good that you have brought them. We have much to do before the light fades. Come!”

With that, the pair stepped into a small tent the others had just finished raising so that talk in company could start in private, as well as changing of cloth.

[Sjira]

Silks.

Rarely was the one formally of the bond chain ever in them. She had always been far more at home and at ease in a softleather or light linen dress. S’jira would have preferred wearing the shirts and leggings of men than to ever be prancing about in silk. The exceptions were either when she was practicing at the dances Althrae had taught her, or to dance with alongside of her when The Caravan were in the great city of RhyDin.

While they changed into the silken garments, Althrae spoke at length with S’jira about what was happening in towns, villages, and cities beyond RhyDin. Some of it had left a foul taste in the caravan gem’s mouth with a swear to follow the tales of never returning.

S’jira smiled. She knew that The Caravan travelled near and far. And it was a certainty that the group would return to each and everyone one of those places. She gathered self to full, small height and adjusted the polished brass wristcuffs, then the elaborate and bright piece that wrapped about her hips, settling low on the swell of her own hips.

“Stop fidgeting, ‘jira.” Althrae chided her but her eyes glimmered with a smile while she attached the bicep cuffs on the smaller woman. Every little movement caused the tiny bells of the cuffs to sing out with their own distinct melody. “Let me look at you.” She shooed S’jira to back up until she was nearly with her back to the canvas wall of Althrae’s tent. “Lovey indeed! Come. It is already dark.”

Torch pikes had been driven into the ground. Most of them were around the stage of old, smooth wood. As soon as the men saw the pair near the platform of dance and time polished wood, they struck up a lively song. A few dozen were already there. Smiles and clapping with looks of anticipation worn by men, women, and children alike.

Althrae nearly leapt from the grass to the center of the stage. Bells and jewelry sang when she moved. Silks flowed to give lovely glimpses of the dancer’s legs and hints of her hips and thighs. She motions for the little shadow to join her.

S’jira was not as agile or graceful, but she was a faithful student who practiced often out of the sight of others. She came down hard on her right foot, on purpose to the beat of the drums and gave into a twirl that mirrored her mentor’s much sensual art.

The pair danced in unison. Silks and gossamer flowed. Out of nowhere someone from The Caravan threw a sword. S’jira did not flinch. It had happened before. Several times in the past and it was expected for that particular dance of silks and swords.

As Althrae in green launched a few inches into the air to snatch the sword by its grip, S’jira took an expected stride towards her. As ‘jira did, she suddenly ducked to miss the sweep of the sword cutting through the torchlight night air. The quick movement within the dance itself brought gasps at first then clapping and cheers.

The small woman smiled since that part of the dance had gone as expected. A thrill to bring the crowd. And unexpected ones often brought more coin.

Several more dances were performed until the drums, horns, and strings were struck their last and both Althrae and S’jira hit the flooring of the makeshift stage hard with their knees, heads thrown forward in movement to veil their faces with their hair and forehead to nearly touch the wood of the stage.

Suddenly silence with the music and movement of jewelry and bells left only a faction of a second before they heart a roar of cheers and a clapping. S’jira lifted her head ever-so-slightly so she could peek through the shawl of her hair to see the happy faces. The crowd of dozens had grown.

Then up, the pair of them in flowing dancing silks and light of torches glinting off of the adornments, Althrae smiled to her partner, then out to the crowd. A graceful, weeping bowing of forms from each of them before they drew back up to their own heights as coins were being tossed about the grass and onto the stage about their bare feet.