The Docks

[Sjira]

(Posted: Wed Apr 14, 2010 8:41 pm )

The morning had begun as it had many others for the small woman, s'jira. She woke, just as the pale light of day was touching the sky and slid off the sleeping dress to pull on an earthy, brown dress. She cinched the leather belt about her waist and drew on softleather ankle boots.

Fingers combed through her dark, brown hair that was the color of rich mahogany; from scalp to the layered ends of it until no knots were there. Already a little behind, but she took a moment to leave word on the table in the Loft of where she could be found by Panther, if he came to the Loft and saw her not there.

The end of one finger alighted against the scrap of paper, next to his name and heart weighed, a little heavier every day. It had been a very long time since she had seen him. Perhaps the hunt or travels kept him. Perhaps something within the boundaries of the great, ancient city of RhyDin itself. S'jira did not know. A short brown and black earthenware jar was put on the corner of the parchment to keep it on the table.

She drew in a breath into her lungs, then softly exhaled it. Then she spent a look around the Loft, to see that all was clean and well-kempt before she climbed down to the livery where the men and a boy tended to numerous horses, and a few other animals that those travelling into and throughout the realm had ridden in on.

The small one dipped her head respectfully to the liverymen and accepted the reins of the large, black horse from one of them. She drew the animal over to one of the stalls where there was a crate and a large barrel. She stepped up on the smaller crate and to the barrel, using them as stairs, and took to the back of the horse without the others having to help her up..or having to pull herself up somehow.

Atop such a large horse would have made normally sized men and women of Humankind look small, but at less than five feet, s'jira was even smaller than that. Fingerstips wrapped to reins and saddle horn as she nudged Trygg into movement in the direction of the docks.

Spring was a mixture of cool and warm, even at that early hour of the morning. Fog lingered on the streets and made the cobbled stones wet with the moisture of those low-lying clouds, of sorts.

A slight smile was there to see that fog. It had always been met with a sliver of fascination and another portion of awe. To see it made her happy, like a pleasant rain that cooled down the hottest of days.

She rode lightly in the saddle without bearing her knees in against the horse's sides. There was no real rush that morning. Though she was behind in the time she normally made it to the docks, s'jira still had a few minutes more before the docks were be overrun with activity.

The thought made her shiver a little. Crowds were not something to ease her, but there was much to do in the way of work and this was a good thing for her.

Hooves against the cobbled stones scraped and clunked, even echoes on the quiet morning air and against the store fronts. A breeze found her and danced against her hair and the hems of her sleeveless dress. But no rain was on that breeze and the soothsayer had said nothing of bad weather to come, at least for the next few days.

She saw the tops of ship masts, with no sails, far before she saw the docks. And she could hear the waking wharves as horse and rider entered the area. Hooves, cart wheels, boots against stone and board. They were not at the level of noise she knew would come with the passage of each hour, but something more...sleepy, at that time.

Carefully, dark eyes sought out the area to be certain that she would not be too close to an alley or by one of the seedier of RhyDin's sorts. Trygg was brought to the man and his open livery where animals were disembarked from ships and sent there to spend time while ships were unloaded or were waiting to load cargo and passengers.

"You be late. Not verra, but late still." The gruff looking man was looked to. He was barrel-chested and broad at the shoulders. His arms were large and muscular and his hands could have crushed a skull if he had the intent to do so.

"Only a few moments." S'jira did not argue it, really, though she did offer an apologetic look.

"S'jira, Thale wouldn't have liked that." He was dressed in a tunic and workman's loose, leather britches with a belt about the middle.

"Please forgive, Garet. The fog was enjoyed."

"Fog. You be gawkin' at fog when there be work to do?" Garet scoffed at her, but there was no anger in his words. "Well, stop your dreamin'. The Saphirus docked last night. She be needin' unloaded an' I have four men sick."

"May it be known why they are sick, Garet?"

"Too much drink an' women, if you're askin' me." He shrugged his shoulders in further answer. Garet didn't know, for certain, but the answer was given, nonetheless.

S'jira smiled, just a little. She was accustomed to his gruff demeanor and offered to him a nod of her head before following after him, down the length of one of the wharves and up the solid, stout plank to the deck of the ship.