Harvest (open)

[Denn Liobhan]

Timestamp: 85st day of Spring 510 AV

Clicking her tongue absently to hustle the recalcitrant pony along, Denn glanced back at the beast to see what the problem was. The small gelding was pulling for the field to the side, rolling an occasional resentful eye her way like a boy being tugged from a confectioner's booth. "Come along, Taig," the small healer-woman sighed. "I don't want to be caught out past dusk near these woods and we've a good stretch of the leg yet."

It had been a bountiful day's harvesting, a sizable bundle of rare coralwort leaves and roots was Denn's biggest prize. It ought fetch a lovely price in nearly any town large enough to have an apothecary. The roots dried, powdered, and administered by dram with morning wine worked to ease healing of internal injuries, aided the workings of a fussy bladder or warded off the fluxes. If she had time before the leaves dried, they could be mashed and mixed with a block of beeswax to make an ointment good for wounds or ulcers. Along with that, Denn had collected groundsel and cowslip, a bag of fern hearts and roots, and a sizable thatch of winter-green. The juice of winter-green boiled with hog's lard or oil and a bit of turpentine made a sovereign salve that would keep for several fortnights. The healer needed to set up camp so she could begin processing the day's gatherings at first light.

But the woman had another reason for hurrying. The woods behind were said to be unsafe, even dangerous to lone travelers. Any manner of creatures lived within the dark canopy, or so it was said by travelers on the road through the Wildlands. Though Denn was just skirting its borders, the eerie tang of an unhealthy aura hung over the place as the light faded; it was no place for a woman alone.

Her fingers still stained green from her work, Denn tugged the rope of her pack-pony hard, showing the creature she would tolerate no disobedience. With a heavy sigh to show his displeasure, the beast gave up the struggle and came along.

[Nin]

The fields in the Wildlands surrounding the bustling civilization of Syliras were of varying hues, blending to form an intricate tapestry of vibrant life that mingled darkly with the looming trees. Nin sat perched on top of a branch of one the trees that hung low over the side of the road. The small coppice of foliage flung spindly shadows along the edge of the dirt path. As the sun set, the small Pycon kept a watchful eye for any caravans, heaving carriages, or riders who were making their way back into town. She balanced precariously along one of the lower branches that dipped at a reckless angle toward the ground in hopes of catching a ride.

At precisely eight inches tall, the clay figurine, given both animation and life by ways of alchemy, was hardly physically a nuisance. In fact, most people never realized she was there, and by the time they entered the gates of the city she was gone. That day Nin had minimal possessions: just a flute and a small satchel strapped across her back filled with the items she had collected that day. To be fair, the young Pycon did not need much. Still, Nin was growing restless. Irritation flashed across her childlike features. She had not seen anyone in hours. Part of her considered that was to be expected given the hour and the rather ominous stretch of wood behind her. But the day was quickly fading, the area steeped in the dim glow of rusty colors.

Nin had meandered along the very border of the Wildlands, never venturing further within the depths of the forest. She had learned quickly the dangers of the wild, especially for one of her diminutive size. She had also learned the benefits of finding those larger than her.

Click-click-click.

It was the familiar rhythmic trot of a horse that first captured the Pycon’s attention. To her delight, she saw a lone traveler coming down the path. It was just a woman traveling by herself with a few bundles and packs attached to the horse. There didn’t seem to be enough room for Nin to hitch a ride completely unnoticed, but she hoped the approaching woman wouldn’t object too strenuously. After all, with the innocent features and impish expressions of a child, Nin found that she could be quite persuasive.

Nin bounced experimentally on the branch she was currently standing on. It dipped and wavered for a few moments before returning to position. Carefully, as the horse and rider approached, Nin calculated the momentum of the branch. Finally, as the horse passed beneath the stretching tree she leapt nimbly. The tiny Pycon was airborne for a few seconds before landing solidly on one of the horse’s packs, surely making enough noise to draw attention to herself.

The girl stood up to look at the rider. She may have been roughing it on her own for a lot longer than she would have appreciated, but she still possessed manners.

“Don’t be alarmed, miss.” Nin chimed and gave a small practiced curtsy, “I was just hoping for a ride into a town if you’re headed to one.”

[Denn Liobhan]

Taig gave a jerk on his lead, yanking Denn's arm back and the woman looked behind in mild irritation... then in abject surprise. Something was sitting on the back of her little pony, perched atop the packs of newly harvested herbs. Coming to an abrupt halt, Denn absently rested her hand on the pony's muzzle to still the creature should it choose to act up, and tried not to gape at the little grayish-brown girl.

Appearing to be a clay doll, it was animated, balanced agility allowing it to keep comfortably atop the moving animal. She, Denn corrected herself. For this must be a Pycon, one of the clay people. The young healer had never met one before nor even laid eyes on their kind, but her schooling and tales of her father's travels had spoken occasionally of them. Though small and made of clay, this little girl was most definitely sentient and deserving of respect.

"Hello," Denn said politely, not sure of the etiquette in dealing with these people. "I won't be able to make it to an actual town before nightfall, but there's a logger's camp not far from here where I stayed last night. Amiable fellows they are, if a little rough. I was there last night sharing of their protection. I'm sure they would not mind another... guest?"

Rubbing the pony's fetlock, Denn scratched under the rough hair and the animal groaned softly in appreciation. Trying a soft smile, Denn added, "I... am sorry, but I have never met one of your kind before, so forgive me if I stare. I am called Denn. I collect plants and herbs, and also am a simple healer. I would enjoy your company, and I'm sure Taig here does not mind a little extra weight."

[Nin]

When the horse abruptly stopped, Nin practically lurched forward on the pack, but caught her balance once more. With the horse now stilled, the rider turned around and seemed to be making a valiant effort not to stare, which Nin expected. She had grown accustomed to the initial thinly veiled surprise most people exhibited when first meeting her. In fact, she grew to relish the attention, drinking it in eagerly. Indulging the more histrionic side of her personality, she enjoyed being perceived as a novelty, and it was not a common occurrence for people to see Pycons roaming about the wilderness by themselves. Even if they were out there, it took a keen eye to spot one.

Nin gave a saccharine smile and clasped her hands in front of her clay skirt. Though it was merely the composition of silt, minerals, elements of calcium and iron intermingled with the strains of ancient magic, the chiseled skirt moved with the surrounding breeze, adding a touch of uncanny realism to the mobile figurine.

The rider was certainly kind if not pointedly polite and was quick to offer a solution. Nin inadvertently scrunched her nose at the idea of staying with a group of loggers. Besides, she would not want to make the woman backtrack. With a small apology for her inexperience with Pycons, the woman introduced herself. Nin suppressed a small laugh. She hardly aligned herself with any recognized etiquette. The Pycons were like canvases, stretched awning cloths easily molded to whatever their surroundings.

“Thanks for the lift, Miss Denn.” Nin said, her words polite though her tone limned with a bawdy sense of childish entitlement. “You can call me Nin. I wouldn’t mind staying with you for a while.”

In her experience, names were quite fleeting. Those she encountered often took to assigning her pet names. In the short time she spent on her own she had already experimented with a number of different titles. An elderly woman she stayed with for some time with a less than lucid memory took to addressing her endearingly as Amelia, the name of her deceased daughter. A less kind group of street urchins referred to her as Sissy while she tagged along with them for a few days in the marketplace. Yet, this woman didn’t seem like the type to impose a name upon her, so Nin simply introduced herself with the name she could remember best.

The young Pycon was distracted for a moment by the distant call of some bird, but then returned her attention to Denn. “You have really pretty hair.” She noted offhandedly, subconsciously bringing a hand to her own motionless locks before snapping back to the conversation at hand. “I promise I won’t be too much trouble. Say, I bet I can even help you out if you need…” She took a seat on the pack and motioned to the satchel on her back, “I know a bit about plants and herbs, been collecting some myself.”

[Denn Liobhan]

Jiggling her head in negation, Denn grinned crookedly back at the clay girl. "Naw, there's no need at calling me 'Miss'. Just plain Denn will do. 'Miss' makes me sound like I'm taking on airs." Clucking her tongue at Taig to get him moving again, Denn tugged on the lead rope, walking at the pony's head but keeping her body half turned so she could keep talking to Nin.

"I've been told my speech is clipped and of a high-born accent, but that's the product of scholars for parents rather than any noble peerage. Or... adoptive parents as the case may be. I'm a foundling, and as common as they come." Denn glanced back again, charmed to her toes by the tiny girl's compliment to her hair. It was a bit ludicrous in Denn's opinion; her brown hair was as shapeless as they come, scraggly and windblown, with probably a smattering of bits of leaves and twigs from her foraging. "Why thank you, Nin! I work on it very hard, you know. Spend hours each morning before the glass." The woman chuckled to show she was joking.

When she heard that Nin also collected plants, the healer was surprised. "You do?" Denn replied. "How lovely! I was just wondering to myself how you might have come to be out here." It was actually not as odd a reason as she had first thought. Collecting the rarer herbs and minerals could be a nice little income if one knew what they were looking for, and what the market demanded. And if they were daring enough to go into some of the wilder places of the world. "When we get to camp, we shall have a little show and tell with one another to see what treasures we've discovered."

Wanting to make conversation with Nin and fascinated by the little girl's existence, Denn chuckled, "I would ask why in the world a person like you was far out in a place like this, but you could likely ask the same of me. We both must be of adventuresome spirits, am I right?" Her grey eyes circled the surrounding majesty of the woods. The birds were making their last raucous calls of the day, the insects and movement of leaves against the wind adding to the music. "They are magnificent, aren't they? Some of these trees are said to be centuries old. Part of me wishes the Wildlands were further tamed so that many people could enjoy their beauty, but then the other part wishes their remoteness left in peace, so as not to be spoiled by civilization and all its perversity."