The silence was oppressive, dead.
It had become far too obvious that this place contained nothing, nothing more then a couple memories. Memories that didn't matter anymore. Kicking in the door for effect, she spared a glance around. It was nice. Beyond nice, for something standing alone a day's march from Syliras. Frowning, she collected her effects, including the blanket that had sheltered the, as she was very happy to find out, bear kelvic. The house was not something she was overly enthused about, being trapped in a small space with a bunch of stinking males hardly her idea of comfort. Sure, it was better then sleeping outside on a night like this, but still. Too many bodies, too little space. She was far happier to hear Ivan tell about the stables behind the house, grabbing the reins of her beast back to lead him around the house as it had been indicated. Once out of sight , she sniffed that blanket experimentally, worried that a) it would smell like a sweaty male, or more so curious, that it might b) smell like a bear. Her morbid curiosity was without reward.
The stable, in her opinion, was better use to her then the house. Lightly musty bales of straw were stacked against one wall, hay next to it. From the cursory examination, she could figure that it might have only been abandoned for a year or so, causing the foodstuffs to be not entirely eaten by decay. But that was not the way of hay and straw. They could keep for years. She pulled her gear of his back, slinging it into the alley and stood him in a comfortable box stall, releasing him to poke around while she busied herself fluffing up straw for him to lie on. Snatching a handful of straw from the floor, she began to rub him down, working the cold out of his coat and muscles, talking as conversationally as she was capable to him. He leaned into her ministrations and gave a rumbling sigh of content.
"Yeah, you deserve it," laughing at him. Pausing and rolling her own shoulders in a basically faulty attempt to work out the stiffness that accumulated in her own back. If only she had someone to rub her shoulders. Her horse expressed his discontent for her intermission in his pampering by subtly lifting his foot and setting it down on her own. Proceeding this he started to load his weight onto the foot. Yelping, she hammered his sides and pushed back on his flanks, eventually freeing her poor foot. She frowned for a moment, then laughed off his antics. Her toes throbbed, but not enough to truly be anger worthy. Finished this element of the basic horse care she knew, she walked over to the discarded packs and pulled out his rug, pushing the mass of material over his back so it could settle to cover his neck to rump. There could be nothing worse then a sick horse on this journey. Tossing him a suitable amount of hay before shutting the door, she concluded that she would have to boil down some snow once a fire got going inside.
Speaking of inside, she reluctantly slipped outside to cross back into the house, leaving her supplies and blanket in the stable. She would stay in the house as long as it took for the others to get drowsy, then either keep watch or go nestle within the straw. They were her employers, but that meant very little. The ice that had clung to her hair had melted in the stable as the horses radiated heat, leaving her hair soaked. It stiffened slightly in the cold of her crossing but quickly returned to water when she entered the cabin to the sight of evening preparations. So mundane. There was a fire going, which was good. However smoke laden the air was, the scent was not one of hot food. She sighed. She craved it, but it did would appear that the cook intended that they eat jerky. Not that it mattered. She suspected that there would be much more jerky in her future then she ever wanted to have even nightmares about. As an idea occurred to her, the corner of her mouth twitched with amusement of the notion. Walking into the centre of the room, she shook out her hair vigourously, spraying the immediate occupants with melt water. The fire popped and hissed under the assault, the sounds rather gratifying.
Taking some supper, she settled into a corner to observe while being out of the way, eyes fixed on the clay man, who, as best she could describe it, was dancing in the opposite corner. It was interesting, in it's way, but didn't strike her as particularly useful. She was still fascinated that something that small could be human, sort of anyway. This world was a dangerous place, and she didn't know how it would survive. Maybe it was indestructible. That was the only thing she could imagine that made it a race, in it's way. The isur and the others had similarly installed themselves, causing her worry that they would try to get cosy with each other. Life stories were bad enough, but if Jason started reading poetry, or someone started to sing ballads, she was going straight to the stable. As it was, she looked on, chewing with some difficulty the toughened road food, jaw working vigourously just to begin making it palatable.
Between intermissions of chomping, she addressed Ivan. "I'll cover sentry duty. Jointly, perhaps." Her fingers drummed on the floorboards on their own accord, tapping out a rapid rhythm consisting of four beats. Waiting, though she did not especially desire to take part, for someone to speak up, or do something. This was quickly becoming rather dull.
OOCYeah, don't even read the middle paragraphs. They're just. . . excess I'd been accumulating since Ataraxia posted. Sorry. |