73 SUMMER 505 AV
Summer had been difficult in more ways than one. On a personal level, Dwyn had struggled. Her father's sudden departure had left her feeling empty and she had grappled through the season to overcome the heavy cloud of depression that had plagued her. It took her finally being angry with him to get to where she was now, partially out of her gloom, but she knew it would take more time to find peace again, acceptance. As for her Pavillion, the persistent wet weather had hurt their herd, resulting in a bulk of the animals acquiring rain rot. Dwyn had seen it as a mixed blessing, however, as it had given her a reason to get up in the morning and a goal to work towards. Unfortunately, it also meant that the Pavillion was unable to partake in the annual Summer trade.
It was a harsh reality with far reaching consequences and Dwyn was no fool to think otherwise. Due to her Pavillion's past and the curse that still seemed to linger, trade within the tent city had ground to a near halt. Their livelihood depended on outsiders. Not being able to take part in the largest trade period of the year would be a massive blow.
It would be a hard Winter.
Despite this, Dwyn seemed in good spirits as she rose well before the sun, slipping through the darkness to the herd, tools in hand. She had poured herself into tending to the afflicted, working alongside Weston, the Ankal's crippled brother, and this morning would be no different.
He seemed surprised to see her at this bell yet resumed what he was doing, muttering away, "Petching weather. Petching rot.."
This caused Dwyn to pause mid-brush as she twisted away from the Seme before her, "What is it, exactly? The rot? Is it because they are always wet or something else?"
Weston spat as he toddled perilously along, struggling with his wooden stump to traverse the muddy paddock, a pail in hand. "Not just the wet.. but that aggravates it. It's the bugs." He spat again.
Dwyn dwelled on this before returning to the large Seme before her, thoughts loping and bouncing about once another. The bugs? Insects? A collaboration between the two, then, she surmised as she brushed the horse down to try and relieve it of dropped hair. The horse became her full focus and those thoughts were pushed away by its bulk as she continued the necessary process. Fetching the pail and soap, she lathered the Seme up and gave it a good scrub, paying special attention to the horse's legs and problematic areas before wiping it down. With curry comb in hand, she went over the horse again from nose to tail, minding the sore bits.
She kept a mental note of which horses needed further care as she went along, moving from one horse to the next as the sky grew darker before slowly lightening. By the time the horizon had lightened in a way that heralded Syna's coming, Dwyn had tended to the bulk of the herd and let Weston know which horses needed further treatment for their wounds before she drifted off.
Usually, she would have lingered and remained through the morning to prepare salves and apply the treatment to those big horses that needed it but today was different. Today marked the busiest day of the market season and Dwyn had made a promise to herself that she would check out the stalls. It was a foolish thing, she knew, but she held on to a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, her father might be present.
It was a silly thought that came to her during one of her darker nights, a seed of hope that took root and grew and grew until it had blossomed into something she could not shake. She became obsessed with the notion, twisting it around in her head until she believed with all her being that he would be there. He had to be there. It was a perfect opportunity, she had convinced herself. He could have returned to Sylira and yet still visit, still come to check on her while maintaining a living. He'd do that, she knew it. There had even been enough time for him to have made the trip there and back.
It was a harsh reality with far reaching consequences and Dwyn was no fool to think otherwise. Due to her Pavillion's past and the curse that still seemed to linger, trade within the tent city had ground to a near halt. Their livelihood depended on outsiders. Not being able to take part in the largest trade period of the year would be a massive blow.
It would be a hard Winter.
Despite this, Dwyn seemed in good spirits as she rose well before the sun, slipping through the darkness to the herd, tools in hand. She had poured herself into tending to the afflicted, working alongside Weston, the Ankal's crippled brother, and this morning would be no different.
He seemed surprised to see her at this bell yet resumed what he was doing, muttering away, "Petching weather. Petching rot.."
This caused Dwyn to pause mid-brush as she twisted away from the Seme before her, "What is it, exactly? The rot? Is it because they are always wet or something else?"
Weston spat as he toddled perilously along, struggling with his wooden stump to traverse the muddy paddock, a pail in hand. "Not just the wet.. but that aggravates it. It's the bugs." He spat again.
Dwyn dwelled on this before returning to the large Seme before her, thoughts loping and bouncing about once another. The bugs? Insects? A collaboration between the two, then, she surmised as she brushed the horse down to try and relieve it of dropped hair. The horse became her full focus and those thoughts were pushed away by its bulk as she continued the necessary process. Fetching the pail and soap, she lathered the Seme up and gave it a good scrub, paying special attention to the horse's legs and problematic areas before wiping it down. With curry comb in hand, she went over the horse again from nose to tail, minding the sore bits.
She kept a mental note of which horses needed further care as she went along, moving from one horse to the next as the sky grew darker before slowly lightening. By the time the horizon had lightened in a way that heralded Syna's coming, Dwyn had tended to the bulk of the herd and let Weston know which horses needed further treatment for their wounds before she drifted off.
Usually, she would have lingered and remained through the morning to prepare salves and apply the treatment to those big horses that needed it but today was different. Today marked the busiest day of the market season and Dwyn had made a promise to herself that she would check out the stalls. It was a foolish thing, she knew, but she held on to a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, her father might be present.
It was a silly thought that came to her during one of her darker nights, a seed of hope that took root and grew and grew until it had blossomed into something she could not shake. She became obsessed with the notion, twisting it around in her head until she believed with all her being that he would be there. He had to be there. It was a perfect opportunity, she had convinced herself. He could have returned to Sylira and yet still visit, still come to check on her while maintaining a living. He'd do that, she knew it. There had even been enough time for him to have made the trip there and back.
Pavi • Grass-sign • Common • Tukant • Others |
