Monastery business. It was rare for Maggie to take on monastery business, and quite frankly, she liked keeping it that way. It wasn't that she disliked the order. Her... sworn brothers and sisters. Or even what they stood for. The wyld lands and the small folk. Life, and the death it took to keep it fed and taken care of. The Dusk and the Dawn.
She just wasn't a forest person was all. Preferred the lonely range of the rocks. It was quieter up there. Colder. She liked the cold. The chill and how it crept into her bones that always felt so hot. But the bird song was nice. Nothing quite like the sound of countless little birds chirping in the wind. Flitting here and there as she strode.
Armored as she was, encased in the orichalcum plate she had inherited. It fit her figure like a glove. A form that, were it regular steel, may have compromised the structure. But this ancient thing. It was almost as if it was alive all its own. With its own heat that spread across her limbs and trace the chords of her flesh.
Tired flesh at that.
Which made the telltale sign of white chimney smoke, puffing gentle and cottony up into the air in steady wisps all the more welcome. As well as the company it promised to bring. Maggie could already feel her face warm some at the thought. But she stopped along the trail, and let out a long cool breath. The ruby at her chest glowed some. Gillabree always had a way of, well, just making everything feel that much more bareable. A stop at her cabin, made most of the trouble well worth it.
The memory of the healer's touch, stitching and tending to angry red wounds. The care. The grace.
Maggie laughed. Silly. It was just a bit of rest. A cup of tea and some time off her feet before she moved on. Back to the comforts of her tower. The howl of the wind and the myriad tones of warm and cool greys. She went on, a little lighter in her step as she grew nearer to Gillabree's cabin.
She just wasn't a forest person was all. Preferred the lonely range of the rocks. It was quieter up there. Colder. She liked the cold. The chill and how it crept into her bones that always felt so hot. But the bird song was nice. Nothing quite like the sound of countless little birds chirping in the wind. Flitting here and there as she strode.
Armored as she was, encased in the orichalcum plate she had inherited. It fit her figure like a glove. A form that, were it regular steel, may have compromised the structure. But this ancient thing. It was almost as if it was alive all its own. With its own heat that spread across her limbs and trace the chords of her flesh.
Tired flesh at that.
Which made the telltale sign of white chimney smoke, puffing gentle and cottony up into the air in steady wisps all the more welcome. As well as the company it promised to bring. Maggie could already feel her face warm some at the thought. But she stopped along the trail, and let out a long cool breath. The ruby at her chest glowed some. Gillabree always had a way of, well, just making everything feel that much more bareable. A stop at her cabin, made most of the trouble well worth it.
The memory of the healer's touch, stitching and tending to angry red wounds. The care. The grace.
Maggie laughed. Silly. It was just a bit of rest. A cup of tea and some time off her feet before she moved on. Back to the comforts of her tower. The howl of the wind and the myriad tones of warm and cool greys. She went on, a little lighter in her step as she grew nearer to Gillabree's cabin.