Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
10.Mar.12, 05:58 PM
Breccan knew that being unaware of one's surroundings out here was a grave mistake, and not one she intended to make. The low murmur of someone's voice off in the underbrush caught her ear, but not her interest. If there were other people around, there probably were fewer felines or wherries or Faranth-knew-what roaming in search of a meal. There were a few ways of escaping Katila that didn't appeal to her, and being consumed by some beast was most certainly one of them.
She suspected whoever it was would be about their business and leave her to hers, which suited her just fine. She wasn't the type to love dropping everything for the sake of conversation, and she was enjoying her work. She did stop humming, which was only polite if someone was nearby. It wasn't just her desire to be a Healer that had kept her from Harper Hall. The grass had finally given in, and she twined it into a neat bundle, a moment's further work securing it to her bag. She was newly interested in basket-making, since she hardly had the coin to buy any furnishings. Once she Impressed, she'd like to personalize whatever ramshackle hut was to be hers. There was no shortage of uses for containers, and a former Weaver had pointed out she might make a profit, even, if she became skilled. By the man's description, this had been the right variety of grass.
She had nearly forgotten her company as she worked, and her humming had unconsciously resumed, when she heard a greeting called. Her movements paused for a moment, a strangled sigh rustling the feathery grass tufts. The woman could hardly be talking to anyone else. Turning, she schooled her features into polite interest, if not overt friendliness. She saw little point in pretending to be overjoyed to see someone else out here. Arming sweat from her brow, she surveyed her 'guests.' A woman, perhaps her age, perhaps a little younger, was rolling up her pants, a small boy in tow. She soon straightened and spoke, and Breccan's sharp ears had no trouble catching the forced friendliness in her tone, which puzzled her. If she hadn't wanted company, why had she interrupted Breccan?
"Apparently not," she answered, tone level, trying not to be completely unfriendly, "Are you looking for anything specific?" That was a generous enough offer, to her way of thinking. Her grey eyes roamed across the few specimens she could see, but she gleaned little enough information from it. Largely flowers, it looked like, but not harvested whole. She must not intend them for ornamental use. Dyes, perhaps? Certainly those yellow ones had no practical uses Breccan was aware of.
Her eyes wandered down, towards the boy. Probably four, she decided, though she'd never been good at aging children. They were too individual in how they grew. This one was cute enough, but she had no idea how to behave around children. It was probably rude to ignore him and speak only to his mother, but she had no interest in babbling nonsense at him like so many adults did. She had been small as a child, and remembered enduring that patronizing attention longer than was appropriate. Instead of speaking, she settled on a small smile, acknowledging his presence but little more than that. Probably that was socially incorrect, but she could hardly do better. Ugh, kids. They were so...different.
The burbling of the river was a little distracting, and Breccan moved a few steps closer to the woman, back towards the bank proper. If she was going to have a conversation, she'd need to be able to hear it.
She suspected whoever it was would be about their business and leave her to hers, which suited her just fine. She wasn't the type to love dropping everything for the sake of conversation, and she was enjoying her work. She did stop humming, which was only polite if someone was nearby. It wasn't just her desire to be a Healer that had kept her from Harper Hall. The grass had finally given in, and she twined it into a neat bundle, a moment's further work securing it to her bag. She was newly interested in basket-making, since she hardly had the coin to buy any furnishings. Once she Impressed, she'd like to personalize whatever ramshackle hut was to be hers. There was no shortage of uses for containers, and a former Weaver had pointed out she might make a profit, even, if she became skilled. By the man's description, this had been the right variety of grass.
She had nearly forgotten her company as she worked, and her humming had unconsciously resumed, when she heard a greeting called. Her movements paused for a moment, a strangled sigh rustling the feathery grass tufts. The woman could hardly be talking to anyone else. Turning, she schooled her features into polite interest, if not overt friendliness. She saw little point in pretending to be overjoyed to see someone else out here. Arming sweat from her brow, she surveyed her 'guests.' A woman, perhaps her age, perhaps a little younger, was rolling up her pants, a small boy in tow. She soon straightened and spoke, and Breccan's sharp ears had no trouble catching the forced friendliness in her tone, which puzzled her. If she hadn't wanted company, why had she interrupted Breccan?
"Apparently not," she answered, tone level, trying not to be completely unfriendly, "Are you looking for anything specific?" That was a generous enough offer, to her way of thinking. Her grey eyes roamed across the few specimens she could see, but she gleaned little enough information from it. Largely flowers, it looked like, but not harvested whole. She must not intend them for ornamental use. Dyes, perhaps? Certainly those yellow ones had no practical uses Breccan was aware of.
Her eyes wandered down, towards the boy. Probably four, she decided, though she'd never been good at aging children. They were too individual in how they grew. This one was cute enough, but she had no idea how to behave around children. It was probably rude to ignore him and speak only to his mother, but she had no interest in babbling nonsense at him like so many adults did. She had been small as a child, and remembered enduring that patronizing attention longer than was appropriate. Instead of speaking, she settled on a small smile, acknowledging his presence but little more than that. Probably that was socially incorrect, but she could hardly do better. Ugh, kids. They were so...different.
The burbling of the river was a little distracting, and Breccan moved a few steps closer to the woman, back towards the bank proper. If she was going to have a conversation, she'd need to be able to hear it.
