"damn it all," it was a voluminous gripe.
truly: a grumble that dvalinn ought to have kept to herself, but when one is as ornery as her, it can be rather difficult to accomplish. the ache had once more bloomed at her wing, and had settled deeply at the core of it's ability to move. instead, both would rest at her side, tucked away from the temptation to remove herself from the damnable plain and homewards to denocte. more oft than not it would be found bearable, and easily ignored when the time called for it. typically, an outing like this, it would be muted with use of herb and off she'd go back to her hovel among the night court. typically, that is, and not at all like that moment there, she'd found herself in.
herbs, she'd wanted and found and gathered. it was a simple task, that she was obliged and in scholarly pursuit to have gathered. herbs, damnable herbs that caused her to trek. each step was not difficult to take, and her stride was slow and steady as she began to slow march back home. it was her assumption that the pain would abate as time went on, as the hours trickled by; and in lessening the wait, it seemed reasonable to continue on her way to denocte.
an unheard whispering in her ear drew it to swiftly flick, and of course, deepened her frown. "hræsvelgr, i do not take kindly to your tone." an exasperated groan peeled itself from the sage, as frustration burrowed deeper into the nightwitch. how unkind, how rude! of course, for those observing, it would seem as though the little witch was speaking to herself, and by all rights, that was safe to assume. to the tormented and wounded thing, however, it was the little wretch at her neck being far less than charming. if one was to hear what was cajoling in her ear, it would have followed a little something like this:
to which, the little witch replied, "i ought to have left you at the nest."
and so it went, the little witch and her would-be companion marching off to the horizon. an old wound from her youth burgeoning her yet again. the herbs tucked neatly beneath the maroon cape, and nothing but the supple, simple jingle of the gilded chains adorning her blackened figure. it was rather iresome, despite the joy she took in her appearance. the soft rattle of her movement only offered further annoyance as she would have much rather be in the air, and capable of faster travel. most of all, her great fear laid in being found by some sweet and kind Samaritan, looking to lessen the burden of traveling "alone." oh, that was the last thing she needed: more company.
truly: a grumble that dvalinn ought to have kept to herself, but when one is as ornery as her, it can be rather difficult to accomplish. the ache had once more bloomed at her wing, and had settled deeply at the core of it's ability to move. instead, both would rest at her side, tucked away from the temptation to remove herself from the damnable plain and homewards to denocte. more oft than not it would be found bearable, and easily ignored when the time called for it. typically, an outing like this, it would be muted with use of herb and off she'd go back to her hovel among the night court. typically, that is, and not at all like that moment there, she'd found herself in.
herbs, she'd wanted and found and gathered. it was a simple task, that she was obliged and in scholarly pursuit to have gathered. herbs, damnable herbs that caused her to trek. each step was not difficult to take, and her stride was slow and steady as she began to slow march back home. it was her assumption that the pain would abate as time went on, as the hours trickled by; and in lessening the wait, it seemed reasonable to continue on her way to denocte.
an unheard whispering in her ear drew it to swiftly flick, and of course, deepened her frown. "hræsvelgr, i do not take kindly to your tone." an exasperated groan peeled itself from the sage, as frustration burrowed deeper into the nightwitch. how unkind, how rude! of course, for those observing, it would seem as though the little witch was speaking to herself, and by all rights, that was safe to assume. to the tormented and wounded thing, however, it was the little wretch at her neck being far less than charming. if one was to hear what was cajoling in her ear, it would have followed a little something like this:
" lovely thing, you seemed to have left something at home. i believe it's safe to presume you're falling into senility. it really isn't like you to leave yourself stranded so far from the nest. "
to which, the little witch replied, "i ought to have left you at the nest."
" now, who's being unkind. "
and so it went, the little witch and her would-be companion marching off to the horizon. an old wound from her youth burgeoning her yet again. the herbs tucked neatly beneath the maroon cape, and nothing but the supple, simple jingle of the gilded chains adorning her blackened figure. it was rather iresome, despite the joy she took in her appearance. the soft rattle of her movement only offered further annoyance as she would have much rather be in the air, and capable of faster travel. most of all, her great fear laid in being found by some sweet and kind Samaritan, looking to lessen the burden of traveling "alone." oh, that was the last thing she needed: more company.
