LUVENA
Summer’s lively breeze had bled into autumn’s quiet chill. Leaves had changed from green, to a myriad of reds and oranges, all bleeding into one another in a splendor of color. Certain market stalls had closed up, as summer vendors moved back out of the court to their families and children. The sky darkened earliers, and days shortened into quieter nights, giving the night court the peace it desired.
Luvena had missed all of it, tucked away in her single roomed home, the curtains drawn tightly, the door latched, except to let the girls out a few times a day to romp and hunt. Not a single flame bled light into the room. It had been three days since she’d spilled sour words into the ear of a man who did not deserve them. Since she’d plucked a sprig of Rosemary and laid it at Caligos feet, a feeble offering from a feeble woman.
A fact which she’d been starkly reminded of. Her stubbornness had always been her downfall. In Elysium when she’d decided she wanted nothing more than a child to call her own, in the Waste, when she’d decided to push herself training with Kodarki - Galileo, for hours under the hot sun. Here, when she’d decided to drag herself up Novus’ highest peak, taking neither Picoro nor the ever growing Leonbergers. She had convinced herself she could make it without consequence. And as always she had been wrong.
She laid there for days, sleeping fitfully through the smoky haze that clouded her dreams. Waking only long enough to change the dressing on her legs, covered in scrapes, from falling near the bottom of the mountain, and catching herself on both knees, where she’d stayed trembling for a few minutes, before rising.
She’d turned away numerous patients directing them to other medics in the city. Polar North could handle those looking for a quick fix of pain management - she’d seen to teaching the girl that herself- and Gareth could handle the rest, out at Vitreus lake. She’d seen to only one. A man from the barracks who had shown up with a nasty gash down his shoulder, sword practice gone wrong. She’d quickly stitched him up with the last of her sinew, and sent him on his way, with a note, scrawled in messy lettering explaining her treatment, so that the next medic he saw could treat him accordingly. And then she’d gone back to her bed of moss, tucking her head back into her side.
Picoro urged her to go see another medic, or at least to get up and eat something. But she refused. It was not just fever that plagued her, and that much she could handle on her own, here with an endless store of herbs. But anger, and bitterness, things she’d tried to leave up there, with the man and the statues, but instead had curled its unforgiving fingers around her. Still, regret cut it’s way through them.
Never had she lost her temper so at someone. Had she chided them with such a cold tongue. Never had she raised her voice so loudly over the howling winds, shouting, so that even those who did not care for her would listen. She had shed no tears when she returned that night, even though Picoro could feel them burning inside her. Instead she’d swallowed them down, storing them deep inside, not wanting to face everything she’d seen up there.
It was a sharp knock that startled her from her slumber on the third afternoon. She raised her head slowly, just about to tell them to go away, when she heard a familiar voice call hesitantly through the wood. “Lu?” Picoro roused himself from the quick nap he had taken (though he would never admit it, he had lost much sleep over the past few days, fretting over his companion).
She shut her eyes for a moment, knowing she could not turn away the Solterran soldier. Even though the girls were out, and wouldn’t give her away, she knew if she did - turn him away that was - she would regret it immediately. Quietly she drew herself to her feet, trembling. She pulled back the curtains, squinting as light filled the room for the first time in days. As quietly as she could she pulled a jar off the shelf, plucking a few leaves of dried feverfew, and swallowing them quickly, hoping to quell the fever that had been running its course since she’d stumbled down the peak.
It was not a matter of pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Galileo knew her. But the only other time he’d seen her this way she’d almost slipped away. And the last thing she wanted, was to see worry in the old man’s eyes. She checked the bandages on her legs, making sure they hid the healing wounds underneath, and crept her way to the door. Doing her best to still the heavy shake of her body to its normal frail tremble.
She pulled open the door, clearing her throat as silently as she could, tilting her head up to look at the general. “Ko-” she stopped herself “Galileo” she smiled with her greeting, hoping he’d look past the the glassy film over her eyes. He seemed happier then usual, and she wanted nothing more then to keep that present, hoping it would fill the silence that roared inside her. She stepped aside, pulling the door wide open. "Come in"
@Galileo
Luvena had missed all of it, tucked away in her single roomed home, the curtains drawn tightly, the door latched, except to let the girls out a few times a day to romp and hunt. Not a single flame bled light into the room. It had been three days since she’d spilled sour words into the ear of a man who did not deserve them. Since she’d plucked a sprig of Rosemary and laid it at Caligos feet, a feeble offering from a feeble woman.
A fact which she’d been starkly reminded of. Her stubbornness had always been her downfall. In Elysium when she’d decided she wanted nothing more than a child to call her own, in the Waste, when she’d decided to push herself training with Kodarki - Galileo, for hours under the hot sun. Here, when she’d decided to drag herself up Novus’ highest peak, taking neither Picoro nor the ever growing Leonbergers. She had convinced herself she could make it without consequence. And as always she had been wrong.
She laid there for days, sleeping fitfully through the smoky haze that clouded her dreams. Waking only long enough to change the dressing on her legs, covered in scrapes, from falling near the bottom of the mountain, and catching herself on both knees, where she’d stayed trembling for a few minutes, before rising.
She’d turned away numerous patients directing them to other medics in the city. Polar North could handle those looking for a quick fix of pain management - she’d seen to teaching the girl that herself- and Gareth could handle the rest, out at Vitreus lake. She’d seen to only one. A man from the barracks who had shown up with a nasty gash down his shoulder, sword practice gone wrong. She’d quickly stitched him up with the last of her sinew, and sent him on his way, with a note, scrawled in messy lettering explaining her treatment, so that the next medic he saw could treat him accordingly. And then she’d gone back to her bed of moss, tucking her head back into her side.
Picoro urged her to go see another medic, or at least to get up and eat something. But she refused. It was not just fever that plagued her, and that much she could handle on her own, here with an endless store of herbs. But anger, and bitterness, things she’d tried to leave up there, with the man and the statues, but instead had curled its unforgiving fingers around her. Still, regret cut it’s way through them.
Never had she lost her temper so at someone. Had she chided them with such a cold tongue. Never had she raised her voice so loudly over the howling winds, shouting, so that even those who did not care for her would listen. She had shed no tears when she returned that night, even though Picoro could feel them burning inside her. Instead she’d swallowed them down, storing them deep inside, not wanting to face everything she’d seen up there.
It was a sharp knock that startled her from her slumber on the third afternoon. She raised her head slowly, just about to tell them to go away, when she heard a familiar voice call hesitantly through the wood. “Lu?” Picoro roused himself from the quick nap he had taken (though he would never admit it, he had lost much sleep over the past few days, fretting over his companion).
She shut her eyes for a moment, knowing she could not turn away the Solterran soldier. Even though the girls were out, and wouldn’t give her away, she knew if she did - turn him away that was - she would regret it immediately. Quietly she drew herself to her feet, trembling. She pulled back the curtains, squinting as light filled the room for the first time in days. As quietly as she could she pulled a jar off the shelf, plucking a few leaves of dried feverfew, and swallowing them quickly, hoping to quell the fever that had been running its course since she’d stumbled down the peak.
It was not a matter of pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Galileo knew her. But the only other time he’d seen her this way she’d almost slipped away. And the last thing she wanted, was to see worry in the old man’s eyes. She checked the bandages on her legs, making sure they hid the healing wounds underneath, and crept her way to the door. Doing her best to still the heavy shake of her body to its normal frail tremble.
She pulled open the door, clearing her throat as silently as she could, tilting her head up to look at the general. “Ko-” she stopped herself “Galileo” she smiled with her greeting, hoping he’d look past the the glassy film over her eyes. He seemed happier then usual, and she wanted nothing more then to keep that present, hoping it would fill the silence that roared inside her. She stepped aside, pulling the door wide open. "Come in"
@Galileo
"speech"
usually it starts
with a nightmare,
some sordid dream
that creeps in on a
saccharine song,
souring as it hits its peak.
with a nightmare,
some sordid dream
that creeps in on a
saccharine song,
souring as it hits its peak.
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