Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
The sound of someone approaching through the woods brought the Ancient to a state of high alert. Despite the proximity to the village there was no guarantee that nothing dangerous would try its luck, and unlike the major regions the fae didn't have any wards against the void. Getting tired of my own words
Fortunately, the visage appearing from the gloom was far lovelier than anything she could have expected, and her relief was palpable as Maea sat up to return the smile.
"Alys! Of course not, come sit down. Here, let me clear some of this off – " Hastily uncovering a blanket from assorted sewing equipment and scraps of cloth for mending, she waved for the seer to make herself comfortable. "You want some tea? There should be water left in that pot, if you put it on the fire." She pointed out a kettle, well worn and a bit banged up that sat on the other side of the fire from her. It sloshed when picked up, more than halfway full; Maea hadn't gotten around to heating it, too wrapped up in her mending.
"It's good to see you, though I'm a bit surprised to see you here," she grinned. "Is Tal with you, or is this more of a personal adventure?"
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself
through the loudness of my own hurts
through the loudness of my own hurts
base inspired by Odd <3
