Days of canvasing the Atheneum had led to this. While the door to the Loreseeker's Guild had not been all that difficult to find, Melinoë still held reservations about falling in with crowds in an unknown place. To say she was suspicious was perhaps too much credit in her favor, however, as Jigano and the Sanctuary had offered her little but charity. No, the witch was very clearly paranoid to some degree, using her recovery as an excuse to avoid interaction as she developed her own thoughts about Caido, most of them involving the flora and fauna that populated the pages of the books she had found at her bedside while still a charge of the infirmary nurses. She had read them quickly, devouring the information as she could, constructing her own sloppy notes on the matter.
Going had been slow at first - between the dislocated shoulder and adjusting to life with one eye she had forded her share of difficulties and misery, expressing deep frustration in the early weeks, though the obstacles between her and autonomy lessened as her body began to knit and repair - she was almost as good as... well, not new, maybe not even secondhand. Third or fourth hand would maybe account for the damages. As the nurses had reminded her, and she in turn had reminded herself time and again when the aggravation of an uncooperative body began to get to her, she had come a long way but there was further still to go. Recovery, like that infinite walk back to Sanctuary that they had filled with what they could remember of their lives and the structures they passed, was a long road.
But it didn't have to be lonely. The books, she learned shortly after waking up, were a gift from the bard. She had not spoken to him in nearly a season and wondered how he had fared since she'd last seen him. His penchant for knowing things and willingly letting her also know the things certainly put him high on her list, as did his being one of her few acquaintances. So she sought him out, but not without her characteristic caution (crazy), even now lingering before the door as she considered how to best address the situation. How to introduce one's self after months of absence and bed rest.
After long deliberation, she settled simply on knocking, folding the small stack of books to her chest.
Going had been slow at first - between the dislocated shoulder and adjusting to life with one eye she had forded her share of difficulties and misery, expressing deep frustration in the early weeks, though the obstacles between her and autonomy lessened as her body began to knit and repair - she was almost as good as... well, not new, maybe not even secondhand. Third or fourth hand would maybe account for the damages. As the nurses had reminded her, and she in turn had reminded herself time and again when the aggravation of an uncooperative body began to get to her, she had come a long way but there was further still to go. Recovery, like that infinite walk back to Sanctuary that they had filled with what they could remember of their lives and the structures they passed, was a long road.
But it didn't have to be lonely. The books, she learned shortly after waking up, were a gift from the bard. She had not spoken to him in nearly a season and wondered how he had fared since she'd last seen him. His penchant for knowing things and willingly letting her also know the things certainly put him high on her list, as did his being one of her few acquaintances. So she sought him out, but not without her characteristic caution (crazy), even now lingering before the door as she considered how to best address the situation. How to introduce one's self after months of absence and bed rest.
After long deliberation, she settled simply on knocking, folding the small stack of books to her chest.
