|
Evie
fear has favourites
There is little to transport, considering she has only returned from the Wilds for less than half a season. Nobody thinks twice of the last Wordsworth meandering through town with a pack on her back given her proclivities for plants and harvesting. Perhaps when they notice the apothecary is boarded up anew they will think again of the bright hair in the cold spring light and wonder, but until that moment nobody will think to miss Evie Wordsworth.
She steps through the portal with little more than her best winter clothes and all the herbs she could carry. Food, temporary lodgings, that she can acquire swiftly enough. Bartering even easier given her magical abilities and worldly skill. As her boots crunch into the layer of snow that meets her on the other side of the portal, Evie lifts her head to the blinding strike of sun against the permafrost, wind tugging her long crimson hair out from her head to stream like a banner across her shoulder. Pupils shrink, leaving only sharp blue behind, and the healer breathes out softly. How long has it been since last she visited these lands? Since she lived here, trained here? Adjusting the straps of her bag on her shoulders, Evie takes a moment to revel in the silence of the early morning. Perfectly, splendidly, horribly alone. And then she begins to walk. Deimos will meet her, as he had promised, but she will not sit idle while she waits for that to happen. She never has before, and today is not the day to start. don't let one be you |
Table made by Sky!
