Brenna Morrow
a sprinter, learning to wait —
When the Quarter and civilization became too much, there was always an easy ride to the Glade.
Unlike the Domiciles, she woke with the sun here. Not because she wanted to, enjoyed it, or that the light was less brutal on her pickled head, but because nature demanded it. The glaring sun paid no mind to when she'd laid down, especially now that the trees had begun to turn from green to gold, and shed their leaves for the season, and the birds certainly didn't follow anyone else's clock but their own.
If there was a bar here, or she had focused on her magic well enough to be able to conjure alcohol from thin air, she probably wouldn't have bothered going back to the Quarter at all. Without one, her time was limited to as long as her supplies lasted, which appeared to be only another day or two, at best. Retrieving a simple flask from one of her pouches, she took a long drink, before tipsily stumbling onwards down the trail she'd selected for the day, after laying about most of the morning, dwelling in her own self pity, and memories.
As a young adult, Brenna would come here with her older siblings to look for peppermint bark and sweetgrass, As an adult, now, she often came to do the same thing, letting the bittersweet emotions embrace her in the quiet solitude of a place that had, once upon time, been paired with laughter, kinship, and childhood wonder. These days, the herbs or other valuable things she discovered in her time out here were most often traded for drinks, and more rarely, food and other necessities of life. But, as children, it had provided for their family, and kept them out of her mother's hair for a while. Her eldest brother had been the one with a short sword and dirk in those days, to protect them from whatever beasties might be met along the way, and though the ones she wore on her hip now were inferior in quality and upkeep in comparison to those she recalled him toting along, it filled her with some measure of sorrowful satisfaction that she didn't truly need him to protect her as she once had. If she was lucky, she'd spot possible game, which would provide more booze than the plants would, if she wasn't so drunk by that time that she couldn't hope to catch them, in the first place.
She hummed an unnamed tune as she wandered, without a single thought to how entirely counterintuitive such an act was, if she truly wished to find a rabbit out here. The music did little to keep her mind from straying, or her feet from stumbling on raised roots as she scanned the tree line for the telltale white bark of birches, and occasionally, the whisper of music would fade away into nothingness (or a shouted, sharp word or two at the offending root), before abruptly picking back up again.
Unlike the Domiciles, she woke with the sun here. Not because she wanted to, enjoyed it, or that the light was less brutal on her pickled head, but because nature demanded it. The glaring sun paid no mind to when she'd laid down, especially now that the trees had begun to turn from green to gold, and shed their leaves for the season, and the birds certainly didn't follow anyone else's clock but their own.
If there was a bar here, or she had focused on her magic well enough to be able to conjure alcohol from thin air, she probably wouldn't have bothered going back to the Quarter at all. Without one, her time was limited to as long as her supplies lasted, which appeared to be only another day or two, at best. Retrieving a simple flask from one of her pouches, she took a long drink, before tipsily stumbling onwards down the trail she'd selected for the day, after laying about most of the morning, dwelling in her own self pity, and memories.
As a young adult, Brenna would come here with her older siblings to look for peppermint bark and sweetgrass, As an adult, now, she often came to do the same thing, letting the bittersweet emotions embrace her in the quiet solitude of a place that had, once upon time, been paired with laughter, kinship, and childhood wonder. These days, the herbs or other valuable things she discovered in her time out here were most often traded for drinks, and more rarely, food and other necessities of life. But, as children, it had provided for their family, and kept them out of her mother's hair for a while. Her eldest brother had been the one with a short sword and dirk in those days, to protect them from whatever beasties might be met along the way, and though the ones she wore on her hip now were inferior in quality and upkeep in comparison to those she recalled him toting along, it filled her with some measure of sorrowful satisfaction that she didn't truly need him to protect her as she once had. If she was lucky, she'd spot possible game, which would provide more booze than the plants would, if she wasn't so drunk by that time that she couldn't hope to catch them, in the first place.
She hummed an unnamed tune as she wandered, without a single thought to how entirely counterintuitive such an act was, if she truly wished to find a rabbit out here. The music did little to keep her mind from straying, or her feet from stumbling on raised roots as she scanned the tree line for the telltale white bark of birches, and occasionally, the whisper of music would fade away into nothingness (or a shouted, sharp word or two at the offending root), before abruptly picking back up again.
— a marathon runner, and my ankles are sprained
