Four trials ago her peace had been taken from her in an event Elowen never thought could happen. On that night, she experienced fear in ways she never thought possible and it marked her as much as the events of Creeksong.
Three trials ago she had done something she never thought she'd be able to do or would have the need to do. She asked for help.
During that quick visit to Mistral village, Elowen reverted back to her coping mechanism from Meira's time. She lingered on the edge of the woods, surveying the village, looking for actual danger this time. She did not look at anyone. She did not speak to anyone. She came in to do two tasks - get materials to fix the chicken pen and send a message to the only person she knew how to contact. The one who offered to be her friend and seemed to care. The girl hoped that those words weren't empty and that he would stand by them. Otherwise...she had no idea what she was going to do.
The young apothecary, in all her reawakened and intensified social anxiety, still didn't know how she managed to go through with the whole thing. But she had a strong inkling that desperation pushed her forward.
Mistral village was removed from the city of Rharne, but many needed open communication channel with the capital regardless. So it was not uncommon that there were runners to carry letters or other forms of messages between the two places. The girl contracted one such individual. She gave him the description of the house as she remembered it told to her and the name of the recipient - Cassander of Rynmere.
She had never sent a message before, but she knew she couldn't burden the delivery man with many words. After all, she was asking for him to carry spoken word, not a letter. So she kept to the kernels of truth that she needed Cassander to know and hoped that it was urgent enough that her friend would come at his soonest convenience.
Would this man share her message with others? Perhaps thought she asked for and paid for his secrecy. Some form of sixth sense told her to keep the situation quiet and hope that the man would stay true to his own sworn oath.
The problem was then that she did not know how quickly the messenger would deliver her words even though asked (or properly enumerated him) for urgency. How soon could Cassander free himself to come to her?
It had been only three trials since she had sent that message. The girl tried not to think of it, but that was impossible. The matter of her safety was at stake and each passing trial left her vulnerable to the whims of the strangers in the world. Many times she would find herself staring towards the path that led to her shack. Time would slip away from her and she'd have to drag herself out of the desperation and the fear that her hope was in vain. Or that help would come too late.
This was one such moment. Elowen was finally in front of her abode, fixing the front garden and the damage done to it. Nature was resilient however. Some of the stomped plants had recovered and straightened so she only needed to clip off the broken parts. But there were two or three places with deep scuff marks and boot marks in the ground as the two mercenaries tried to avoid whatever it was that chased them away.
Elowen stood from her work and looked at a flower bed which was essentially eliminated by the struggle. Plants there did not recover. She'd have to seed them again after snowmelt. It hurt her to see this. She had spent arcs of her life tending to this garden under Meira's tight instructions. She remembered the first time that she took from the garden without asking or understanding and brought it to the old woman. She was not scolded then. Instead, it was pressed into her mind that whatever grew outside the shack and beyond its borders was sacred and should not be taken lightly or without thought.
Yet, this had happened.
The girl felt the knot that sat around her heart rise to her throat. The fire in her blood flared up again, setting her skin to feverish heat. It had not stopped burning since that night when the mercenaries violated her peace. She couldn't even keep it down. She wasn't even trying, finding refuge in that what was known even if it felt like her control was slipping. But at the same time, had she ever had it over anything at all in her life?
And so it was then that she lifted her eyes up and looked towards the path again, hoping against hope that help was coming because she did not know how much longer she could keep it together.
Three trials ago she had done something she never thought she'd be able to do or would have the need to do. She asked for help.
During that quick visit to Mistral village, Elowen reverted back to her coping mechanism from Meira's time. She lingered on the edge of the woods, surveying the village, looking for actual danger this time. She did not look at anyone. She did not speak to anyone. She came in to do two tasks - get materials to fix the chicken pen and send a message to the only person she knew how to contact. The one who offered to be her friend and seemed to care. The girl hoped that those words weren't empty and that he would stand by them. Otherwise...she had no idea what she was going to do.
The young apothecary, in all her reawakened and intensified social anxiety, still didn't know how she managed to go through with the whole thing. But she had a strong inkling that desperation pushed her forward.
Mistral village was removed from the city of Rharne, but many needed open communication channel with the capital regardless. So it was not uncommon that there were runners to carry letters or other forms of messages between the two places. The girl contracted one such individual. She gave him the description of the house as she remembered it told to her and the name of the recipient - Cassander of Rynmere.
She had never sent a message before, but she knew she couldn't burden the delivery man with many words. After all, she was asking for him to carry spoken word, not a letter. So she kept to the kernels of truth that she needed Cassander to know and hoped that it was urgent enough that her friend would come at his soonest convenience.
Please come. I cannot rely on Mistral for protection. I need to learn how to fight.
Would this man share her message with others? Perhaps thought she asked for and paid for his secrecy. Some form of sixth sense told her to keep the situation quiet and hope that the man would stay true to his own sworn oath.
The problem was then that she did not know how quickly the messenger would deliver her words even though asked (or properly enumerated him) for urgency. How soon could Cassander free himself to come to her?
It had been only three trials since she had sent that message. The girl tried not to think of it, but that was impossible. The matter of her safety was at stake and each passing trial left her vulnerable to the whims of the strangers in the world. Many times she would find herself staring towards the path that led to her shack. Time would slip away from her and she'd have to drag herself out of the desperation and the fear that her hope was in vain. Or that help would come too late.
This was one such moment. Elowen was finally in front of her abode, fixing the front garden and the damage done to it. Nature was resilient however. Some of the stomped plants had recovered and straightened so she only needed to clip off the broken parts. But there were two or three places with deep scuff marks and boot marks in the ground as the two mercenaries tried to avoid whatever it was that chased them away.
Elowen stood from her work and looked at a flower bed which was essentially eliminated by the struggle. Plants there did not recover. She'd have to seed them again after snowmelt. It hurt her to see this. She had spent arcs of her life tending to this garden under Meira's tight instructions. She remembered the first time that she took from the garden without asking or understanding and brought it to the old woman. She was not scolded then. Instead, it was pressed into her mind that whatever grew outside the shack and beyond its borders was sacred and should not be taken lightly or without thought.
Yet, this had happened.
The girl felt the knot that sat around her heart rise to her throat. The fire in her blood flared up again, setting her skin to feverish heat. It had not stopped burning since that night when the mercenaries violated her peace. She couldn't even keep it down. She wasn't even trying, finding refuge in that what was known even if it felt like her control was slipping. But at the same time, had she ever had it over anything at all in her life?
And so it was then that she lifted her eyes up and looked towards the path again, hoping against hope that help was coming because she did not know how much longer she could keep it together.