The ground was hard as stone beneath the small set of softleather boots. Her short, simple brown cloak was pulled tight about self. For what seemed ages, s'jira stood in the main area of entering that belonged to the large cemetery for RhyDin.
Two that she knew very well were buried there: The Barbarian and Fisherwoman Thale.
Snow crunched just a little beneath her light footing when she gathered up her courage warmly about self like the cloak and made her way amongst the graves.
Some were grandly marked and others were nothing more than a stick to be a guide that someone or something had that place there. Winter's winds rushed in and tugged at the cloth of her dress. She caught them to keep them in place as she slowed to a stop and visited the simple grave of Thale Dragoncrest.
S'jira had not known the elder woman's last name until the gods had taken her from that world in so permanent a way that she knew eyes would never see her again and ears would never hear the woman's pushy way of talking.
Fingerstips curled about a limb that had fallen from the bigger branch of a tree that would protect her resting place when warmer months came and leaves were plentiful.
After Thale, she moved on to visit with Master Kiroth. Leaves and twigs had been removed from his weeks before and placed neatly on the ground behind the stone that marked his place. The little branch from Thale's grave was added to the pile, along with leaves and other debris small hands were removing from atop and around his grave.
Winter's touch was too bitter to linger for long. S'jira gave a gentled smile to the stone slab that covered the earth that held his bones. She knew that he hunted with his ancestors and had been doing that for several of RhyDin's years.
No words were uttered, no song left her lips. Perhaps on a day more favorable to staying outside without fear of illness. A glance spent between the graves before 'jira hurried off to find brazier or hearth to warm her hands then the rest of self.
Two that she knew very well were buried there: The Barbarian and Fisherwoman Thale.
Snow crunched just a little beneath her light footing when she gathered up her courage warmly about self like the cloak and made her way amongst the graves.
Some were grandly marked and others were nothing more than a stick to be a guide that someone or something had that place there. Winter's winds rushed in and tugged at the cloth of her dress. She caught them to keep them in place as she slowed to a stop and visited the simple grave of Thale Dragoncrest.
S'jira had not known the elder woman's last name until the gods had taken her from that world in so permanent a way that she knew eyes would never see her again and ears would never hear the woman's pushy way of talking.
Fingerstips curled about a limb that had fallen from the bigger branch of a tree that would protect her resting place when warmer months came and leaves were plentiful.
After Thale, she moved on to visit with Master Kiroth. Leaves and twigs had been removed from his weeks before and placed neatly on the ground behind the stone that marked his place. The little branch from Thale's grave was added to the pile, along with leaves and other debris small hands were removing from atop and around his grave.
Winter's touch was too bitter to linger for long. S'jira gave a gentled smile to the stone slab that covered the earth that held his bones. She knew that he hunted with his ancestors and had been doing that for several of RhyDin's years.
No words were uttered, no song left her lips. Perhaps on a day more favorable to staying outside without fear of illness. A glance spent between the graves before 'jira hurried off to find brazier or hearth to warm her hands then the rest of self.