Topic: Unexpected Journies

Sesian

Date: 2008-01-19 18:42 EST
(Open To Any Who Wants To Write Along)

In the wake of recent events, the woman from Ta'Ven found herself more than a little idle. Food stuffs had been stored before the cold weather had come. The horse and foal had plenty of feed and hay.

Walks were preferred by every great while, Sesian found she cared to ride instead. When the door of the old wood cutter's cottage was closed behind her, she drew the thick, heavy pelisse of russett wool that was lined with ermine fur about her form. Towards the saddled Sable, she moved and mounted the black coated horse. A shift of her form in the saddle, she arranged layers of grey skirts.

Hands within the gloves Guthorm had bought her years ago, dark fingers curled to the reins and set the horse moving from the northern slop of the lands known as RhyDin towards the infamous and very diverse sprawl of a city below.

Hooves plodded the path they had many times over the decade since her first coming to the land. She remembered hunting for a Sister here and finding her dead body. She could remember the acrid smell of the ceremonial pyre and those who had attended it all those many years ago.

Here was a land that was as kind as it was cruel. As giving as it was denying. For many it was a place of love and hate that was oddly balanced. Children without parents, many without a family at all, enemies with friendly faces, or some who seemed to know everyone and was related to almost that many.

As the lithe woman's thoughts traipsed from one thing to another, angular visage faced into the cold, Winter wind. Her hair that was as pale as newly fallen snow fluttered about her shoulders. She could recall, through the eyes of others, that her hair had ot always been that color. Black, it had been when she was a child. Dark as pitch. And her eyes that were a faint shade of blue had once been a startling darker hue.

The use and guardianship of the Tomrack had done both to her. Though she appeared to be a woman in her early thirties, she was nearly three times that age. Again, age was not what had turned her hair the color it was. With every use of the Tomrack Stone, it took the pigment from the user's gaze and hair.

She habitually tugged the garment about a very narrow waist as the wind whipped up again. A ride through the lands. That was what she was out to do that day, still beyond its walls.