Days were slow indeed when family came calling without proper warning. It was only natural that the same gruff eye the gypsy witch had given the small hovel of broken-wheeled caravans that her cousins, in kind, would have distrusted a lone figure, dark and measured, seeking their grounds and fiery witch.

Though the quiet circle of brightly colored rabble that'd taken up temporary residence with the fair haired buxom weren't related by blood, all wily tongued vagabonds held a truce of sorts; cousins by the road, kind through the beaten leather of boots and the chewed manner of wagon wheels. Children of several ages and sizes, ranging from toddlers with strong legs, to gangly mid-eights just sprouting their charm, were hiding along the opposing side of Lilliana's covered home. Dark eyes wide as their minute smiles, shoulders shook with silent giggles, and one long limbed boy rapped a series of knuckle taps to the witch's back window. Whispers were had, faint and indistinguishable in their childishness, but within moments the heft of steps from within came to the door Tag stood before.

Both halves of the door clicked, swaying open in a flurry of sunset skirts and a wide, cheshire smile. The moment the soft spoken caretaker's face filled her eyes, though, the expression softened a bit in it's mischief, turning to something more manageable and friendly.

"An' good day t'ya', Mr. Sent'ry... Tha' look on yer' face makes m'think ya' though' abou' m'offer more?" Not quite one to beat around the bush when a fairly serious, even tempered kind of subject was on the conversation table. Flirting, socializing, schmoozing, and relaxing; yes, those were all times when her clever, glowing games of the tongue were appreciated, but not now. No. Not with this one.

Quiet as anything, her face lilted to something curious and intent as she stepped down the short set of lofty stairs to the ground. Tall, but not too tall, Lilliana had to look up the few inches difference to her caller. A soft, lingering noise drew her attention though; the children were creeping along the length of her caravan like wee vines in an unnatural show of fast forward. One molten eye was kept to the possibly mischievous peanut gallery while the other held Tag in silent question.

Molten eyes; that's what they were. Bright things that resembled some majestic pair of rose windows long lost to their cathedrals, only to be found within the body of a pale, buxom gypsy child. Years later, here she stood; a proud phoenix with her stained, molten ambers stricken by fondness for the dull, gray dove that stood before her so uncertainly. Even a rock dove could befriend a phoenix without fear of the fire she bore, her flames would not burn him, but strengthen.

Several moments of quiet passed, it's void ruined only by the hushed sounds of small feet shifting through the grass behind them; wee bodies inching ever closer. The witch, still keen on their presence, whirled, arms wide as she let out a mock roar of some great beast. They all shrieked with delight, scattering like so many deer before a fearsome mountain lion. Rearing forwards, Lilliana managed to wrapped her strong, pale arms about one of the too-slow stragglers, wrestling them in a squirm against her chest as she reeled back to Tag, half laughing.

"This one here'll tell ya', darlin'. I's nothin' too awful, promise. Now..." Eyes to the little gypsy child she'd caught as the tiny girl began to think it was a great idea to tug on wayward strands of her hair. It was all mock fighting, really; the child's face was alight with amusement.

"Wha' did yer mama' star' ya' off with, m'lil' gypsy fire. Hm? Tell Mr. Sen'try fer me, would ya'?" Almost hushed, half whispered as a delightful schpeel of childish theatrics stole the witch's face whimsical and innocent.

It was then the little girl stilled, flashing the taller, darker man a wide smile ripe with the growth of a few missing teeth. Squiggling an arm free from the witch, those little fingers aimed to grasp at Tag's hand. Pop! The other arm came free to mirror it's twin, both eensy sets eager. As one of those hands caught it's claim, the other made to trace little symbols in his work worn palm. Such a skin comparison, such a size comparison, and then, as the small girl spoke; ah the sound.

"Let'ers, mister man. Let'ers... The lil' squigglies tha' make up words!" Beaming with pride as she spoke, Lilliana gave her a nod, grinning as her arms unwound to let the child stand instead of drape in the air between them.

"Tha's righ' m'little love, we star' with letters" And there it was, clear and pronounced fluidly without the honeyed, thick tang of the witch's world born accent. Eyes held Tag in their frame, every entertained by his reactions to her and her world. The subtlest smiles and arch of brows were the sweetest rewards from the quiet man.

(Rped log between Lilli and Tag 10.27.09)

Gypsy eyes were perceptive things, keen things; from birth such folk were taught the myriad of human motions, gestures, and expressions. Down to the most faint, bare wrinkle near the eye or mouth. Lilliana prided herself on being a reader of man and his many moods with the bright eyes she bore. Tag's transformation near took her heart away with its gentleness. Though she'd not quite planned on the gaggle of children being present, nor their parents, the witch took it all as a blessing for the smile it brought out on the tall, gray man's features. Learning resources were more valuable than gold, and if this bonny little soul between them was a key to unlocking the mysteries of the written word for her quiet friend, then so be it. If all went according to the rough schedule she was given by the caravan's head, the lot of them would be staying through until their wears were sold and their wagons prepped for winter... This meant Lilliana had ample time to take the basics slow, letting Tag set his pace until things clicked in place. All the while those wheels were cranking, the small spirit with her dark curls and bright blue eyes giggled sweetly, retracing the motions she'd already done in that time tested palm. "I's m'name, Mister!"

"Oh. Your name?" he said slowly and looked at his hand, eyes leveling back to Lilliana. Perhaps a palm was not the best visual aid for this sort of thing. His eyebrows arched up like something strange and alien happened to him and then he looked back at the little girl for confirmation, "And how is it that you say your name?" He spoke easier with children. Less of a pause, less of a hesitance. Perhaps, even, a more confident atmosphere to him.

Content to sit back and watch, the gypsy witch rewrapped the bulk of her knitted shawl about her shoulders, molten eyes half lidded from a slow smile that spread across her face. The child, proud and fearless as anything, blinked for a moment and looked back over her shoulder to the watchful witch before the confirming nod she quite obviously searched for, was given; that silent, it's okay. Turning back, she said. "I's Myrridan... Em, why, are, are, dee, a', en." Each letter was enunciated with the pride of a new learner. A curtsy came as a sweet companion, showing off her manners as well with the homespun edges of her small skirt.

He smiled when she made sure that he was decent to deal with. That was the difference in street kids and spoiled kids. Kids on the road, in a caravan, they knew an adult could hurt them. That they could be the bad guy. That they needed to be sure. He watched her lips mouth the words and he sounded her name out after her, "Myrridan," which wasn't difficult. She says, "en" and he notes it, but still was unsure of what it meant. He tapped the child on the nose with a smile and looked back towards Lilli as she observed them. Eyebrows arched upward and he said, softly, "Should I have brought a pen and paper?"

Shawled shoulders gave a shrug upwards at his query. Lifting away from the lean she'd stolen against the side of her wagon, the witch shook her head, chuckling softly. It was the kind of sound that came from within, not from petty amusement at an ill-read individual?s expense. "No' a'tall darlin'. No... I have m'own supplies stowed away, I make pos' every now an' again t'some up in town an' ou' in the count'ryside." All the while, little Myrridan, as she'd called herself, clasped both hands to her poked nose before scurrying back behind the nearest, most matronly figure she could find; Lilli. Owl bright eyes watched Tag carefully as the witch continued, patting a pale hand to the child's head. "... also, if ye'd like, I could arrange Myr, t'help. She's new t'i' all herself, plus.." She paused, grinning. "I think she's taken a shine t'ye'."

When the child darts away he climbs to his full height. Slow, like something were sore and the sound of a bone cracks. But it wasn't painful. He smiled distantly and nods when she says that, "I have... little paper." of course. He thought though, that he should acquire some anyway if he were serious about this writing endeavor. When she mentioned Myrridan learning alongside him he smiled distantly, "I'd like that very much. To not be the only one learning." Plus the energy and presence of the child pleased him. When told that the child tool a shine to him, well, he wasn't so sure with the way she darted back to Lilli at the brush of his finger. Eyebrows arched upward like to counter what she claimed.

Seeing the meager show of skepticism, the witch's grin only stretched wider, painting the image of some great ginger cat more than an apple cheeked maid. "She don'talk t'many folks so openly... Of'en hides a'the back o'her siblings an' cousins." She explained gently with a hand half sheilding her mouth as though it were some great secret. Myrridan, obviously perking her attention more for whispered tones, puckered her face and swatted up in protest.

The slight smile filled out more and he nodded, indicated that he understood with, "I had raised some kids, once." like to say he knew that shy syndrome before in some other little girl whose favorite color would be different and her favorite food was cheese. He stood to his full height and regarded her with his slight expression, "You must let me know if I can do anything in exchange for this help."

"Ah, I told ya' b'fore, Tag, I wouldn' wan' t'take anythin' from ya'. Knowledge is somethin' tha's free fer all." For all her Cheshire smiles that came so easily to her soft features, Lilliana could melt it all away into something kind within a flash. At heart it seemed she always would be a giving soul; most earthly witches were. For all this, the little girl was still and watchful as a hawk. What adults spoke of in the open children often of the utmost interest, for some day they might be talking about similar things and need to know what is said or done. Little fingers wound about those sunset skirts again, their paleness turned a touch blue by the cool air of autumn. She was a wee, dark thing beside all the bright colors and buxom being of Lilli with wide eyes all for Tag.

"It would only be fair," he insisted, as much as anyone like him ever did. His eyes scout to the outline of dark leaves on the sky before he looks back to her and the owl eyes of the child, "When should I come next?" This was rather informal, rather sudden as it was his first time visiting her. He didn't know what sort of schedule gypsies kept, but he imagined Lilli had more to do than ponder when Tag's next visit would be.

Those keen eyes regarded Tag for a long, silent moment, but there came a time when she spoke again, and this time with a small sigh as if she'd just given in to a long, unspoken argument. Back came that dazzling smile once more as she laughed. "All righ' then, Tag, if I think o'somethin' I'd need a hand with, I'll le' ya' know, hm? In the meantime, I'd say early afternoon's would be bes'." A little drop of her chin for the lingering elf at her hip. "I'll have t'be makin' a deal w'this one's mother no doub'... Though tha's no' a problem. Favors c'be traded fer favors, an' their small clan doesn' have a magic touch t'them." A pat then, for Myrrdin from the witch's pale, soft fingers to that mass of dark curls as it yawned. "A spell or two would be'nough, maybe even teach Myrr somethin', yeah?" Eyes to Tag first, then to the child in question who looked as though Yule had come early and the night was abound with fairies.

He paused and then looked at her. Tag was, well, a very serious sort of student. He made the gesture with hands as he asked, "If you would write alphabet, I will study and practice until tomorrow," and he meant that, of course. His brows knit in concern like he were asking her for a federal secret. Tag was, of course, serious about any important endeavor. It would perhaps keep the child focused while she, in turn, would remind him that learning this was something enjoyable. Then, "It will give her mother time." He wanted to say time to do chores, but he wasn't sure what chores a drifter had. Certainly there were some.

A nod for her tall friend, then at his words. "Oh tha' wouldn' be a problem.. No' a'tall. I've go' a ledger, in fac'. Wro'e i'myself." Still rapt with attention for more tidbits concerning her immediate future and possible craft training, Myrridan already had eyes for Lilliana as the elder gypsy pointed to the door of her caravan. "Would ya' be a summer's peach an' grab i'fer me, darlin'? S'in on m'desk with'a bi' o'lead an homemade scrap." Off like a shooting star the child streaked, and back again just as quick, little hands full of the witch's request. Passing from smaller to larger hands, then, the ledger with its careful, neat writing was offered to Tag's work worn hands. Inside he would find not only the alphabet, but a step by step phonics system beside each letter. Pages later, there were more complex things he'd no doubt work himself towards as soon as possible as days passed.

He took it and slid it under his arm casually, though if the hold had been tested on it the person would have found it quite steadfast. So his smile came to Lilli, the first adult in Rhydin to receive it who wasn't Rona and he said, "Thank you very much for this." and to the little one who favored him and still regarded him with a cloud of caution, "Thank you, as well. I don't like learning alone. My name is Mr. Tag." he had realized then the little girl didn't know how to address him and he said, further, "Or, simply Tag if you would rather." Not that gypsies were ones for formality-- some children were pressed to be more formal with adults, especially ones which they were not terribly familiar with.

Tag would gander right; gypsies weren't one for formality, normally, but Myrridan was a good girl, and she listened to his first prompting of his name. Like before, that wide, semi-toothless smile bore a bright shine towards the tall man as Myrr repeated in her small, accented voice. "Mr. Tag." Visibly pleased with the goings on, Lilliana gave another small nod. "Y'are welcome, Tag... Give m'bes' t'yer Rona, yeah?" For all the riches the steadfast man found in the witch's surroundings, her heart felt a sore lacking. Bonny and right as the day was bright, she too, like any other, yearned for a family of her own. Until fate dealt her a proper hand, though, Lilliana would keep her soul shining with the live-given riches of the world about her, content. Deep, dark, and down; all those things were tucked away for the nights too cold to lay without wanting for another's warmth.

Most English speaking kids, or goofy adults, would spend a minute in amusement at his name. It had seemed the easiest nickname for him to adult that wasn't a lie. Then he looked up to Lilli and used the ledge to wave to her as he stepped back. It was time, he thought, to bid farewell. That was how two people, whose hearts sighed quietly for the same dream, regarded one another. With quiet pressed smiled of knowing and, choosing not to dissect the wound, said nothing. "I will see you tomorrow." Was his goodbye and he ducked unnecessarily before he went. A bowing farewell which was extra flourish considering that it came from him.

(end)

All this business with writing had the gypsy holding up in the warm, cozy nook of her caravan during the earlier half of the afternoon. It'd been a lazy day of rifling through her belongings for a certain book, searching through the bits and baubles she'd collected and acquired over the course of her life so far. Between this shelf and that, tucked oh so precariously careful inside the curve of some carved, wooden bowl and a particularly thick volume pertaining to Rhydin's local perennials and their curative uses, was a small, pocket-sized little book.

It was weathered and touched timeless by age, but still crisp and rigid from the spine outwards to it's binding. Neatly etched and kempt leather stretching encased the entire surface of the small book, it's images more akin to the eldritch scroll and design of archaic flowers and other dainty, monotone stitches of floral borders.

The witch's molten gaze blazed a path across the small treasure as her fingers stroked along it's edges lovingly. A smile poured across her eyes long before it even reached the plump edges of her lips, and rising as she began the slow, languid motions of flipping through the book's pages, she noted the flutter of sunlight creeping through her window; late afternoon.

Quick footsteps and a small tuck of that minute volume onto a space at her desk and Lilliana was out looking through the small panes of her door's window. Chuckling, she unlatched the top half of the door, leaning out with a wave before her hand fell to cup beneath her chin.

"An' hello there again, Tag... Back already fer more punishmen'?" Voice littered with amusement, it was easy to tell the witch was joking. There though, over the line of the quiet man's shoulder, she saw the distant tromp of a small figure rushing it's way towards them. It was Myrridan, the little gypsy girl with her whimsical smile all ripe with the coming of new teeth in the place of old. Further out the door Lilliana went, unlatching the bottom half as she stepped down from the short stair onto the ground. Hands to her hips, the gypsy couldn't help but smile wider as she noticed the glint of zeal in the small girl's eyes as she rushed up behind Tag and made her customary bee line for the safety behind the witch's skirts.

Distracted by it all, it took the witch a moment to notice the face Tag had brought to her; it looked quizzical with just a touch of innocent impatience. He had a question. Expecting this due to the book of letters and phonics she'd sent him home with, Lilli made a gesture for her caravan's door, her expression a touch more gentle. "In ya' both go now, all righ'? No worries, m'bark is worse than m'bi'e. Le's learn us somethin' nice today, hm?" A wink first was given to the child behind her before she reached to clap her taller, older friend upon his arm in a kindly fashion.

Eyes dropped to the small collection of things that her quiet friend bore with him, and Lilliana grew curious as she moved behind him and Myrridan up through the doorway. And of course, surprise, surprise, the covered wagon's interior was larger and much more spacious than an outside glimpse might hint towards. She was a witch after all...

Most children, especially ones that were naturally shy, tended to unfurl a bit faster when one assumed a position much closer to their own level. Mr. Sentry was either a smart man or just lucky to find repose in the manner he did. Myrridan soon unwound her hands from the sweet bulk of Lilli's skirts and assumed a space a few widths away from Tag, her doe eyes still soft with curiosity. After a moment of debating with only the older gypsy's soft humming as a calming background noise, the little girl lips gave an involuntary twitch as little hands reached out, gesturing to the book their 'teacher' had given Tag.

Once the worn bulk of that ledger was in Myrridan's too tiny hands, the little girl spread the covers, her fingers ticking carefully across the pages. It was obvious the child had long ago learned the respect books should be given from the way she seemed extra gentle with the witch's property.

"Mama helped me with the affabet again last night." What she'd meant to say was skewed by not only her lack of use with the word 'alphabet', but by the few gaps in her teeth the little lass was sporting.

Chuckling silently, Lilliana gave a nod even with her back still turned to the pair. "Mm, tha' she did. And between her an' I an' Mr. Sen'try here, ya' will be righ' as the rain." The witch was collecting a few last things like leafs of paper and a small, clever little pencil sharpener in the shape of what seemed shaped like a miniature bird; the open beak was where the pencil fit. The book she bore earlier was still tucked between the bulk of her arm and side, and while not quite hidden, like Tag, Lilli wasn't offering an explanation for it quite yet. Upon turning she joined the pair on the floor, her back half reclined against the plush of a small, cushioned couch braced against the side of her caravan. The space between their circle was intimate, but not too small as though to be uncomfortable or impede their afternoon's progress.

"Swee' lass isn' she?" Chuckling aloud now, Lilliana gave Myrridan's cheek a soft, approving tweak. The little girl flushed indignantly despite the praise, giving the witch a childish shove with both her arms, leaving the ledger to balance in her small lap. Laughing now, the buxom just stuck her tongue out at the child before turning those bright eyes to Tag, gauging his smile and it's weight today.

"Did yer swee'hear', help ya' las' nigh'?" One pale finger gave a little point to the small load Tag still bore, her brow cocked up in arch to match the gentle query in her voice. "I'll admi', i's intimida'in', bu' don' fre', darlin'. Once yer tongue has the sounds down, learnin' somethin' close t'the soul will be the kicker ya' need to unravelin' the res'." This of course, was said with the man's reasons for learning in mind.

Love was a great motivator for anything.

'December twelfth...' Tag's voice, so soft, so even, so warm and steady; it helped solidify the date in the witch's head as she bobbed for him a slow nod. Unable to help but smile, Lilliana turned the heady spill of her eyes to him, arms crossed as she leant herself back against the edge of a desk.

"Be sure t'tell me where, now, yeah? I can' very well come, le' alone bind an' protec' the grounds if I don' have a direc'tion t'go in." This would make her third wedding in Rhydin, and out of the three, it would be the second that she'd have a hand in preparing. The thought made Lilliana's smile grow all the wider; so wide, in fact, that a dull shine could be discerned at the corner of each molten eye. She all but shone like some forgotten sun goddess, for such things brought out the truest bit of the witch's heart. Fingers unwound from their comfortable fold then as she sank down to her student's level. Tonight, she told them, they would better learn the sounds attached to the letters they'd so dutifully memorized. Oh to be a fly on that caravan's wall that afternoon...

Though one might think that the thick voiced buxom might not be the best of folks to learn language and writing from, they would be quite wrong. Lilliana could curb the eccentric lilt of her voice quite easily, though it sounded horribly strange, even kiltered notes spilt patiently from the gypsy's lips as she and her studious audience went through the motions of sounding the letters. The first two times, both did nothing but listen with Myrridan balancing the letter book between she and her larger partner. The third time, however, Ms. McClae asked the pair to recite aloud with her. A pair of times more, and the elder gypsy tested their memories by letting them try it each once themselves. Not once did their tutor laugh, no; though that easy going humor was lit up behind her eyes, Lilliana was steadfast and kindly, correcting only when needed, and praising there afterwards without any condescending inflection to her voice.

If anything was dizzying it would no doubt be the moment she bid both of them good evening; she slipped right back into her own manner of linguistics with a laugh, an embrace, and kiss to each of her student's cheek. Tag's were gentle with the sincerity that could only come from one whom meant to keep and strengthen their bond of friendship over time. Though the witch knew she risked painting her friend's cheeks a sunset of colors by doing so, she did anyway; the afternoon was too well spent to not be proud of both him and herself. Myrridan's kiss was much more animated, obviously. Both gypsies were a whirl of hair and color and laughter, though while Lilliana received more kisses over the apples of her cheeks than she gave to her smaller pupil, their shared affection was obvious and heartfelt. Such a moment, no doubt, surely painted the elder gypsy the picture of the proud, sweet mother she'd no doubt be one day.

Tag was not without his own little farewells from the child either, for the girl tiptoed to whisper her shy goodbyes and flash squeezed him with the whole of her arms. Afterwards, Myrridan fled the seeable distance through the grass to the small, firelight ring of caravans where her mother was waiting with a smiling face poked out of parted shutters.

No doubt used to the weight of his friend's eyes, it wouldn't take the rock dove long to find the phoenix staring at him, grinning wide enough to make a cheshire huff with envy. To prompt the grinning witch as to why she looked the way she did, her reply was simple.

"Ya' will make a fine father one day, darlin'..." Simple, truthful, and tender; it was her sendoff for their evening.

Hands and eyes full, Myrridan was quite a distracted little creature as she drank in the exchange between her two elders. Her fingers were neat, wiry little things that clenched almost white knuckled around the crutch's smooth wooden body. Lilli, however, looked a touch more concerned than awed; practical thing she was always, though, the witch would let his game of 'let's ignore my debilitating limp for the moment', and indulge his questions. Besides, his curiosity was too much for her educator's zeal. They were smart questions. "Oh yer' a clever one... Ya' discovered the fun an' tricky world o' homophones." At this, the smaller pupil perked up, her cheeks tinging a bit as she realized her performance was in threat of being surpassed. Myrr was a good girl though, and she listened; it was another chance for her to learn as well.

"They're words tha' sound the same, bu' are spel' differen'ly an' have differen' meanin's. There's a fun way t'learn them though... I's all in the way ya' use'm; meanin' the context." Her voice, as always, was warm with patience yet lacking in the oh-so-easily picked up tone of patronizing when it came to the sharing of new facts from student to teacher. An omniscient fly on the wall would still no doubt bawk from the sudden, clear spells of unaccented enuncation.

Pausing to find both of them still following her train of explanations, Lilliana gave a proud nod and further spun her web. Carefully she scrawled the two words fairly large on a piece of paper and held he against her chest. Laying the point of an index finger towards the first, 'affect', the witch feigned a swoon as she spoke, pantomiming love sick lass weak in the knees. "Oh! How yer presence affects me!"

The next was just as animated, but also easily followed. A hand fell to the flat curve of her corsetted stomach, clutching it as if it were in pain; her face painted the picture pretty clear as well. "Ah! Cause I a'e t'much o'those swee's m'belly hur's." Chuckling, she let the paper down between them, pointing to the word 'e' variation as she explained the overload of sweets were the cause, and the belly ache the effect. Laughter on the smaller student's part was a musical little thing as the lesson continued. Lilliana's dramatics lead the way, concise and poised just so, to help give a boost to each explanation and meaning. No doubt both of their heads would be positively swimming and alive with a world of homophones and homonyms by the time the sun came winking to tell of how the hours had passed.

Plunkering down between the two, though, before they left, Lilliana wound an arm around each companion; the taller and the shorter. She served as a link between the two while she squeezed them in a fond hug, chuckling. "An' las' bu' no' leas'... This is an' armful."

The witch was positively radiant with their progress.

It was not Lilliana that opened her mouth first to answer Tag's query, but Myrridan. Being a child born to a life upon the road, she was already quite accustomed to all its endless curiosities and stimuli, even at such a tender age. As the witch uncurled her arms from about her pupils, those dark little eyes were bright with pride as the child chirped up.

"Long wind'd is wha' mama calls our pap because he always ge's in'ta reeaally long an' borin' stories!" Taking a leaf out of her elder gypsy kin's book, the little raven blew out an exaggerated breath, much like one would sigh with exasperation when they had to sit through some tedious explanation. From the last look in the little girl's eyes, it was quite easy to see that she too, shared her mother's feelings about her grandfather. Little pearls were to be found through the verbal rubbish, it seemed.

Ear to ear the older gypsy's smile stretched as she tried not to burst with laughter. "Now, now, Myrr, tha's no' nice. Yer' pap means well, be respec'ful mm? Don' be talkin' like yer ma an' the other adul's." Though the buxom had to clear her throat before even feigning any kind of chiding, she turned to half tuck her face towards Tag, hiding the mirth ripened cheeks; adding.

"An' as fer tha' las' ques'tion... Well. Tha' sayin's some'thin' ya' migh' already know." Myrridan rolled her eyes at that, arms crossed; obviously the child didn't like where this was going. Up went Lilli's fingers, tapping the spaces around her own eyes before she did the same to Tag's, but much gentler. "Have ya' ever looked in't Rona's eyes an' seen all the way back t'her soul? Have ya' seen words there before she's even murmured'em t'ya'? Eyes are the windows t'wha's inside us. Bu' i's no' jus' love tha' comes through'em, bu' anger, an' sadness, an' sometimes even whole oceans o'though'... Ya' see?" Obviously the child hadn't learned that all parental and older family figures had eyes in the back of their heads when it came to the littler ones, because she was sticking out her tongue a bit, biting back a huff. Some things would never change as children grew; boys still had ickies in Myrridan's world, so instead of kisses, they got mud pies in the face.

"As I told ya' darlin', all those words are jus' a figure o'speech. They're sayin's or ways of expressin' an' odd si'tua'ion or feelin' tha' normal, singular words jus' can'. I' takes time t'learn'em all, 'cause folk all over the world have their own way o'sayin' things." This, Lilliana said, if only to clear up further bombardments of questions about expressions and their meanings. That, and to give Tag's brain a little exercise in trying to decipher, with his newfound language knowledge, just what was being expressed.

Good teacher's don't only give answers, they pose questions as well; puzzles for a later date that students can learn all their own.

As the elder gypsy took the page he'd offered up for her inspection, Myrridan edged a touch closer, half leaning over Lilliana's lap in her earnest to answer her fellow student's question.

"We don' 'ave many in the family, but papa' calls'a lotta' folks tha' an' doesn' like doin' business w'em." No doubt the child could chitter on for hours on many a story when she had bore witness to the little deaths of boredom her father faced while she'd spied out an unguarded flap of their wagon. Children, as the man would well know, saw and heard so much more than their adults; they were like little shadows at times themselves. Folks at times tend to gloss over the remembered importance of being a child, for those doors had long ago closed to them. The world is bigger, wider, at times scarier, and a great deal more mysterious; even little Myrr would admit this, but far less eloquently.

"Everythin's a bi' odd t'me... Bu' mama says tha's because I'm lil' still, so stuff'll ge' clearer as I ge' older." Even though the bulk of what the little girl was saying was in fact a statement, her eyes, the little clear blue windows she bore, they seemed to ask for her big friend's reassurance, like a question. As if asking, 'it will be all right, they're telling the truth right?'.

Myrridan however did not voice it as such and just kept going, nodding her little raven dark head of curls. "En'lish is somethin' I don' know ye' either... No' really. Some'imes I hear wha' folks are sayin' bu' I don' wan'ta even stop'em 'cause they sound so pre'tty speakin' wha' they're sayin'..." This no doubt he could relate to, the child imagined. He looked very different from the people in this place. Raised in the manner that she was, the girl had indeed seen folk with his physical traits and body specifics before, but not many here.

That steaming train of thought plowed through their current line of questioning, and suddenly, as children often do in their own innocent way, she asked. "Where are ye' from Mr. Tag?" She looked to him owlishly, and at this, Lilliana looked down with a quirked brow. It looked as though the buxom meant to chide her smallest pupil, but how does one really tame the nature of the wind let alone a child?

Children were curious and always would be. But perhaps this was an opportunity for the witch herself to learn a bit more if Tag so chose to indulge the girl.

Like Tag, Lilliana was glad for the girl's sudden flare and for once was content to sit and absorb instead of talk. Fingers ticked along the edges of penmanship as she listened , memorizing this error or that as Myrridan was now all but laying across her lap.

"Mama' says I was born while they were movin' through a fores' near the Ya'soo moun'ain!" Owl deep eyes zeroed in on Tag's face as a quiet wonder crept out from within. All those questions she had poured without words, the whos, the whats, and the whys, but Myrridan was a good, but naturally quiet girl, so all those queries boiled down to one or two neater ones. "...Japan I don' think we've been there. Why did ye' come here? Don' ye' miss i'?" Though still a child, Myrr was a keen one, and she could tell Mr. Tag was not like she or Lilli. Gypsies had no true home to miss, for they traveled with the people that made home a home. Though the concept was a bit complex for a child to fully digest, the girl apparently grasped it in her own way, whether by example or by the intuition that came with being immersed in her people.

Molten eyes finally lifted to inspect the pair, a smile curling at the corner of her lips as she gave a belated correction to her smaller pupil. "Ya' mean Yasuo moun'tain, Myrr." Her interjection was soft so as not to fully interrupt their conversation. Having heard Lilliana's quiet prompt the little girl gave a quick nod, smiling shyly as her dark head ducked the witch's reaching hand that aimed a tug a loose, black curl.

While she'd been listening, Lilliana's interest had piqued further. She'd not only heard of the place, but could recall visiting the country a long while back when she'd been in those awkward, precious years between childhood and puberty. Tight cities, rolling landscapes, green, moist countryside, rich arts, delicate, polite demeanors... Japan, as she recalled, was a land steeped in tradition and elegant propriety. Looking at Tag now with this bit information, it wasn't that much of a shock really; like digesting the background of a painting who's foreground had always held your attention until just recently.

The conversation had grown a touch deep for such a pair as they, but Lilliana couldn't help but smile. She'd not seen her friend open so much, nor Myrridan to someone who, until not long ago, was a complete stranger; progress was coming in ways with these lessons in ways both expected and unexpected. The realization only widened the witch's quiet smile further, dimpling either cheek as she watched Tag exercise his patience with the english he'd been learning.

Clearing her throat quietly drew the little owl girl's eyes to the elder gypsy as she spoke. "I think she unders'ood, Tag."

Myriddan nodded with the prompting, her own sweet little collection of teeth splaying despite the soft sense of solemnity to the air about them; though reminiscing could often do so, that didn't mean memories or ghosts would linger too long. Not with a pair of gypsy in one wagon anyway.

Back those wide eyes swam, blinking at her learning mate's posture and his question. Suddenly squinty-eyed with thought, the girl hrrrmed aloud as Lilliana rose to her feet and began to collect her smaller pupil's things. The sun was past lingering and nearly gone; mama bird would be expecting her chirping chick.

"I wan'ta do wha' Anna does... I wan'ta go an' travel t'other realms! She's been all kinds o' places ye' know! She-" Just as the girl's speed was picking up and the bright fervor of her young gaze, a call came leaking through to the wagon. Though muffled, any child recognized the call of their mother's voice. Scrambling for her things only to find Lilliana already holding them out, Myrridan squeaked her goodbyes, leaving only a bit of parchment behind that looked like her own writings meant to be expected. Laughter followed the girl out with the swing of the caravan's door, and without much more of a twitch behind her wrist, somehow the wooden passage snuck back closed. Hands to her hips, she chuckled down at Tag, offering a hand up.

"Ya' both do one a'nother well..." The inflection of her voice clearly emulated her earlier musings within. The time all three of them spent together was turning out to be a greater lesson than originally intended, and it was something that Lilliana was glad to be a part of it all.

His message, his absence, and then his arrival... Truly, Lilliana had been shocked. The sweet little world that'd been building around her since the recent trials and tribulations was already crumbling. Could anyone say what it felt like to watch a favorite fairy tale crumble before their very eyes? Some could, perhaps, but whomever that list held, the gypsy witch could add her scripture to the collection.

Eyes, bright things, molten things; they still held their vivid glow, but leveled at a half mast as she regarded her quiet friend with a plethora of emotions. The bulk of them were piteous things despite her attempt not to bare a sad face, but how could she help it?

"... I did ge' yer le'tter." Came her answer after too long a gap. Another pause, and out began the peek of a smile; coy and unsure as the dawn in winter.

"Ya' s'till have t'work on tha' s'tu'tter in yer wri'tin'." Leave it to a teacher to lean back on their pupil's faults as an ice breaker. Despite her own craggy past as a child and seeing the ill met fate between her parents, it would never fail to break her heart to watch another's walk alone when it seemed as though it were meant to sore with it's mate. Lilliana was no fool; she saw how Tag had watched Myrridan when he allowed himself the indulgence. He wanted a family, he wanted a babe and love of his own to rear before age took him too late. Who didn't? She herself hoped to be swollen with child before a crone's years took away her maiden league's chance.

Most of all, he was alone again.

Now here he stood so utterly airy before her, and she couldn't fathom his emotions, perhaps that's why the witch held such a sorrow about her. She thought carefully before speaking again, cutting through the irrelevant queries; the 'how's and the 'what happened's and the 'I can't believe it's... to find a root one. A gypsy one.

"Where will ya' go?" Soft, almost too soft. The husky dulcet almost became less a set of syllables and more a gentle, wordless croon; concerned but deep down, ever hopeful.

Nodding was really all she could do; who was she to challenge his words or be anything but a gentle hand in the right direction? For all his quiet darkness, and for all his lengthy appearance and deep, knowing eyes, Lilliana at times saw a child instead of a man. These thoughts weren't negative per say, when she saw him so small, but hopeful. Tag, to her, was possibly one of the most selfless, patient people she'd ever come across; and given the twenty nine years worth of travel beneath her belt, the gypsy was fairly certain she had a good basis for comparison.

A young soul in a body that felt too old to bare it's wistful nature.

Despite the ashes she faced, the phoenix still crackled with flame. And despite the space he kept between them, Lilliana bade her friend forward with a gentle tuck and pull of her chin. Her lidded gaze fell down to a soft, warm, dark plaid scarf. It's knit was tight and fine, but most definitely not a weave one would find in a fine market or artfully arranged shoppe; this was a homemade piece. Each strand held a murmur of affection, each loop and careful stitch a powerful spell of friendship and hope. In one word, love.

Oh so gingerly, she held the folded mound out to him, the pitch colored tassels dancing quietly across her pale fingers, charmed by the late day's breeze.

"I wouldn' have ya' anywhere in the world bu' here, m'dear, bu' if ya' mus' t'read a new path, don' forge' the ones tha' will b'moan yer loss..." She didn't mean to make it sound like he was leaving the country, but sorrow outweighed her usual strength; Lilliana was envisioning her brother, Brishen and his irish rose, Niamh. Farther back still, her mother and Brishen's father, Maddoc. The gypsy witch held fairy tale figures in her life, visions of folks who felt happy and fulfilled, she wished these things for Tag. Hells, she wished them for herself; but above all else, she only wished it were as simple as turning to the reserved man and offering them all through her own embrace.

That, unfortunately, was not the way things would work. Lilliana knew that perhaps in some moment back in time, just a hop skip and a jump away through the past, perhaps... It could have been possible. Had the timing been true and their fates well met, perhaps they could have been the breath to one another's flame; they could have been a shared fire and shadow alike. Such ideas were sad things though, for they only brought heavier thoughts of 'what if' and 'why not'.

Those gray thoughts were pushed away, and back in their place the sun rolled whispering promises of light in a world of clouds and half shadowed paths. "Here... I made this for ya' long pas'. I' was mean' t'be a Yule gif', bu' tha's long pas'. Will ya' forgive m't'ardiness?" Maybe, just maybe if the man's dark eyes were keen enough, he'd see a baby faced angel hiding behind the witch's impish gaze. A small, eensy, but still cherub fair and wild haired Lilliana would always linger behind those molten hues, be it now near thirty years, or later when time set her far into the age of eighty.

It was that youthful glow forever in her soul that made the gypsy witch's smile birth wider and more cheshire. Unable to help herself, she added. "I'll even gran' ya' a boon an' give ya' a dance nex' Midsummer."