The Circle had been formed by godlings that those on the isle of Ta'Ven when only a handful of people existed in the village on there. A millinia had passed since then and none that were within that first Circle exist anymore. Over the ages, the Six have chosen a select number of Keepers to guard the Tomrack Stone as well as weild its magick when there is need and call for it.

All have been women who have been chosen, since it was known by the gods themselves that for a man to touch the great stone was to bring death upon himself - utterly. By accident, it was discovered that one man has been able to do this and survive. He has now been with the Circle for so long that he is simply known as 'Father'.

The tolls of the Tomrack Stone upon one of the Keepers varies, but for all of them it tires them and has turned their hair from what it was to white -- this varies according to the extent of use of the stone or for how long the Keeper has been associated with it. It does not otherwise age a Keeper, but sustains their lifespan, whether that Keeper is Human, Elf, or from some other race entirely.

As useful as any knight, guardian, or any other kind of protector, the services of a Keeper are sometimes called upon by those in great need. This is also at the discression of the Six and the Keeper being sent into that situation.

To be a Keeper of the Tomrack is not a questioned position. When they are chosen between the ages of seven to ten (based upon in Human years), all memories of what and who they are as well as where they come from and any other connections to their identity are removed -- from their memory as well as that of any other who might have known them before being drafted into the duties of guardianship of the Tomrack. But the life is otherwise good, without worry for food, clothing, or expense need to spend.

Despite this, there are those of the Circle that have estranged themselves from Ta'Ven until they are summoned, are lonesome for those few who know the great loneliness they have long-suffered in their positions. Some have established home outside of the island that is shrouded by mists and magick.

Duty and honor are not always a peaceful, lovely poem to spend upon another. It can be, many time, a drudgery that weighs on the heart and mind and remind even the most experienced Keeper that they are fallible, flowed, and learning -- at any age.

Crisp, spotless lines of a gray light cloak with hood down to let the humidity of summer air touch terracotta cheeks. The summer sun was unforgiving, but the woman on the back of regal animal seemed just as severe, strangely enough. The rod of her spine in summer riding dress tinted olive-grey was as just as unforgiving as the sun which attempted to wilt stronger wills beneath it. However, the neck line of dress was not so severe as to climb to chin, but embroidered with canary yellow threads, chaste and tasteful shapes of leaves around neckline and hem. Spring and summer allowed it to show dark collar bones that ceased their light gait as the animal which bore her side-saddle finally came to a stop.

The regal animal was a mule. Some mastered the larger equidae family; some chose to remain with what they knew best. Or perhaps she simply held a love for an animal small and able to withstand conditions larger beasts could not.

The mule's saddle had been equipped for long travel and so too was the woman holding satchel over shoulder as she slipped easy-as-you-please from the mule's back to the ground in prim heeled black shoes.

Upon her brow the light of day played like merry child along bright blue crystal hung upon delicate chain. For a moment, it almost seemed to slow its swing before recovering. She touched her brow with only the faintest of thoughtful frowns and looked upon humble abode from distance. She had been correct in her estimates and arrived.

A deep breath in and then out. The air was so?different here. A smooth of the palm over the belly of dress, and Braelin'a went forward, leading the mule on tether behind her. The steady clop clip clop of hooves against the ground soon would not be mistaken to those who could hear as mule and woman ate up distance rather quickly. Perhaps, even, by the time modest riding skirts had caught up with the woman's long stride and stilled, she had even caught the last impression of fading words...leaving a slightly humored expression.

How long she stood in silence to deliberate her first words was not an exact estimate, time simply passed for a short moment, and then--"Good day," called in sing-song, melodious honey-voice.

Braelin'a, in the beginning, had found various peoples reactions to her ...usual nature humorous in the beginning. Dare she even admit it now? That, perhaps, she had taken pains to purposefully startle Father and the other five on the rare occasion she could. They were all young once, weren't they? They all had their little quirks that age and time had ironed out.

Except for one...but...that was neither here nor there. "Sesian," there wasn't a lick of humor in the honeyed words nor a single inkling of taking any satisfaction of her sister being startled. "Beg pardon, it has become almost-habit." It had, really. As much as she loved her 'family', they weren't very...Well, let's just say that day in and day out with people; one simply begins to feel--stagnant.

As Braelin'a was utterly wont to do, while the white haired woman gathered herself and inspected the shorter apparent half-elf, Braelin'a inspected the home, the barn, the assumed gardens and lands around it.

"This is where you have been staying?" One almost thought she might have used the word hiding, but Braelin'a's idea of dry humor had gotten her into trouble before. She chose her words carefully, even now and perhaps she wouldn't begrudge Sesian her--"I have come to visit." Now, the pale of those slightly tilted green eyes settled on the taller woman, chin tipped up. This was the truth, Braelin'a had come to visit her sister, the Circle however had been right curious as to why the woman hadn't come home in such a long time. Not to mention it was most curious as to where else Sesian had gotten herself into. The subtly of such things was never openly implied of course, that wouldn't be very seemly.

Braelin'a led her mule toward finally with nothing more than a soft cluck of tongue. It figured that she would have taught it to respond to wordless commands.

The mule was right put out that his trek to the barn, where hay, sweet glorious hay and oats and water he could smell awaited him. The smaller woman who lead him by the rope however, was otherwise occupied so he had to be rather patient while humans did whatever it was humans did when they met each other. He just wished they would hurry up about it.

"By the looks of your garden, a few days." This was uttered when Sesian had stepped forward and embraced her. The two of them embracing was a study in awkwardness really, as both women suffered from the same things in different ways. But, before Sesian could withdraw all the way, Braelin'a's dark hands reached up to hold the woman by upper arms, so she could look upon her up close. Regardless of why the circle sent her, Braelin'a would be sure to take a second look and make sure Sesian did well. After a moment, a fond but clumsy little pat was given to Sesian's arms and Braelin'a let go entirely, smoothing a hand over the wrinkle-free material covering stomach. Sneaky Braelin'a--seeing if Sesian had been eating well enough or not.

The formal greeting was given a bob of head in graceful nod. This was not surprising either; she did not slight Sesian, she simply chose the path of less words need be spoken.

A tug on the rope she had been hanging onto the entire time had pale green eyes turned that way, brown, gold and white streaked hair bright in the sun. "Let me put him to stall before he drags us there," and now came the very tiny inkling of dryness in the rush of mesmerizing voice.

You are far from Ta'Ven, Braelin'a.

Removing the mule's bit and saddles, parts and pieces in the near usual silence, Braelin'a waited for the words to come to her--or picked them apart to form them in a manner which suited her. "As are you, Sesian." A gentle reminder, perhaps, as she cared for the mule and saw to his needs just the same as one would his larger brethren.

When she was finished, she carried her bed roll and saddle bags on her own, appearances were ever so deceiving when it came to the Brealin'a. Crisp skirts, smooth bun of hair and dirt-free presentation meant little. Breaelin'a could muck about with Tvesra any day and assist on several of the countless chores the little trouble maker earned.

"Father and Surahn are at each others throats constantly." Abruptly spoken. Braelin'a had hoped to wait until after supper, but, some things were fit to burst inside, really. "They speak too fast. I cannot get a word in." Which wasn't unusual at all. She continued to speak as she followed in the shadow of Sesian from the barn. "Father and Aliress...." Well the honeyed twine of short crafted words stopped all together while she busied herself adjusting the saddle bags in hand, fussing. She didn't think she needed to say anything more, really. Sesian knew, intimately, what all of them were like. What she didn't say, but remained startling clear in the air, was: If I didn't get out they may have pushed me to say something rash. And that just might have been the end of the world, right there.

She knew Sesian had offered her food and drink; but it always took Braelin'a several moments to catch up as she willed it to the conversation. Despite her admission, by the time she stopped fussing at saddle bags to look back up at her sister, her expression remained rather serene. "I should like that," quietly. While she did not sport a full head of white--the weariness that collected around pale green eyes suddenly seemed to suggest that not all things were easy. Really though, were they ever?

She was still bandying about the other reason as to why she was here, but that could wait. How amiable could Sesian be after finding out the Circle sent someone to nose about in her business? Things to ponder as Brealin'a followed the woman's purposeful strides toward cottage.

No, Braelin'a did not think she had forgotten. Maybe, once, she may have thought Sesian had forgotten. But now..."The world changes, they stay the same." It was both a blessing, a curse, and a comfort at times for Braelin'a. She imagined it may have been like that for all of them, she could only assume of course.

The little half-elven woman's idea of a smile was something akin to the tightening of eyes. The motion that happened to cheeks and lids when one's mouth curved upward, but her mouth moved very little. It was so very easy to mistake Braelin'a to be heartless or emotionless; when it was not the case at all. She was as subtle in her nature as she was her speech.

In the short time it took to cross from barn to Sesian's pause and gentle humor over Tvesra..."She has not lost her habit of thinking one thing and immediately saying it." Again, the very little inkling of dryness in sweet river tones.

This she shared as she passed her sister Sesian and stepped into the welcome cool of her home.

"Tea." It may have surprised Sesian how immediate the answer was given, perhaps not. She stepped further in and went about finding a very suitable, out of the way place for bed roll and saddle bags.

Once she was done that, the tiniest of opalescent buttons hidden with the folds of humble material at her wrist were unclasped so she too, could roll sleeves up.

"I haven't forgotten how to make tea, either." She wasn't about to sweep her way into Sesian's home and demand to be waited on hand and foot like some fool child.

"It isn't humble. It's perfect." Short words, but many meanings. Sesian had carved out a private space for herself, a little home away from home, a perfect place for her own privacy and peace. In many ways, Braelin'a envied her sister.