Baralinion

The chill had set in even with as close as he sat to the fire. The tattered remnants of his cloak were barely enough to cover his upper body. He could no longer hear the Silvan, The Little Light. His face seemed worried, as usual. For a time, his mind had returned to him and his thoughts roamed to the others.

EllaDoraa made her way to the inn, as per Cynraede brief instruction.

Waiting.

It is fair to say EllaDoraa was not good at waiting.

The words of the hunter whirled and spun in her head day and night.  They disturbed her waking and sleeping. 

This story takes place shortly after the conclusion of Windswept's  "Poison in the Blood" plot. 

Ella sat overlooking the pond, enjoying the early evening air.    Much had happened over the last few days, so just in this moment, she was taking full advantage of this time of calm and peace.

Cynhaer pulled the tattered cloak around him a little tighter while he gazed towards his companion, shivering as he huddled closer to the fire.

Hey Fruit Boy,

The golden clip shone as it caught the light.    It’s circular shape, with delicate detailing representing a bright sun filled her small hand.

Ella found herself a chair by the fire, placed her drink on the table and took out her journal.

Ella pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders, as the unrelenting chill of the wind attempted to penetrate the many layers she wore.    She was much more prepared this time around, her thoughts briefly returning to the last time she was in the mountains with Adiwen.

“Don’t be difficult.”  He said with a wry smile.

Difficult? She took a deep breath slowly.

She was not difficult.  Or she never used to be.