She had a way of making friends with the odd sorts, maybe because Lyfrid herself was just as odd. No one gave her a side ways glance at the old ruins out the Greenway, but there was a strong possibility that could change after her discovery in Trestlebridge that early afternoon. Being it was no longer a good idea to conduct her rune reading at Amon Raith, Balisan had seen to that by his wandering out of the cottage, she needed a new place to ply her trade.
It was Lyfrid's fault that the knight had missed the next dose of Mirth. She had been in Bree much too long, that morning, talking, more like bickering again, with Patch. By the time she got back to the cottage near the river bank, she found it empty except for the remains of bloodied goblins. Not only was Balisan was gone, so were the two vials of Mirth she kept on the mantle over the tiny fireplace inside that fishing cottage. What had happened? It didn't matter what had happened, didn't matter now that she'd planned to leave him safely Trestlebridge when the ransom time ran out. No one would believe her, now. There was only one course of action to take to save her neck, get away from there and never go back.
Lyfrid had fine quarters at the spacious Mercer manor, that wasn't the issue. It was her storehouse of herbs, potions, trinkets and rune stones she felt she needed to keep from prying eyes. Even though the deal had been struck that Mercer would stay out of her area and keep his nose out of her affairs, the seer had grievously learned it was best not to trust anyone. The evidence of this devastating lesson in distrust her pride demanded she keep well hidden. Her destination, was Arrowhaven, for now.
