Dytha delivers to Barst her father’s message.
Dytha |The gates had just closed as the sun slipped into the Isen flowing west. Dytha had just made it, riding through and up the street towards the city's stables, her lungs full, her cheeks terracotta red from the day's patrol. Her hair had come loose from its long braid, locks like banners in the wind, but they couldn't hide her smile. She leapt from her horse and trusted him to the care of a stablehand just rushed out from inside.
Barst stood quietly under the young birch tree, completely devoid of company. His cold eyes drifted lazily to the guards, continuing to train despite the dusk falling over Freasburg. He snorts quietly as he watches one of the younger recruits miss a crucial strike against one of his peers. "[D] Sloppy..." He mutters quietly.
Dytha 's ear was tuned to the northern language, or perhaps to the voice that uttered it. She looked over, and her breathless smile settled in. She plucked her gloves off one at a time as she strode towards him, her eyes a lighter blue than the sky. [D] "If you stand that still for longer you'll be absorbed into the bark."
Barst raises his shoulders in a careless shrug. "A tree has few responsibilities. Hardly sounds bad to me." He says, his gaze turning from the young recruit to Dytha. "It's late. It's not like you to get lost."
Dytha |"I wasn't lost." She tucked her gloves into her belt, then rested her hands on her hips, stretching her lungs to fit her gasping. "A cow got caught in the stream trying to ford through to pasture at Alban's farm. Took nearly an eored to pull her out."
Barst slowly nods, his arms coming unfolded. "Alban... I forget, is he the one with only one leg?" He asks, scratching his beard thoughtfully. Apparently Barst's bad at recognizing the locals that he does not regularly do business with.
Dytha |"That one's Bada. Alban's his son who takes care of the old soldier." She knew more than names. Birthdays—the few of those low-born who remembered them—were always greeted by if not a visit, a gift from the young Thane. Moments and milestones, births and deaths, none escaped the ruler who seemed delighted by the challenge of keeping up with Fréasburg's populace. "I'm surprised you don't spend more time with the man. Swap stories of beatings and battles in distant lands."
Barst rumbles, though it seems to be more a sound of satisfaction. "Ahh, yes... I do like Alban." He steps away from the tree, the Bear towering over Dytha's smaller form. "You know, this work suits you." He says, his gaze turning analytical as he takes in Dytha's features. "Few lords care to know who tills their soil for them."
Dytha maintained her grin, though she was too tired to hide the genuine smile that peered through it at his observation. "It isn't my soil, unfortunately." Fréasburg's Thane was still a child, the town ruled by a council that included Thorvall until he came of age, but Dytha couldn't help but practice at rule. "They deserve someone who would speak for them."
Barst rumbles again, breaking his gaze and starting to walk past Dytha. However, one large paw would land on Dytha's shoulder as he walks by... A motion to follow, or simply a desire to be closer to her? One could hardly tell. He steps over to the fountain, peering into the flowing waters below. "I suppose that's true... At least, it's something to do while we stay here."
Dytha turned and watched him before she set her footing to follow. "Speaking of something to do..." she said, her gaze dipping to the patterns of water-splatter on the fountain stones. "My father wants to speak with you about something."
Barst glances over his shoulder, a perked brow the only crack in his stone-like face. "Oh? Did he say what it was about?" He asks, intrigued by the revelation.
Dytha cleared the tickle that had wormed into her throat. "He didn't have to. At least not part of it." She gives him a meaningful look and a smirk of encouragement. "Besides that, he has a job for you, I think. Of that he wouldn't say more."
Barst grunts. "He works me like a dog, Thorvall. At least as a mercenary I got paid well." He grumbles, though doesn't seem to be actually bothered by the request. "Though I rather hope he sends me further afield, this time. It seems like it's been a while since I've actually been out in the field."
Dytha nodded, folding her arms across her chest, wrinkling the argent stallion emblazoned there. "There are fewer raids from across the river this summer. Makes me wonder."
Barst glances over at Dytha. "...That they're planning something?" He asks.
Dytha |"That, or the summer sweat has taken more of their lives than ours. Which means they will be desperate come winter, and more fierce in spring." She tapped a finger against her elbow, thoughts flowing freely as the fountain-water. "Mother has discovered something else. A boat was seen crossing the river—a boat that belongs to no one in Fréasburg, and that has not come back. Someone crossed over to Dunland, but no one has been reported missing, and nothing was stolen. I can't imagine it as left adrift and found its way on its own. If someone is crossing the river in breach of the treaty..." A barrel-full of possibilities upended itself in her thoughts, too many to voice.
Barst chuckles quietly, his hand returning to find Dytha's shoulder. "You're worrying too much... And that's coming from /me/." He says, jokingly. "Your thoughts are clouded with ifs. Whatever happens, we'll be ready for it."
Dytha turned to the training ground beyond the empty tents and stalls. The soldiers had hung up their helms and gone home, all except for the recruit who stayed behind, practicing his sloppy swing. "The mere act of being ready makes us ready." Her bright eyes danced as if her thoughts were aligned before her among the market stalls. "I've been too long away. We've been too long away. There's new faces. Every day new faces. How am I supposed to learn them all?"
Barst glances back at where the guards had once stood. "That is a challenge you placed upon yourself. I have no guidance to offer you, unfortunately." He says, the giant not really being the best person to ask social advice from.
Dytha |"I know," she said to appease both herself and him. She unwound her crossed arms, and a finger crept to curl around one of his, hidden from all but the fountain by mantles and cloaks. "I am only grateful you've learned mine."
Barst 's beard twitches with a hidden smile as he feels the woman's finger curl around his. "I would never forget it." He says quietly. "Though perhaps I'm not the best company for a 'lady' like you, hm?" he says, clearly referencing the deference shown to her by Brynleigh and her companion in Snowbourn.
Dytha |The words caught her in a thought, long had. "It would be a scandal," she said, no humor in her voice. "I do not yet know how I will weather a scandal. Here, it's different, but Snowbourn? Edoras?" She shook her head, and her finger curled further around his.
Barst rumbles quietly again, the sound vibrating through his hand. "What complicated games lordlings play." He muses. "We could always elope. I hear that always ends well in the children's tales."
Dytha rested her messy head against his knotted mantle. "My mother's status was elevated to allow her to marry a Lord. It's his thanedom I've inherited, not hers. I wonder, though, if Aelle did the same for you if you would ever shake the taste of it."
Barst furrows his brow in thought. "A bear does not learn to be a horse, despite both being creatures of the land." He rumbles. "I doubt I would be any good at being in such a position. I'm far too... disagreeable, to most folks."
Dytha brushed the ring on its chain around her neck she was never without—a bear's head, the sign of her father's house. A black bear, though, gentle and stoic, and very unlike the grizzly that stood beside her. "I would count on that."
Barst glances up at the sky, the dusk having turned into full night. The stars peak out from between the clouds still lingering in the heavens above. "I think it's time for me to turn in. Time never seems to stay in one place long enough." He rumbles.
Dytha closed her eyes. If only they were different people, quiet people, with quiet lives. She'd not noticed how now her eyes had to adjust to the sudden dark. "You are not sleeping in the stables, I hope?"
Barst smirks. "I can hardly handle one blonde-maned mare. I couldn't stand any more." He says, chuckling. "I'll find a bed somewhere. Don't worry about me."
Dytha |"Of course." Her tone grew stiff, and she unslid her finger from around his. If she had some ideas of what sorts of beds he found, she kept them even from herself. "I will be at the Faire tomorrow. If you will, I shall see you there."
Barst nods at Dytha, quietly moving away into the dark. "I'll see you then." He says, journeying off to find some quiet place to rest for the evening.
Chat Log: 08/24
