IP: 94.171.8.14
Posted on December 31, 2011 at 09:23:22 PM by e t a i n
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To grow bored of something truly is to no longer appreciate what it does. Etain certainly did not grow bored of the sea dashing itself against the rocks of the Cove. But somewhere inside of her, that adventurous urge struck and it struck hard. So one day, she stood, dressed, and took apart her crude shelter, made sure her the hole that vaguely resembled a fire pit was completely doused down, then picked up her quiver, bow and knife. Making sure everything was hitched firmly to her grubby clothes – she had neglected washing them – she took a last wistful look at the water, then started her slow dawdle off in a direction. She couldn’t tell you what direction it was, because the huntress was more interested in survival and making sure she was always fed and clothed rather than telling the time or direction from stars and the sun. What use were these skills when you knew everything you traversed daily, and had not expected to have been lifted from? Etain couldn’t even remember what she was really day-dreaming about when she, like so many others even though she didn’t know this at the time, had been plucked so unceremoniously from her world and dumped into this one that she still couldn’t put a name to. Miraculously, Etain didn’t encounter anyone on her explorations. Using a piece of rock, she marked anything important down with her knife, but she had no way to make a complete map. It would be the kind of thing she would be interested in when she finally understood what was going on. Sometimes the going was hard and Etain had to cut paths through for her with the knife. Sometimes, it was plains of soft grass that she would run through, and every step felt amazing for her. Then sometimes, it would dip away suddenly and she flew off the edge, wishing with all her heart that the wings tattooed on her back were real. She’d wave her arms uselessly, and hope that she’d hit the other side soon enough. Etain splashed through rivers and poked all sorts of creatures, but she had eaten well the night before and she killed nothing, if she could help it. Of course, the unbroken nature couldn’t last. She almost ran into it, so focused was she on the movements of her feet. Well, not literally, but she dashed over the last crest of a hill then was smacked straight in the face with the image of the castle. She had never seen anything so large, so magnificent. She was used to a small wooden hut lashed together with vines that leaked like a sieve. The castle – but she had no name for it – captured her like the Silver Cove had. She approached, but from the size she knew it would be a while. But at least, Etain thought, she had a goal to work towards. The work she had to do with her feet didn’t bother her, because she wanted to know where she was off by heart. She dug her hand into her little pouch and pulled out a small seed that Etain believed to be edible. It dropped into her mouth, and she chewed, then taking a small drink from her waterskin, she resumed her journey. When she reached an outer wall of the castle, Etain leered at the stone suspiciously, placing a pale hand on it, fingers splayed while she thought about the feel that it created on her skin. People, scary looking people, stared down at her, especially when she began to talk to the wall. It was blocking the rest of the beautiful building from her view and she resented that, but the wall itself was interesting. It reminded her of the wall that the hut had had, but seemed so much more... wallish. It held grandeur, she was sure, or would be, if she knew what grandeur meant. Etain’s education was more on how to control the arrow than to control her tongue. She could only just write, and even then, her letters were jagged and useless. Etain headbutted the wall, and then cursed as she brushed dust off her white hair. She punched it, but it remained as solid as before. With her knife, she took a small, inconspicuous bit of the wall, and slipped it into her pouch, sheathing her knife and looking around like a badly trained thief. Welcome, Etain, welcome to civilisation.  |