The Lady darted awake with a gasp, ramrod straight in the straw, uncomfortable bedding that was her stark reality in this little town of Myrken. Impatiently, she wiped away the tear that threatened to spill upon her cheek with frustration. She wondered at its source. Her gaze swept across the room and over to the small window in the east corner of her purchased room. She watched silently as the sunlight began to creep in to chase the shadows away.
She frowned and scrubbed at her eyes, trying to recall the nightmare before the daylight chased it away to be forgotten.
Too late.
Too late.
It was gone.
Shrugging as the last wisps of recollection slipped through her too-curious fingertips, The Lady rose to begin her day. Swordplay and sparring at the forest’s edge first, a jog following that, and finally breakfast. Then, a brisk walk along the streets to keep her moving between that and the midday meal. And while she roamed, averting her gaze from inquisitive stares, she pondered solitude and all that it brought with it. She found that she missed the men whom she called family. Better than family; for what use was blood in a harsh world?
She stopped, suddenly, and her brows knit together. Memories of banishment and the forest, huntress and thief suddenly assailed her and she frowned in confusion. It came to her quickly, on flash of lightning - or was it in the space of a flirtatious, playful wink?
Elliot.
Elliot?
Elliot Brown.
Holding tight to the memories that threatened to steal away, half-formed and half-recalled, she took haste back to the gritty little Inn at the heart of the town. She set pen to paper, seal to wax, and pressed gold into palm.
Find Niall, she tasked the sellsword.
The letter was simple, even though the deep, flowing letters were not. Enough to set curiosity upon the cat, or so she hoped.
Dear Niall -
Elliot Brown dreams of you.