(no subject)
When Alanna asks Faithful to stay with Myles, the cat makes his displeasure known.
You don't have enough sense to take care of yourself. I remind you that it's only through my intervention that you're here at all, he yowls.
Stubbornly, Alanna ignores his rather valid argument. "I'll be gone an hour at most."
"Are you sure it's wise?" asks Myles, blinking owlishly at them over his scrolls and a glass of brandy. He'll need her hangover remedy in the morning. "You've only just healed, and they will have you running yourself into the ground again tomorrow."
Why bother. Yawning, Faithful twitches his tail and curls himself into a small ball of black fur. She’ll do what she likes.
"And you won't?" Alanna snaps at her pet.
Myles gives her an odd look. Touching her head, Alanna scowls and bows stiffly.
"The healers will only fuss over me at length, if I stay. I need to think. I can't think with all the incense.”
Well aware he is fighting a losing battle, Myles nods and returns to his work.
Don't get lost. I have prowling of my own to do later.
-- -- --
Her collarbone aches.
Now that she's alone, she can admit as much to herself. "Blast Alex," she grumbles quietly, stalking past the fencing courts. If it weren't for the bone crushing blow he had dealt her, she too would be practicing sword drills with the other squires. As it is, she will be back in the saddle, literally and figuratively, far more quickly than most. Her Gift had seen to that.
What had Alex been thinking? The cold, angry look in his eyes, so shocking from a friend, kept her up most nights this past week. Part of her is annoyed that he was packed off on border patrol, taking his explanations with him. And no matter how many times she puzzles over the attack, only one answer presents itself: Duke Roger of Conte.
Alanna enters the Royal Forest and, considering herself far enough from court to break protocol, curses soundly. But then the curse dies on her lips, and all thoughts of Roger disappear.
Her feet are wet; it's the first thing she notices. Blinking, she glances down at a worn pair of brown leather boots and shakes off the worst of the water. There are other pools nearby, she notes. She is not, however, driven to investigate them.
Dimly, she wonders if it should bother her more that she can't remember her name, or where she is, but it's barely a passing thought. There's a sword at her side, and she smiles softly as her hand dances over the hilt. At the moment, it's hard to imagine ever feeling the need to draw it.
All that matters is the beauty and serenity of the woods, and it seems only natural to start walking, letting her feet lead her where they will.