(Untitled)

[white_flowers]

She has had enough time, now, to repair the damage done to her work by Raven's interference

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[and_far_away]

Sharpe, heading outside to exercise the dog and possibly stop by the stables and meet Tequila, nods to her politely in passing.

[white_flowers]

"Why, hello, dear." The light soft voice is warm and kind, as is her smile. Blodwen does not stop her knitting.

[and_far_away]

"Evening, ma'am." He stops, if she wants to talk.

[white_flowers]

"And a good evening to you as well," Blodwen tells him. "Goodness, but there are so many new people here these days!"

[jack_inthegreen]

Jack wanders past, eating an apple, and pauses to watch. "Industrious," he remarks.

[white_flowers]

She looks up, smiling warmly, and as she makes eye contact with

(Herne - the Hunt)

him, her smile freezes, and her hands stop moving.

"Do you think so, dear?" The light musical voice is very soft, and very wary.

[jack_inthegreen]

"I do. Such lovely colors--so subtle." He smiles at her.

[white_flowers]

She smiles back, although it is not precisely warm, and slowly begins to pick up the thread of her knitting again.

"Thank you." A hesitation, and then, "Goodness, but where are my manners -- it is only that you have reminded me of someone, and a surprise it was to be certain."

[oneman_onevote]

Someone else nearby is also working on something which causes flashing of light-on-silver, and as far as can be told behind a coolly blank expression, seems similarly content to be doing so.

Havelock nods politely at her over the slender knife he is sharpening.

[white_flowers]

The flash draws her eye, and then a warm smile.

"So industrious! My goodness, but it is lovely to see that I am not the only one who cannot be without something to do."

The light soft voice is kind.

[oneman_onevote]

"Keeping occupied in some way is always preferable, I find," he nods politely.

[white_flowers]

"A wise man you are, it is clear," she tells him. "And goodness me, but where are my manners -- I'm Mrs. Rowlands, dear, Blodwen Rowlands, and lovely it is to meet you."

[steak_man]

Cypher passes by, Stoli with lime in hand, muttering to himself, sunglasses on.

He seems to move into slow motion as his steps take him past Blodwen, however. His head turns slowly, slowly, watching the clack of the needles, taken in by the cloud-white wool, and finally, his eyes moving over her face.

He stops dead still in front of her, mystified. "Hi."

[white_flowers]

She smiles warmly at him, ice-blue eyes bright in her friendly round face.

"Why, hello, dear."

Silver needles flash - click - flash in a constant rhythm.

[steak_man]

He's easily charmed by women who are kind to him, and this is no exception. Sipping his vodka, he smiles back at her, and at her knitting.

"That thing you're makin' - it's pretty. What is that, somebody's Christmas present?"

[white_flowers]

"Oh, a present it is to be sure, for the right person," she answers, spreading it out so he can see it more clearly.

It looks like a lap-blanket or throw, and a single silver thread moves through it in an oddly twisting irregular pattern.

"I do so enjoy working with my hands, you see."

[creator_raven]

There is a very loud thump from somewhere behind her right shoulder.

It is probably the landing of a man who was, until a few seconds ago, a lump of black feathers plummeting from the rafters.

Or a bird, but sometimes description is fun.

"You are very industrious, perhaps."

He blinks at her knitting.

"Also persistent."

[white_flowers]

She does not, quite, jump, although her hands jerk, and with a muttered word she begins to pick up the dropped stitch.

"A great deal of difficulty I have had, mending what you have broken, cariad." The light soft voice is not very warm at all, and her smile is sharp and glinting.

[creator_raven]

"You are sweet to call me so, I think."

His answering grin is very bright, and very amused.

"And did you expect aught but difficulty, from one such as me? I am almost surprised."

[white_flowers]

"And very dear to me you could have been, pretty bird, so why should I not call you so?"

There is something of winter in the ice-blue eyes, but her smile remains warm enough.

"A curiosity it is, of ravens, perhaps, that they have meant so much and now...." She trails off with a light shrug, and the silver needles begin to click faster.