((No need to send me a PM, just jump on in~! Don't worry about mirror-posting, either; I just usually write lengthy posts :P. The [M] tag is a precaution. ^.^))
A week. Another damn week had been added to the warrior's journey once the trek from the still-smouldering section of the Draconi Forest had been completed. Part of that was simply due to the fact that a stop had to be made in one of the small outposts several miles outside the forest: bandages and herbal poultices had to be purchased, as there had been simply no way that the bite taken out of the ashen wanderer's shoulder could have been simply stitched up. The leather armor that had been destroyed and left to burn in the forest fire needed to be replaced, as did the tattered, dirty shirt that had served as a makeshift bandage- and other supplies needed to be purchased as well. The poor traders would probably never forget the day that the heavily-battered and bleeding, exhausted and shirtless grey-skinned woman had made it into their outpost only to shop, re-clothe herself, rest at their tiny, dingy little pub for a few hours and leave again. As she'd arrived as silently and elusively as a promise and -upon touching the dull onyx in her cloak-pin had apparently been simply swallowed by the still-raging thunderstorm, they'd likely tell tales about the evening that they'd (probably) been visited by a ghost for months to come.
From there, the trek to the Terrin Mountains hadn't exactly been the easiest trip the shadowy warrior had made. Though the nasty thunderstorms that had plagued the region for the past few days had finally slowed, the verdant foothills had hidden slick, squelching, frigid mud and the occasional calf-deep puddle that had made traveling very slow-going. Once or twice, she'd had to take refuge in caves to avoid hungry, hunting dragons- and before she'd finally reached the easternmost ridges, she'd encountered and dispatched a couple of opportunistic, would-be bandits. Finally and with a sense of great relief, she'd located the cave-pantry that Praggy had told her to seek, if she'd been brave enough (She'd had no idea that she'd been near the borders of the Night Mother's territory, nor that the hair-raising sensation of being watched when she knew she was alone had been anything more than watchful and wary predatorial animals.) Within the relative safety of that pantry, she'd finally allowed herself to stop; to mend her four swollen and discolored, dislocated fingers- and to allow herself a full day-and-night of rest and sleep, something that she'd ended up desperately needing.
At last, she'd explored the pantry- and had not been disappointed by her findings. The questionable, though unspoiled, expertly-butchered and cured cuts of meat she found in the larder were added to her dwindling supplies- she was sure her vanquished foe would not mind that, at least not overly so. The cache of silverware that she'd been bequeathed, while not a conventional treasure trove, was meticulously cared for and would likely fetch a rather large sum. It had taken a while to locate a large, sturdy knapsack to hold the collection of gleaming utensils and cookware; even longer to readjust her own weapons and other equipment so she could carry everything without too much difficulty. At times like these, she understood why some people took a mule or donkey with them when they traveled.--------
It was the kind of afternoon that seemed to invite motion, to welcome adventure and exploration. The afternoon sun had reached its zenith; a brilliantly glowing citrine sphere set in the faded cornflower-blue sky. Birds and butterflies lazily drifted on the cool, gentle, slow-moving breeze; insects' lackadaisical droning songs a peculiar countermelody for the more robust vocalizations of the songbirds. Another sound could be heard, far more peculiar than that of the birds and other creatures' voices: a muffled, metallic and nearly mechanical clink-and-jangle that would have normally heralded the arrival of someone or something in heavy armor. It probably wasn't every day that a feather-cloaked warrior in studded leather armor entered the bustling trade city, clattering as she made her way through the crowded streets. Probably stranger still was the fact that she was able to ignore the calls of most of the merchants whose stalls she passed, the confused stares she occasionally received from passers-by. The tall mercenary wasn't here to shop or for leisure; there was a reason behind her visit, after all.
A purpose that would probably have to wait, at least for a little while. Head cocking and forehead furrowing, her solitary black eye glittered cold and hard, snake-like, as she shook her head and abruptly turned away from the merchants' stalls, heading down the first side-street she came across, her steps deliberately unhurried, posture pointedly unconcerned. Another right turn, then a left, carried her further from the milling crowds; further from the bustle of the city proper as cobbled roads gave way to meandering alleyways and narrow, offshooting footpaths worn down to dirt from where people and animals had walked those passages time and time again. A soundless sigh was heaved, one hand drifting slowly, inching its way to push her cloak back, fingers brushing meaningfully against the hilt of her baselard. One foot sliding behind the other, she would slowly and deliberately pivot, stance widening; a serpent poised and coiled as her eye narrowed, peering about warily.
She had been shadowed; she was aware of that- and was trying to coax her pursuer out of hiding.
