(no subject)

[gredya]

A skinny ragged woman walks into the main room with a hide slung over her shoulder: it's white, about the size and shape of a deer, but with a long thin tail. She spreads it out on the bar. "To pay. If I owe anything. If my children owe anything." The bar seems hesitant to accept; the woman shrugs and walks around the bar to the chalkboard and leaves a carefully-written note.

Father Harman. Baorel. Shepard. Lecter. My children and I go back home now. Maybe I come back, maybe not. Gredya.

She frowns at the note, and then (with apparent reluctance) adds:

Thank you.

Comments

[clayforthedevil]

"Gredya! How's the hunting out there?" He asks as he's reading the note on the board, and then clicks his tongue. "--Not good enough to stay around for, I see."

[gredya]

She looks up at him and grins suddenly. "Hunting is fine. But my children need to be with other Wyr. They are grown now."

[clayforthedevil]

He grins back, though it's good and melancholy at once whenever children leave--but maybe that's only a human failing. "Ready to get in their own trouble, then, and time for them to start making more little Wyr, so they know how much you put up with? --So said my mother, often enough."

[gredya]

"Yes. Just like that." Smart woman, Bahorel's Mother. "Maybe I stay with them. Maybe I don't. I will choose."