Trailsend Guard Log, West Gate, hours 11a-1p
11:00 - Guard swapped from morning shift.
11:34 - Small caravan, three riders, one cart (donkey-drawn). Riders identified themselves as merchants.
11:42 - Lone rider on horse, one cart. Fur trader.
11:46 - Small cat spotted outside outpost. Deryn, I think it's the same one you saw yesterday- white with little spots!
12:17 - Lunch break
12:32 - Lone rider on horse, no cart. Rider identified himself as religious pilgrim stopping by on journey. Directed him to nearby inn.
12:41 - Lone rider on small horse. No cart, saddlebags present. Rider identified herself as Trailsend resident.
12: 50 - Two riders on horse-drawn cart exited the city - known merchants.
12: 53 - Saw that cat again.
Weston leaned against the stable wall behind him. It had been fairly slow that day, and though it was barely past noon he was already dreaming of the evening meal that Roth would prepare for him. Spiced potatoes, a steaming dumpling-filled soup, a warm crust of bread... Weston was so wrapped up in this fantasy that he didn't see the lady coming up to him until she handed him her horse's reins. "I need you to wash her, give her a meal, the works," she said as he scrambled to his feet. "She's had a very long journey and she needs her rest."
"You, uh- have you paid the stablemaster?" Weston managed.
The woman laughed and turned to walk away. "Tell Roth that Madison's back, and I'm putting it on his tab!"
Weston's mouth dropped open. He looked over at the horse, then back towards the woman- but she was gone, vanished into the crowds milling about the street.
Highhill circled high above the town. In this cold climate, it was necessary to take advantage of the few thermals she could find. Adjusting from feathered wings to the taut-skin ones of her true draconic form had not changed the need to glide more than flap. She skimmed the crowds below her with a disinterested eye. Lyle had given her "the day off" since he and his companions were busy reviewing their world-saving plans. Or whatever they were working on. It did not concern her, that was what she knew. Very little of these bipeds' plans did.
She swooped between gabled roofs and landed on a chilly lamppost. She stamped her clawed feet a few times to establish dominance over the metal, then wrapped her tail around herself and settled in to people-watch. There was a fishmonger near here who often took his attention off his wares, and she had all day.
A woman passed across her field of vision and Highhill blinked. She swiveled her head to watch her walk. She had long brown hair, medium-brown skin, and a surety to her walk that sparked a memory in Highhill. Habitually, she was not particularly good at identifying faces, even of people she knew well. But something about this woman prompted further investigation.
Lyle? she asked over her mind-link with her familiar. Stop doing whatever you're doing and look at this.
Can it wait? Lyle responded. She could feel an impression of him holding a piece of paper, standing in a room with several other people. We are trying to forestall the end of the world here.
Be quiet and look. She felt him obligingly strengthen their connection and look through her eyes. She watched as the bright colors of his magical awareness settled as an overlay onto her vision.
What am I looking at here?
In answer, Highhill turned her head towards the woman walking away from her perch. When he was linked to her, Lyle's magical vision gave everything a scintillating outline of magical aura, more or less vibrant depending on its inherent power. Most people had a negligible aura, barely enough to outline them. Magic users and particularly enchanted objects shone like lanterns in the night. This woman was an inferno. Highhill could hear Lyle curse as he jerked his awareness away from her to keep from being blinded by the beacon that radiated out of her. What in the nine hells was that??? he shrieked at her.
Did you recognize her?
I didn't have much time to check to see if I recognized her, Highhill, I was too busy keeping my eyeballs from being seared out of my sockets. What did you think you saw?
Highhill snorted and launched herself from her perch to follow the woman. She's middle height. Long dark hair. Brown skin. Broad, strong-looking. What was the name of that woman who Enna had that thing with?
Shock radiated at her from her familiar. Madison? You think that was Madison?
Highhill would have shrugged if it wouldn't have thrown off her controlled glide. It would seem so.
Gods above, if you're right- I have to tell Enna right now.
Do so. I will follow her.
Camile set her mug down with a sigh and looked at the window. It was nice out for the time of year. She had thought about moving to the bench out front of the house, but she knew it would take too much of her remaining energy to go in and out like that. She leaned back against the smooth wood of the chair instead and closed her eyes, savoring the warmth from the steaming mug. It had been so sweet of Enna to pick her up the tea from the market. And to bring her all those groceries. And to come by to fold her linens. And to wash her dishes, and sweep her floors, and fix the squeaky hinge on her door. Camile chuckled and looked up at the rafters of her ceiling, free of cobwebs and nearly sparkling in their cleanliness. The girl had so much to do with her job as a Thane, and she still made time every day to come do what needed doing around the house of a woman who was nearly a stranger. Or had been, before Camile had managed to break through her awkward politeness and get her talking.
She could see why Madison liked her so much. If she could get her on a subject she was enthusiastic about, the girl would talk for hours, a happy stream of chatter that filled the near-empty house and drove away the shadows for a while. Camile felt as if she had come to know Enna's friends quite well in the last few weeks. To say nothing of her horse- she had never known much about an animal in her life, but now she knew she could keep up a conversation with the most experienced hostler.
Camile finished her tea and began levering herself out of her chair. Her palm slipped on the varnished wood, and her knee gave out. Her stomach flipped. She saw the floor rushing toward her and braced herself for the impact. And then, she stopped. Nothing bracing her, no hands holding her. Just empty air stopping her fall. She put out her hands to grasp the table and pull herself up to standing. Then she turned to look at the open door.
A young woman stood there, her hand flung out as if to throw a ball. She was covered in a day's worth of dust from the road. Her long dark hair was tied back, out of a face that shone with an incredible smile. Camile's heart caught in her throat and she leaned back onto the table to keep from falling.
"Hi, Mom," Madison said, through choking tears. "I'm home."
Author's Notes:
Written 1/8/22. Just a little interlude before the emotional reunions hit the fan. Better Days To Find takes place right before this happens, for some timeline context.