Fell did not love hauling his stupid cart behind him. He had found the rickety thing in an outbuilding behind the old potter's shed. He had inquired if anyone had use of it, but the fact that it was still covered in traces of clay made it clear that the old man had used it and no one had bothered to repurpose it since his passing, so he'd taken it. If he had applied himself while at the Tower and attained a higher level of skill in Divide while he was at the Tower, he wouldn't have any need of actually going through the motions of this charade and would instead be able to just summon the clay he needed at will provided there was good material nearby. He had never really been interested in doing so, though, because there was a never-ending supply of what he needed to make dishes, vases, sculptures, windows, tiles, and anything else anyone requested.
Aspects of his professional work from when he was in the Tower were retained now that he was here in Teos, though now he had to pretend to do it the mundane way. That involved extra steps and physical labor, two things he did not much care for. It also involved being thought to be some kind of crafstman rather than a skilled mage and artist, but the alternatives would literally endanger his life, so he thought discretion to be the better part of valor in this case. Just this once. Still, he endeavored to look like a man in search of a good clay deposit as he wandered through the meadows of the hills in search of Dorothea, even though in truth he was only looking for the intriguing, smart, beautiful young woman he'd met by the well.
He found the sheep before he found her. Or some of them. They seemed to be lackadaisically spread out through the fields, enjoying a diet of grasses and wildflowers. He wasn't certain what constituted a good life for sheep, but if he had to hazard a guess, this would be it. He was just as certain it was not enough for Doro.
He espied her taking shade under a large, pretty tree. Smart of her to get out of the sun at such a time. For his part, he'd done his best to wash up before coming to see her, but with no shoes, no brush for his hair, and no spare outfit, he was looking quite threadbare by his standards. He'd have to trust that the allure of talking to someone who she had not known approximately her entire life would carry him through. He was still sore about the loss of his boots, in particular. If he'd been paying attention he would have landed on the shore instead of near it, but he'd been worried and distracted. An amateur mistake that had him experience the absolute bone-chilling sensation of his bare foot treading on animal feces the other day. He'd washed his foot and scrubbed at it with sand from the ocean, but in his mind's eye he was not certain he would get over that for weeks, if not seasons.
When they were approximately twenty paces from each other, he waved, but didn't say anything. He wanted to make sure that this wasn't some kind of trap. He did not want this encounter to end with her bursting into tears and running off crying, because he doubted Andros would believe him a second time. The man had seemed angry enough that Fell had briefly feared it would come to some kind of physical fight, which he had no appetite for whatsoever. So rather than closing the distance, he waited for her to invite him closer.
