Late Night Run In
Posted: Wed May 20, 2020 2:21 am
Late Night Run In
Álfsós was busy as usual despite the waning of the plague and the last patient he was treating left the clinic he was sharing with another handful of doctors. They were gathered in the Capital by the Queen and told of the situation back during the Frost of 119 and they had to figure out how to combat it. Even Linden contracted it when he continued his duties of traveling around Atinaw to the different Clans to make sure they were taken care of. Some of the people lived away from town and they deserved the same treatment despite a few thinking this was a good time for a "cleansing" which resulted in some unsavory words.
With a sigh and a wave, he made his way to the Silver Lion Inn where he was staying currently while in Álfsós. Linden hoped to be heading home in the next seven days once some questions were answered. The main reason for his time in the Capital, besides dealing with the end of the Plague, was because of a woman named Silla. They met last Glade at an event, but when the Plague came in during the Frost it made things difficult even though he made time for her when he was in town. Since he has been here for the past five days and sent word to her, Linden has received no reply.
"Maybe she is busy," Linden told himself as he looked up to the full moon hanging in the sky. The moonlight shone brightly on the well worn path that led to the river outside of town a couple of hours or so. "Maybe I'm too busy..."
Along the path to the water were patches that interested Linden as he marked them earlier that in the week.. Walking over to a section of Purple Dead Nettle he knelt down to touch the fuzzy leaves. Taking out a rectangular, soft leather pouch tied by cord to reveal a white piece of cloth inside. With hand-held pruning shears, Linden used the moonlight to look at the bigger leaves for medicinal purposes and placed them on the cloth. Folding over each leaf so they didn’t damage each other. Satisfied and rolling up the soft leather pouch is when he began to top off some of the plant going only three rows down from the top of the purple flower. Setting them in a small box inside of his pack and closing the lid.
Standing and stretching, Linden sighed heavily and looked up the moon. Shaking his head back to the path and continuing his way to the river. “Perhaps the flowers and tea were too much?” Linden says to no one as he couldn’t help but wonder if Silla was angry about the gifts. “Or not enough? Should I have gone to her place and told her that I was here instead of sending a message? Inside his head he was following all the proper love tips gathered from friends and family. Granted, his relationships have never lasted long, but this time Linden was sure he wasn’t making the same mistakes…
Or am I?
Eventually Linden reached his destination with his head over-analyzing everything. Going to the large cropping of mugwort and even rubbed a leaf between his fingers to smell to confirm the sage-like mint scent. With them being new growth in the beginning of Glade, lacking the pinnate leaves and lobes that give them the feathery appearance. Thinking about Patrick and his family now and thought that they may enjoy this for brewing their beers. Taking a few stalks for himself of course for drying to make teas and salves. Wrapping them up in a cloth as well while shearing them close to the ground.
Linden was too engrossed with wrapping the Mugwort that he didn’t take in his surroundings. A small band of five were approaching with a large dog that were motioned to be silent when they saw movement by the river bank.
“Rather late to be out?” A woman said in Kokalath that had Linden turn around from his crouched position. “All alone?” She purrs as her tail swings from side to side.
“Umm… No… My friend just went to relieve himself is all while I am collecting plants,” Linden stared at the woman who was a lioness Rathari Beastalt. Her companions, three male humans with one dog, and another Rathari Beastalt that reminded him of Arif. Though this one wasn’t an owl Rathari, but a different bird of prey that he can’t really place. ”I think I should be going and the river bank is all yours.”
“Tut-tut-tut,” says one of the men as they raise their large hand. “This is a large space and I’m sure we can all share right? Maybe even share what you have in your pack?”
”They are just herbs that I have collected, nothing more.”
“Then there is nothing to worry about right?” He replies and begins to step forward while Linden remains planted where he was at. “Don’t look so scared just because it is dark and you are alone. My friends and I just want to get to know you and make sure you are not… Carrying anything is all.”
First thought in Linden’s mind was to run. Another said to not fight. Though his gut told him that either course of action was going to end the same.
Good doctor not taken down by the Plague but by bandits as they stupidly go out foraging in the middle of the night. Yes, fantastic, Linden thinks sarcastically and grips his small shears that were hiding under the bundle of Mugwort in his arms.
Age of Steel, 15th of Glade 120
Álfsós was busy as usual despite the waning of the plague and the last patient he was treating left the clinic he was sharing with another handful of doctors. They were gathered in the Capital by the Queen and told of the situation back during the Frost of 119 and they had to figure out how to combat it. Even Linden contracted it when he continued his duties of traveling around Atinaw to the different Clans to make sure they were taken care of. Some of the people lived away from town and they deserved the same treatment despite a few thinking this was a good time for a "cleansing" which resulted in some unsavory words.
With a sigh and a wave, he made his way to the Silver Lion Inn where he was staying currently while in Álfsós. Linden hoped to be heading home in the next seven days once some questions were answered. The main reason for his time in the Capital, besides dealing with the end of the Plague, was because of a woman named Silla. They met last Glade at an event, but when the Plague came in during the Frost it made things difficult even though he made time for her when he was in town. Since he has been here for the past five days and sent word to her, Linden has received no reply.
"Maybe she is busy," Linden told himself as he looked up to the full moon hanging in the sky. The moonlight shone brightly on the well worn path that led to the river outside of town a couple of hours or so. "Maybe I'm too busy..."
Along the path to the water were patches that interested Linden as he marked them earlier that in the week.. Walking over to a section of Purple Dead Nettle he knelt down to touch the fuzzy leaves. Taking out a rectangular, soft leather pouch tied by cord to reveal a white piece of cloth inside. With hand-held pruning shears, Linden used the moonlight to look at the bigger leaves for medicinal purposes and placed them on the cloth. Folding over each leaf so they didn’t damage each other. Satisfied and rolling up the soft leather pouch is when he began to top off some of the plant going only three rows down from the top of the purple flower. Setting them in a small box inside of his pack and closing the lid.
Standing and stretching, Linden sighed heavily and looked up the moon. Shaking his head back to the path and continuing his way to the river. “Perhaps the flowers and tea were too much?” Linden says to no one as he couldn’t help but wonder if Silla was angry about the gifts. “Or not enough? Should I have gone to her place and told her that I was here instead of sending a message? Inside his head he was following all the proper love tips gathered from friends and family. Granted, his relationships have never lasted long, but this time Linden was sure he wasn’t making the same mistakes…
Or am I?
Eventually Linden reached his destination with his head over-analyzing everything. Going to the large cropping of mugwort and even rubbed a leaf between his fingers to smell to confirm the sage-like mint scent. With them being new growth in the beginning of Glade, lacking the pinnate leaves and lobes that give them the feathery appearance. Thinking about Patrick and his family now and thought that they may enjoy this for brewing their beers. Taking a few stalks for himself of course for drying to make teas and salves. Wrapping them up in a cloth as well while shearing them close to the ground.
Linden was too engrossed with wrapping the Mugwort that he didn’t take in his surroundings. A small band of five were approaching with a large dog that were motioned to be silent when they saw movement by the river bank.
“Rather late to be out?” A woman said in Kokalath that had Linden turn around from his crouched position. “All alone?” She purrs as her tail swings from side to side.
“Umm… No… My friend just went to relieve himself is all while I am collecting plants,” Linden stared at the woman who was a lioness Rathari Beastalt. Her companions, three male humans with one dog, and another Rathari Beastalt that reminded him of Arif. Though this one wasn’t an owl Rathari, but a different bird of prey that he can’t really place. ”I think I should be going and the river bank is all yours.”
“Tut-tut-tut,” says one of the men as they raise their large hand. “This is a large space and I’m sure we can all share right? Maybe even share what you have in your pack?”
”They are just herbs that I have collected, nothing more.”
“Then there is nothing to worry about right?” He replies and begins to step forward while Linden remains planted where he was at. “Don’t look so scared just because it is dark and you are alone. My friends and I just want to get to know you and make sure you are not… Carrying anything is all.”
First thought in Linden’s mind was to run. Another said to not fight. Though his gut told him that either course of action was going to end the same.
Good doctor not taken down by the Plague but by bandits as they stupidly go out foraging in the middle of the night. Yes, fantastic, Linden thinks sarcastically and grips his small shears that were hiding under the bundle of Mugwort in his arms.
