86th Day of Spring, 513AV...
On one of the walls encompassing the Syliran Fields, a figure sat, crouched over, beside a grazing horse. In the early morning light, which trickled slowly over the horizon, bathing the wall, girl and corn in a warm glow of promise, the field was silent and unmoving, save for the gentle sway from the crops. The slow arrival of birds at this early hour gave away the season of Spring. Or it would, if the still, cold air hadn’t already done so. Even the female had begun to appear as nothing more than a statue of sorts, over-looking the field as still as the stone that formed the wall upon which she was resting. Only her sodden brown locks and loosely fastened dress gave away her true nature, gracefully blowing slightly with the steady, crisp wind.
Pale blue eyes were locked on the crops in front of her, though they were still growing, some looked ripe enough, and she knew how easy it would be to reach dart into the field and take her pick of a few, nimble as she was. They wouldn't be missed, surely? But knowledge that a few guards of the Green Company had recently walked past her, and knew what she looked like, stopped her from making her move. It was not worth the risk to be caught, not now.
Surprisingly, however, the figure stirred. The wind shifted to push her hair away from her face, revealing a sight that was far from comforting. It might have been the light from the dull sky, or the dark and colourless clothing, but the woman’s pale complexion, though flawless, was a sickly pallor, her high cheek bones accentuating the gaunt expression in her eyes. Barely healed scars were visible; marks from having been branded, whipped and beaten, littered her arms and back, a few reaching her neck and marring her face. She was not pretty, nor could she be described as beautiful. The dried mud that caked her clothes, skin, and some of her face left no room for such a description.
Her gaze shifts as she hears the sleepy movements of workers arriving to the field, like clockwork every morning. The harsh sound of metal on metal reaches her ears as the man closest fumbles with his equipment - knives and such like, before continuing on his way. She watches him steadily, the silence of the dawn allowing the wind to carry the sound of the irregular splash punctuating his otherwise quiet footsteps every few paces as he does nothing to avoid the minefield of puddles that follow the nights of rain, so quintessential to Spring in Syliras. The man doesn’t look up, doesn’t look around to see the girl. Nor did she expect him to. As usual his shoulders are hunched, his head bowed and his knuckles decidedly white from his grip around his blade. The look was commonplace in the town, she thought; a defeated mind-set that had spread like wildfire through the small apartments.
Her eyes linger on the crop row down which the man turned. Though her chiselled features appeared to be void of any emotion, her eyes, chasms of life that they were, twinkled in the growing light. To anyone who ventured close enough, the blue orbs would have shown a severe, haunting depth beyond the female’s years. It was this that implied something distinctively wild about her gaze. Though maybe not beautiful, she was alluring to a fault, something that probably fueled her history.
A soft sigh escapes her at the knowledge that, soon, she would have to vacate her habitual night time haunt. With day break, the city, and its outlying fields would once again be bustling with life and Isalie made a point of avoiding contact with any citizens, lest they might take her for their own again. " Come on, Shadow... " she whispers to the grazing horse behind her as she rises, taking his reigns. She strokes the creature's nose a few times, smiling softly. " We should move on. There's no food for us here. "
On one of the walls encompassing the Syliran Fields, a figure sat, crouched over, beside a grazing horse. In the early morning light, which trickled slowly over the horizon, bathing the wall, girl and corn in a warm glow of promise, the field was silent and unmoving, save for the gentle sway from the crops. The slow arrival of birds at this early hour gave away the season of Spring. Or it would, if the still, cold air hadn’t already done so. Even the female had begun to appear as nothing more than a statue of sorts, over-looking the field as still as the stone that formed the wall upon which she was resting. Only her sodden brown locks and loosely fastened dress gave away her true nature, gracefully blowing slightly with the steady, crisp wind.
Pale blue eyes were locked on the crops in front of her, though they were still growing, some looked ripe enough, and she knew how easy it would be to reach dart into the field and take her pick of a few, nimble as she was. They wouldn't be missed, surely? But knowledge that a few guards of the Green Company had recently walked past her, and knew what she looked like, stopped her from making her move. It was not worth the risk to be caught, not now.
Surprisingly, however, the figure stirred. The wind shifted to push her hair away from her face, revealing a sight that was far from comforting. It might have been the light from the dull sky, or the dark and colourless clothing, but the woman’s pale complexion, though flawless, was a sickly pallor, her high cheek bones accentuating the gaunt expression in her eyes. Barely healed scars were visible; marks from having been branded, whipped and beaten, littered her arms and back, a few reaching her neck and marring her face. She was not pretty, nor could she be described as beautiful. The dried mud that caked her clothes, skin, and some of her face left no room for such a description.
Her gaze shifts as she hears the sleepy movements of workers arriving to the field, like clockwork every morning. The harsh sound of metal on metal reaches her ears as the man closest fumbles with his equipment - knives and such like, before continuing on his way. She watches him steadily, the silence of the dawn allowing the wind to carry the sound of the irregular splash punctuating his otherwise quiet footsteps every few paces as he does nothing to avoid the minefield of puddles that follow the nights of rain, so quintessential to Spring in Syliras. The man doesn’t look up, doesn’t look around to see the girl. Nor did she expect him to. As usual his shoulders are hunched, his head bowed and his knuckles decidedly white from his grip around his blade. The look was commonplace in the town, she thought; a defeated mind-set that had spread like wildfire through the small apartments.
Her eyes linger on the crop row down which the man turned. Though her chiselled features appeared to be void of any emotion, her eyes, chasms of life that they were, twinkled in the growing light. To anyone who ventured close enough, the blue orbs would have shown a severe, haunting depth beyond the female’s years. It was this that implied something distinctively wild about her gaze. Though maybe not beautiful, she was alluring to a fault, something that probably fueled her history.
A soft sigh escapes her at the knowledge that, soon, she would have to vacate her habitual night time haunt. With day break, the city, and its outlying fields would once again be bustling with life and Isalie made a point of avoiding contact with any citizens, lest they might take her for their own again. " Come on, Shadow... " she whispers to the grazing horse behind her as she rises, taking his reigns. She strokes the creature's nose a few times, smiling softly. " We should move on. There's no food for us here. "