Despite her mind peacefully clinging to dreams, the early morning tore at the sheets and dragged Faradae out of bed before the break of dawn. She yawned, stretched and arched her aching back, and it was hard to tell whether it was the hard mattress that had awoken her, or the lingering knowledge that something big was about to commence.
Once fully awake, she reached for her bag, from which she retrieved the leather object she had bought the other day. It had not taken her long, the vendors on Celestial Square sold a wide variety of items, and although she had not found it on display anywhere, a tanner had gladly patched together a few pieces of leather to form a solid waterproof casing for the letters she was to deliver. With a bit of haggling, they had settled on a price of 1 laat. The material was tanned and rough, and when she smelled it, the pleasant odour of animal paired with well-executed tanning procedures reached her nose. She placed Imass’ letters inside, and they slipped in just a little too easily. She’d have to keep the clasp closed at all times unless she wanted to risk losing the important documents.
Blinking the last remains of sleep out of her eyes, she shouldered her belongings and took the stairs down to the taproom. The inn’s owner, already awake, watched her from behind the counter. Faradae did not know what to think of the woman – on one side, she was the only one who housed foreigners in Nyka, while on the other hand, Fara had not seen her smile even once during the time of her stay. Vysia Prakmat was as stern as her title suggested, but courteous as long as no one tried to wrong her. Faradae approached the innkeeper and asked her to store her belongings until her return, which the monk agreed to in exchange for half a silver per day, to be paid on the date of Fara’s return, a price that the Kelvic deemed high but did not dare question. Vysia added the premise that Faradae’s property would be thrown away if the woman did not return to retrieve it by the end of the season, something she did not hesitate to agree to. The information that a pile of her clothes would be left on a stool in the room she had rented earned her a raised eyebrow, but it was still the neatest way to solve the vesture-problem.
Back upstairs, Faradae opened a window. Down in the city, the air was relatively still, but cold nonetheless. The young woman shivered a little as she undressed, neatly folding her clothes as she proceeded. She shifted without further delay, and the warmth of plumy feathers immediately engulfed her. The small package of paper and ink, still laying on the bed, was snatched by curved talons and the bird of prey fluttered out and up into the Nykan sky.
The first hours of her journey south-west passed without occurrences worth mention. The landscape was an ever-repeating pattern of puddles and small lakes amidst mud and greyish grass. The vegetation had little to offer in winter, and landing would only have served to cover her in dirt and wetness, if anything. Instead, she held her course, gliding with a favourable current.
It was a little past noon when she saw the first signs that told her that her journey would not go according to plan – not quite. There was something glittering to the south, black-and-gold like stars and sky, only less comforting. Of course she was curious as to what the sight originated from, but two things convinced her to avoid it – firstly, the storm clouds on the southern horizon, black and menacing. If she was unlucky, she would not manage to avoid the storm, but she could at least cover some distance before it reached her. Secondly, she wanted to be fast, spend as much time in Syliras as she could without keeping Imass waiting for the replies he craved so dearly. Diving headfirst into bad weather was also something her instincts urged her to avoid, and she was fairly sure she could trust those inbuilt safety mechanisms.
Running from the storm would have led her north, but something even less trust-inducing lingered there. What had looked like a forest from further away turned out to be an accumulation of trees indeed – but very much alive. Too much for her taste. The trees were moving despite the abundance of strong wind, hardened branches shivering in unnatural ways. She had never witnessed such a phenomenon before, but she knew better than to stray too close. Anything was potentially dangerous in Mizahar. Actually, most adventures into the unknown were quite lethal, if stories were to be believed. Other avians were fleeing the scene, heading further north, deeper into the forest, but she saw no use in following them as she wanted to fly in the opposite direction.
To be safe, her only possible route was directly westwards. It was too early to go west, right towards the Talderan border, but she hardly had a choice. Hopefully she would be able to avoid the eye of the storm and remain dry. The swamps seemed to pose little danger to birds, some were even roaming the ponds below.
Faradae’s wings flapped steadily as the wetlands below widened to fill the horizon on either side. Without the aid of the stale sun, she would have been without orientation. Half another bell passed and she could feel the first signs of weariness creeping from the tips of her wings to the bases. She was not used to flying all day, and while it was true that she could cover a greater distance than most, she still needed the occasional rest, but landing between the huge pools was more difficult than anticipated. The reflections in them were deceiving her, the grey of the grass blending into the grey of the mirrored sky, and only the slightest glimmer giving away the wet surfaces for what they really were.
It was such an illusion that almost caused Faradae to take an involuntary bath in one of the cold, muddy puddles when she attempted her first landing. She had dived low and was now backpedalling with her wings, pinions extended and head held high, to softly reach the ground. The sound of claws splitting surface, along with a pang of coldness at her talons convinced her that this was not an adequate landing space. Not adequate at all. It was too late to interrupt the landing manoeuvre though, and all she could do was put in her weight to cover some distance, barely making it to the pond’s shore. She hit the ground with a graceless thump, but at least she was not completely soaked.
OOCI took it that I was to choose one of the directions... I hope this didn't defy the means of that starting post. Still quite possible to get her steeped in a storm though.
