Mavwyn's Return

Players:

 Valdi, Beorning Healer

Mavwyn, Capt. of the Mirkwood Guard

A chilly breeze blows from the south on this bland-weathered afternoon. The sky is overcast, the same it was yesterday and the day before, and there has been no sign of rain, no bright light coming down from the clouds. In this sort of weather, men and women often make excitement of their own.  Valdi treads heavily up the path to the village center, a large traveling pack slung on his back and his staff in hand. The healer's beard hair, normally kept trim so that it doesn't always fall into his poultices, is now wild and red-brown, dipping downward. A couple of villagers greet him and he grunts incoherently back, dryly huffing. When he reaches the tree in the crossroads, he throws his pack down and sits down with his back to it, though it's more a collapse.

 The bleak sky offers no comfort to the weary-hearted, and no happiness to the light-hearted, leaving all present in an odd state of mind. It seems the majority of the villagers are content to stick to their standard routines of daily toil and bustle. The soft hum of multiple conversations keeps the crossroads in a lighter frame of mind, than would the weather normally allow. A laugh here, and a chuckle there, add to the ambience. There is worry, though. It taints the smile and the laugh. It hangs in the air and over every word. By now, it should seem commonplace for such worry to exist. The villagers have certainly had experience in battle, if only in self-defense more than the offensive aspect. But nonetheless, it is something to be considered, and worries the mind over all else.

A strange quietness seems to suddenly descend. It isn't as though conversation had ceased, but that somehow the volume of the world had quieted. Birds suddenly take off into the sky from the West. The silence precedes a dark cloaked figure. The individual's steps are soft and almost invisible. The cloaked head seems to float in a straight line, as though its body were gliding along the ground. A few steps further and the individual stops. It stops just beyond the hubbub of the crossroads, and the cloaked head suddenly tilts, quizzically. She is home.

At first Valdi notices nothing, letting the cool breeze cool him as well. Then he moves his lips and gets up. Leaning his gear against the tree for the moment, he pulls out a wooden canteen, knocks on it, and then opens the cap. Taking a swig of the honeyed mead, he looks around him. The fletcher's boy seems to be running an errand to the north. A couple of bee farmers stand talking by the door to the Inn. He lifts his head. And grunts. "I thought I left you strange men and dwarves in Dale," he calls aloud to the cloaked figure.

The figure shifts her direction towards Valdi and her head tilts the opposite direction. "Are ye speakin' ta me?" she asks in a commanding voice. A few of the villagers nearby take few steps backwards, away from her general vicinity.

 "Yes," Valdi says, coughing and then nodding as he puts a cap on his canteen and then gestures to the figure with it. The voice doesn't reach him yet. "Where are you coming in from? And why in such concealment?"

The figure begins walking the few yards it takes to breach the gap between Valdi and herself. She doesn't accept the canteen, gesturing her thanks for the offer with a slight wave. "Me business be me own," she whispers, her voice almost leaving her. Her head dips down and she seems lost for a moment. Moments in silence pass before she looks up and says, with sudden decisiveness, "bu' ye know me well, 'ealer." A heavily gloved hand reaches up, and pulls the hood of her cloak down, slowly revealing her face and long hair, haphazardly laying on her back. Her hair is disheveled, as though it hasn't been brushed in a very long time, and her face is dirty and tired. It suddenly appears that her clothing is in equal disrepair covered in dirt and smudged, torn in many places. Her hand seems to be shaking and she suddenly looses her sense of confidence, apparent in her body language and how she suddenly averts her eyes, as if ashamed. For she is ashamed...

 Valdi's eyes widen in surprise as he takes the canteen back, surprise enough that he reopens it and takes another swig before tossing it to his pile of stuff. He sways against his staff, looks the way she came, and then back to her. He looks spooked, but stands where he is. He opens his mouth a couple of times to various questions, but they don't come. Instead, he says, "The inn has free beds, if you need a rest. Which..." He looks her up and down and nods. "You've walked far, Mavwyn."

Mavwyn nods, quietly, slowly. "Aye, Valdi. Aye tha' I 'ave. I dinna know whar I be, e'n now." Her voice cracks towards the end of her statement and she begins to cough. Her cough is ragged, deep, and in her chest. Even from a few feet away, one can hear the wet crackling in her chest. The coughing fit ends, and she leans forward at the waist, breathing deeply. Slowly, Mavwyn reaches towards her tunic and pulls a bloodied handkerchief from a pocket. The piece of cloth is brought to her lips to wipe away any residual effects of the cough, and she slowly straightens, putting a hand to her head. "I dinna know if tis be a bed I need.. " she says, looking at the sky.

A laugh at her own despair brings a cynical smile to her lips, and she changes the conversation, "'Tis been a good time since we've last met. 'Ow be ye, good 'ealer?"

"I ain't in the business of digging graves, if that's what you mean" Valdi admits in reply to her denying the bed. Then he relaxes just a little, taking a deep breath as he kneels by the tree again. "I'm fair. Tired. Just got back through Mirkwood again from Dale." He nods that way and grunts. "Was escorting some dwarves and a man. A bard he called himself, though he was fair with a sword too. Orcs and trolls." Laughing suddenly, he cracks a grin. "I'm still healing. That's something."

 He goes digging into his pack again and pulls out some black bread, which he tears into. The questions he held back before now come unbidden. "How've you been? And where?"

Mavwyn chuckles, slightly, leaning back far enough that the handle of the axe at her waist sticks outwards, edging toward Valdi unintentionally. The chuckle dies and the sadness overcomes her features again. "Orcs in me woods, ye say...." she says, her question almost an edged comment towards herself. The shameful expression returns. "War it a good fight, then?" she asks, straightening her back and eyeing the healer before her. She doesn't answer his question and is most obvious that the neglect of an answer is intentional.

 "Most of us were alive. Many of them were dead. Pretty good for being outnumbered." Valdi chuckles dryly and lets the question go - for the moment as he finished wolfing down his bread. Then he stands upright again and picks the pack up as one might a warg skin, holding it out. "I need to rest. I'll be in the infirmary if you need me." He yawns in anticipation. "Come by later, I'll check you out."

"Thank ye," Mavwyn suddenly says, her hand instictively reaching out towards him. She falters and lowers her hand ever so slightly, as if unsure of and unfamiliar with this friendly movement. "Thank ye," she says again, whispering. "Fer... yer time."

 Valdi leans forward and slaps Mavwyn on the shoulder, grinning, though it isn't clear whether it's at her thanks or at the impending nap. "Good to see you. I mean it now - I wanna see you for a check up 'fore I see you for a drink." Then he heaves the pack onto his back, moves his staff to his other hand, and walks north.