"It's not bad at all," Lashan allows, and lets her face settle into a less cynical expression than is typical. The forest around the enclave is mostly towering evergreen, but the Irminsul, the sacred tree that's lent it its name, changes, as do the orchard trees and a few others in the cleared agricultural space around it. It's quite a sight, even if the change from summer to fall also means girding up for harvest time and the sometimes intense work that requires. "She won't thank me for telling you that. Ah, well."
The smile that doesn't seem like it really belongs on his face... he's not someone who's happy alone even if he prefers it to most company. She needs to not think about Guts too much, Lashan thinks, and then she has a sense that's come on more often as she's grown older. The bittersweet sense that this moment is unlikely and fleeting and will soon pass, never to be repeated. Flowing past as ceaselessly as wind.
She finishes the dregs of her airag, cheese-scented and salty, and sternly tells herself she's not going to wake up Vena just to take her in her arms or press their foreheads together or even just take her hand. If she indicated any desire to do any of that to Guts she'd spook this boy as badly as putting a halter on a feral horse. She has gotten so sentimental, it's awful.
"If you head in that direction, I know Midland will have work for you. Assuming things haven't changed radically in the past few months there's a particularly huge merc company there my contact-" she does something sarcastic with her eyebrows, indicating that 'contacts' is probably too strong a word -"likes. But I'm sure you can find something anywhere. You ever get brought on to guard a caravan?"
no subject
The smile that doesn't seem like it really belongs on his face... he's not someone who's happy alone even if he prefers it to most company. She needs to not think about Guts too much, Lashan thinks, and then she has a sense that's come on more often as she's grown older. The bittersweet sense that this moment is unlikely and fleeting and will soon pass, never to be repeated. Flowing past as ceaselessly as wind.
She finishes the dregs of her airag, cheese-scented and salty, and sternly tells herself she's not going to wake up Vena just to take her in her arms or press their foreheads together or even just take her hand. If she indicated any desire to do any of that to Guts she'd spook this boy as badly as putting a halter on a feral horse. She has gotten so sentimental, it's awful.
"If you head in that direction, I know Midland will have work for you. Assuming things haven't changed radically in the past few months there's a particularly huge merc company there my contact-" she does something sarcastic with her eyebrows, indicating that 'contacts' is probably too strong a word -"likes. But I'm sure you can find something anywhere. You ever get brought on to guard a caravan?"