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I should be working on a paper. But this is so much more fun!
Also, did I read right? Anselm has some sort of cut on his arm?
By the normal standards, Alacrity was a confident creature. The brightness in her disposition generally overcame the pessimistic influences of her family, loneliness, or the cold. Confidence, like optimism and happiness, is just a choice you make, after all. Still, even she was getting nervous standing at the borders, her heart beating the same uncomfortable rhythm that it had when she'd stepped on the rickety vessel that carried her across the sea. She was used to proactively taking charge, and waiting was definitely countering her base instincts. Her uneasiness was making her tense, a hindrance she tried to keep from her limbs by shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
A rustle in the dried autumn grasses suggested company, and then there he was, all smiles and wagging tail. Her own features broke into a broad grin, and it startled her slightly to realize just how happy she was to see him again. "Leave without visiting?" she joked lightly, "I'd never." Alacrity wasn't the type to make many plans, but the fight a few weeks ago had changed any she might make. Even if the cold got severe enough to drive her away south, she would have at least visited Inferni -- and Anselm -- first. Now, with migration a less likely possibility, she would have to find a way to deal with the cold in the long term.
His smile faltered a bit, and she realized that he must have noticed the unbalance in her stance. At his question, Alacrity turned slightly to allow him a better view of the healing wound. It was scabbed over and showed no sign of infection, but the torn flesh still pulled when she moved, hindering any excessive physical activity. "Yeah, it is really not that bad," she insisted mildly. Besides, she'd wounded her attacker rather more permanently than he'd hurt her, and that was victory enough in her book. (Alacrity would carry scars, but she doubted they'd be permanent. The marks she'd left on his face likely were.) "What about you?" she asked, discretely eying his foreleg.
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