Woohoo! Private for Parker, set at the Koender Windmill.
Wc: 537
The day was overcast, only one of many days that week that held the same weather. For now, Mother Nature was a firmly disgruntled old woman, throwing angry, heavy charcoal greys and near-blacks among the comparatively docile silver subtler hints of rain. The temperatures were beginning to drop as fall crept ever closer, nipping at the wolves' heels as they were chased by leaves steadily turning colour. For now, however, the wind was light in it's bite, only slicing the fur slightly as a huntress made her way through the territory.
But on this day in particular, where one would expect to see Ghita in firm four-legged pursuit of a deer or rabbit at least, one saw the fae lumbering along, in Lupus form, towards the Koender Windmill, a firm destination set in mind. Her ears flapped in the wind, throwing her three silver hoop earrings around like circus performers, and the emerald grass tickled her ankles as she moved. The fae had hoped to reach the Windmill in good time when she'd departed this morning, but the mother and aunt quickly found a problem.
With the rain adding pressure to the air around her, and the moisture creeping in before an almost-certain storm, this was the exact kind of weather that wreaked havoc on the poor fae's knee. And of course, having one leg not working perfectly tended to slow one down. Halfway to the towering structure, the fae considered heading back to grab her cane, but in the end, decided her pride was more valuable at this time. Besides, she'd be making twice the journey there and back just for the comfort of the moment.
By now, the casual passer-by, if a member of Crimson Dreams, would be wondering just why the injured huntress was heading to the Windmill, especially today. There'd be an answer to the question, if you asked, of course. But Ghita's reasons remained inside her head, unspoken to the wind around. The agouti fae was heading off to check on the towering old structure, a painful memory playing itself like a broken record around her mind ever step she took on her injured knee.
With the collapse of Old Red, the huntress had been astounded to hear that her theory hadn't been considered early. Old Red, the old barn that Ghita still remembered fondly despite it's swan song, was one of the oldest structures of Crimson Dreams, and it had collapsed on a fine summer's day. Now, Ghita was no weather expert, but if the Windmill was half as old as she thought it was, and the weather kept up it's harsh assault, the fae wasn't altogether unconvinced that it wouldn't suffer the same fate as it's companion.
So that was where she was headed, and this recap of Ghita's tale has taken us up to the point where Ghita herself had finally arrived at the windmill. Tipping her head back to stare at the structure, she tilted her head slowly, taking in a deep breath to try and scent any rotten wood. If any was found, she'd have to tell Ehno, or another Carpenter of the pack, immediately, to try and avoid another catastrophe rivaling the likes of Old Red's.
