that holiest of sins

Alaine Winters · 01-16-2011, 12:56 AM

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table © Sie
ooc: orin, where for art thou! forward-dated to the 16th, if that is okay with you?
SoSuWriMo: 529

The afternoon light stretched, crisp and clean and clear, across the wintry landscape. Although surrounded by a stifling silence, the woman who rode in the midst of the pines was humming a sweet and foreign tune, her thick lashes bejeweled by the small flakes of snow that drifted lazily from the bowers ahead. The horse below her plodded steadily onwards, lulled by the melodic sound of her music. Because of the winter chill, the figure was garbed in a splendid hooded cloak of bright crimson hue. However, the weather was not particularly spiteful, and now that the sun was up Alaine had allowed the hood to settle about her slender shoulders.

The journey had not been a particularly weary one. She had chosen the mare she rode due to her absolutely placid nature; although Alaine was not a strong rider, she and the horse had come to an accord earlier on, and the mount was willing enough to do as she asked so long as the pace was not too fast. This was not a problem for the healer woman, who found it much easier to sit astride the gentle giant when she was moving at a leisurely walk. The unlikely pair had left Cour des Miracles land earlier that day, before morning had broke its weak rays and feeble warmth across the bitter land. They had made good time since then, stopping only for brief respites so that Alaine could rest her aching joints and the horse could eat her final reservoirs of dried fruits that she had prepared for the small journey. The Apothecary was unwilling to allow her physical situation to overcome the love she had for fulfilling her duty, but being pregnant meant that it was much more difficult to move around than when she could shift into lupus form.

The land of ethereal eclipse had been mute, but beautiful, with small stalagmites of frost dripping clear crystal beads on the occasional sprawling tree-limb. She loved this season, perhaps more than any other; perhaps it was her namesake for this reason. But it was the winter's bite that had pulled her on this journey, to seek out the new neighboring pack she had heard so much about. Alaine was curious to know if they had a resident healer, for, for a long time now, she had been the only medical aid in this area of Nova Scotia. More so, she wished to know the fate of a certain pink-haired sylph, who was rumored to dwell there now.

Alaine was uncertain of exactly where the pack borders were, but by mid-afternoon she made the wise assumption that she may have breached them, and pulled the quiet mare to a halt with a gentle tug on otherwise drooping reins. The horse obediently stood as the woman gazed around, her sharp shamrock-green eyes observant and wary. It would not do to be seen as a trespasser, however non-violent this pack had thus far proven themselves to be. While her mount stood docilely, the Apothecary shifted her seating to ease some of the pains in her lower back, before loosing a wavering but musical howl to announce her arrival.

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