Where the wild roses grow

Orin Takekuro · 03-31-2010, 02:50 PM

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OOC WC 593

Winter and spring jostled for position in Nova Scotia. The temperatures had already raised significantly and the last remnants of the soft, powdery snow had melted into muddy puddles, but night still threatened a fierce chill that occasionally would cling desperately to several of the early hours of the day. Inevitably, Spring would win, but this battle between the seasons kept the days interesting while it lasted.

Orin had watched the morning throughout sunrise and its infant hours from the main room of the Chien Hotel, nestled warmly into a chair by a small woodfire with a modest blanket over her lap. She had been reading, but only casually this morning, for she had been enjoying the peacefulness of the dawn and had not wanted to disturb it with any light save for the little blaze that crackled beneath the hearth.

As the small creatures outside began to stir and chatter as they began their morning, Orin found her attention wandering away from her book. She gazed out the window thoughtfully, peering across the yard and to the cluster of bare trees that grew outside the gates.

A quick glance towards the fire and she realized it had burned itself down to small, smoldering coals, it would be out soon. She stood and draped the blanket over the chair and set her book on the table, and meandered out onto the front stoop. There was still a biting chill in the air, but it was still much warmer than it had been when she arrived in the Northern lands, and the cold was no match for her thick coat. Her eyes closed as she inhaled deeply, tasting the sweet morning dew and letting it invigorate her body. It was enough to wake her up.

She happily bounded off the front step, her paws landing gracefully on the damp ground. The pathway to the gates was littered with puddles, some farther out in the yard even worthy of being called a small pond. “Goodbye, little snow,” she said softly with a wave of her hand. She had meant to mostly amuse herself, but suddenly felt a pang of loss. This had been the first time she had ever seen the snow, and it was so marvelous with the way the ice crystals glistened in the bed it made on the ground. It had been a cause for celebration between her and her brother, and it marked her first impression of the lands of Cour des Miracles. . . and now it was gone. A little somber, she sighed softly and yearned for the return of winter.

Saying her farewells to the snow, she slipped out the gate that confined the Chien Hotel and turned her eyes upwards, inspecting the trees as she trailed along the wall. Some of the resilient and healthier ones were already beginning to sprout leaves, but she still only had a vague idea of what this place would look like in full bloom. That was when a cluster of thorny, vine-like stalks caught her eye. They grew against the gate wall, and were bare and stick-like at the moment. She bent down and inspected the stems, and mused at how like a rose stem these stalks looked. She once read a story in which a magical rose portended the amount of time the hero had left to break his curse. If the rose wilted completely, he would have been doomed for eternity. She cocked her head to the side as she wondered if the magical flowers would grow here, too.

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