Where the wild roses grow

Orin Takekuro · 04-01-2010, 03:24 PM

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OOC No worries, your writing is beautiful! Mammoth post all you want.

WotD: hugger-mugger, adjective - Secret.

WC 539

The sound of the squeaking hinges rang in her ears as Alaine slipped through the gate herself, but the silence that followed the clack of the fastening gate led Orin to believe that whomever had come by had ambled off to do their daily business, and she was much too intrigued by the hugger-mugger story of just whatever may grow here to inspect who had gone by. But before she could speculate more, it seemed the very trees answered her unuttered query. White ears perked in surprise and swiveled towards the voice, standing as her small body followed suit. She turned to look at Alaine, her face a pall of surprise and delight. Well, it seems she was wrong, indeed, about the stranger wandering off. For here she was, imparting a bit of sage wisdom on little Orin; it amused her tremendously.

The thought of reacting poorly to Alaine had not even crossed her mind. Although she had been startled, she had not been doing anything particularly private nor required solitude, so when her eyes took in the woman’s crimson-clad form and cream-toned features, she smiled her familiar, welcoming smile. Her shock ebbed quickly as Alaine’s delicate voice related the snippet of detail about the plant she had just been admiring.

“Rosa Gallica,” she repeated in a hushed whisper, more mouthing the words than anything. She wanted to commit it to memory but hoped Alaine did not think she was mocking her. Always curious, her mind was brimming with questions both of the flower, and of Alaine herself.

Orin had not seen nor met this woman before, but a covert once-over told her that there was something likable about her. Unable to espy many of the woman’s features beneath her cloak, she surmised from Alaine’s pretty visage and tired eyes that she was still youthful, but had already been through the experience of a lifetime. The storyteller within her wanted to know her tale, but Orin had learned long ago that these things only come with time.

“Thank you,” she trilled pleasantly, glancing back to the tangle of rose stalks. “I don’t have a lot of experience with flowers, I was wondering if they grew like this flower in a book I read. . .” She raised an eyebrow and braved the question she had really been pondering. “Does it have magical properties?”

‘Magical,’ in Orin’s mind, sounded far less absurd that it probably did to everyone else. Most of what she knew about the world had been constructed around books and novels, and she often had difficulty identifying fictional tales from true accounts. Still, even if the flowers had healing properties, she may even consider that magical. “Broth for what?” Aye, she was full of questions, and tried to pick and choose the right ones without overwhelming Alaine on their first meeting. ‘Broth,’ just like ‘magic’ to the girl, could have a miasma of applications as well!

Somewhere in it all, she finally remembered her manners. She jumped a little in surprise as she realized she hadn’t bothered to even introduce herself to the woman before she started in with her constant search for education. “I’m Orin, by the way,” she offered her hand. “Pleased to meet you!”

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