Bring me Roses

Isabella Heiwa · 12-28-2011, 12:58 AM

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300+
AW - afternoon

Isabella was still far from settled. Her possessions had been removed from the back of her horse and hidden, but none of it was set up properly. The woman had done enough to get the horse a proper lodging. She managed to create a covered up lean-to for the horse to stay in, especially with the stable full. There was no where else she trusted to keep her precious treasure to be kept, so she had to build the stable near her home. Well, it was more like right next to her home. She could faintly smell the horsey musk coming from the stable, but it was covered by the wet smell of rain. It had been too warm to snow and what should have been light flurries was just drizzles. The smell of rain was still in the air, and Isabella sat on a stone she had cleaned up and had turned into a bench. This place was still a far cry from her lovely flat in Montreal.

Isabella clung to the cards she stole from her mother, keeping them close to her chest. She did not miss her home at all, but she missed that naivety that came with youth. But when was she naive, even then? Her mother taught her the trade early, and her father's passing at the hands of other wolves jarred her into reality relatively early on. Her brothers joined gangs and her step father taught her a whore's trade. She was not naive, nor had she been for long. But how peaceful it had been, to be so naive. Sighing, the woman tucked the cards away in a nook in the rock wall. It was lined with scraps of soft clothes to keep out the bugs and wet, as well as tarnished silver pomanders with dried lavender. The flat stone went over it, keeping it hidden. Only the scent gave it away, but Isabella always smelled of some sort of dried flower so it was easy to disregard.

The woman took her third pomander, given by a woman client seeking charms for pregnancies and safety. It was filled with the rest of the dried lavender, the scent already fading with time. She took a deep inhale of it, loving the scent. Leaving her Salsolan housing, the gypsy woman began to roam the ruins. She could smell others among the stones, but saw no one. Sighing, she opened the pomander with a click as she leaned against a tree. The lavender petals were starting to look more grey and seemed terribly dry. Isabella reattached it to the belt keeping the heavy red felt skirt about her ample hips. Where was she going to get more roses and lavender? She would run out of oil eventually.

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