Words: 300+
After her last visit, Caprica had been a little embarrassed to show her face - especially with the bay mare trailing her, she stood out as the same woman who had caused all the trouble with the horses. Not a reputation the Anatheman woman appreciated. She would rather be known for her hoarder's collection of beautiful objects, her delicious tasting recipes or her tree-trunk upper arms that could slice a bear in half with a katana. Well, that wasn't exactly what happened, but it wasn't so far off. She allowed herself a grin at the thought. That's it, just smile it all away, girl. Someone smiled back, a stranger who thought she meant to beam at them and although this inspired a swift change to a haughty scowl - watch it, fella - Caprica felt a little better, tying her mare - very, very carefully - to a tree half-way up the path that led from the lake to her woven wooden house. This was here all-year round, or would be from now on - she'd made it weeks before she ever even heard of the festival. It was only young hazel trees naturally bent into shape, but it provided a sort of roof and walls. Caprica was a big fan of not having to walk too far. So when she made her excursions to tap the Sugarwood trees, she thought it best to have somewhere to stay. Of course, it was amazingly handy for the festival too.
She walked now towards the lake, though, trusting her travois to lie untouched where it was. Who would steal from the mountain pack? The confidence of this thought showed in her walk, a swaggering sashaying gait which led her to the shallow shoreline of the frozen waters. Scarves around her head, shoulders and hips and a dark green bottle in one hand completed the piratical picture. She had no plan for this evening, but the glimmering blue dusk sky and the hum of stranger's voices gave her hope that one would not take long to emerge. Business could wait till the morning.
Image courtesy of Ant Jackson@Flickr; Table by the Mentors!
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