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| Setting | Location | Form | NPCs |
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Location: Grand Lake, VN borders Date: 06 July (backdated) Weather: Clear, muggy and hot Time: Mid-afternoon |
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(368) She's near the lake, if that's unclear. :> For Lilin.
The name alone had spiked her interest. Siv was not fluid in the old tongue, though she was capable of imitating and pronouncing the words correctly, and only recognized it was familiar. It had been lucky that the whisper of trade had come first, and given her an excuse to go. She had tacked up Hildr and, after a wash in the river and an application of Isbella’s most useful perfume, she smelled less like a pack wolf and more like a garden. This hadn’t been ideal and so she had further marred her scent by burning sweet-smelling sage, which now coated her in a smoky sort of scent that would block any indication of home. Even Hildr smelled like the smoke, which pleased Siv greatly.
Her path was an ambling one, skirting up towards the city. She hadn’t gone far before running into a small camp of wolves, and there made her trade. It had been for small things, and she was glad that they had agreed to hold onto the mewling kitten she had decided to get for her daughter. Riding with that thing would have been a nightmare, and she was glad to have thought ahead.
As she cut through Amherst, she noticed not one but two unique scents coming from the forest ahead. One was lower, and heavily wooded, while the other rolled down from the mountain and smelled musky despite the crisp air. Peculiar things, she thought, and traveled south.
Siv arrived on the borders on horseback, though she dismounted. Hildr’s headgear was removed and her saddle loosened. The mare immediately began to graze, and Siv dropped to lap up water from the lake. She stood and adjusted her cloak—her clothing was not typical. Boreas armor covered her body, as did a cloak taken from the fallen. It had been dyed a much darker shade and was black, save for the raven-banner sigil that she had carefully and delicately drawn and dyed white. It would serve as an appropriate disguise, she had reasoned, and allow her to tred the water lightly. Salsola’s values encouraged such protocol, and for a woman who was as silver-tongued as Loki himself, it was hardly a challenge.
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