For Sophie

[resealable]

[Deva is farther away from the sea than she wants to be. But it wasn't as if she really had a choice in any of this. By now, rumor of her survival has made it back to her former husband's family, and the resulting bounty that has been put out on her head is unfortunate to say the least. The last town she'd passed through, someone had recognized her, and trouble had started. And then escalated. And then yes, someone had died, but really he only had himself to blame. All right, and maybe also Deva a little, but only if you squinted. She had been defending herself in any case, and the bleeding gash in her shoulder.

Not that anyone in town wanted to hear that though, especially not from a stranger in town with a price on her head, so she'd fled. The quickest way out had been heading inland. The woods have grown deeper and thicker, and Deva thinks 'lost' likely doesn't even cover her current predicament. As soon as she could, she'd left the main road, some half-forgotten path that wound and twisted first in parallel and then wound further out into the woods.

For a moment, perhaps, Deva thinks her luck will hold. Any pursuit is far enough behind that she can't hear them. The bleeding has turned sluggish in her hastily bound shoulder. That's when a crack of thunder rings out overhead and the skies begin to violently drop rain, cold and heavy and punishing.]

Figures.

[She isn't expecting to see a small cottage out here, and when she first catches sight of it she half thinks she's seeing things. When a few hard blinks don't have it vanishing, well, Deva figures she needs to take her chances. Mysterious cottage deep in the woods during a thunderstorm. What could go wrong?

She knocks on the door, stepping back to pull her cloak closer about herself. She's a small woman, no taller than five-foot-two, all soft curves and delicate featuers. Right now she's soaked through, dark hair heavy and hanging in her face, pale skin even paler than usual -- a bedraggled shivering thing standing on a doorstep not sure if she's leaping from frying pan to fire or vice versa. Raising her voice, not even sure if it will be heard above the crashes of thunder and the roar of the rain.] Please. I need help.

Comments

[worthtempting]

[ the rain is muted in the thatched cottage roof, but still loud enough that sophie almost misses the sound of a voice calling through the door. it's not a familiar voice, which is even stranger than anyone knocking in the first place. most didn't come this deep into the forest.

she pulls the door open with a yank that makes the hinges creak their protest against moving the water-swollen wood. for a moment, she has the strangest idea that it's christine on her doorstep, but the posture is entirely wrong, and christine would likely rather die than admit needing help. ]

Then come in.

[ the woman's voice is low, soft, slightly rough from disuse. she may be smaller than deva, and definitely thinner--there's no softness to her at all. but the inside of the cottage is warm and dry, lit only by a fire in the hearth.

the floor is cobbled stone packed between with pebbles. there's not much in the way of furniture, only a table and chair, with what might be a pallet piled with blankets and furs on the floor in one corner for a bed. but there's a pot simmering over the fire, and a teapot sitting on a piece of slate in the middle of the table, steaming gently from the spout. ]

Here.

[ sophie pulls a blanket out of the bed-pile, and puts it around the other woman's shoulders, guiding her toward the hearth. a few moments later, a worn cup is pushed into deva's hands, filled with some sort of hot tea that smells like herbs. this is clearly not a woman of many words, but her presence is unthreatening and her touches aren't harsh. ]