Completed Into the Hearth

[Farren Lóthlindor]

The Monastery's kitchens were a hubbub of controlled chaos, a symphony of clinking utensils and the comforting hiss of pans atop the roaring fires. In the heart of this organized mayhem, Farren found herself amidst the bustling warmth, the faint aroma of bread mingling with the savory scent of simmering soups.

Louretta, the indomitable force behind the kitchen's bustling operation, commanded the space with an air of unquestionable authority. Her hands moved in a whirlwind of motion, navigating effortlessly between bubbling cauldrons, sizzling griddles, and directing her staff. With every flick of her wrist, a new dish seemed to take form, the culinary alchemy in full swing.

Farren observed the kitchen's conductor with a mix of admiration and familiarity. She had seen Louretta in action many times before, her skills as a cook and her prowess with the flames were legendary within the monastery's walls. The small but sturdy figure of Louretta, adorned with beads and metal clasps, held a presence that belied her stature.

"Good morrow, Louretta," Farren greeted with a warm smile as she approached, the chaos of the kitchen temporarily receding in the presence of their queen.

Louretta spared a brief glance from her stirring to acknowledge Farren, a knowing glint in her eye. "Ah, Syr Farren," she replied with a hint of humor lacing her words, "You'll be wonderin' why I've got the biscuits in a ruckus and the soup near boiling over, eh?"

"Wouldn't dare to question your methods." Farren replied, a playful glint dancing in her eyes. "I'm merely here to lend a hand, if you'll have me. I must confess, I've been itching to create something more substantial than parchment and ink lately." She loved missions. Hated mission reports.

Louretta chuckled a hearty sound. "You are always welcome, lass. We'll put you to task and show ya a thing or two 'bout handling the heat in these kitchens. See that dough that's laying out? Go knead it for me. But wash your hands first!"

Unafraid of hard work, Farren rolled up her sleeves, ready to dive into the comforting rhythm of baking.

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

The weather has particularly biting today, made no gentler by the higher altitude that housed the monastery. Partly for this reason he’d only just crawled out of bed, a little late even for his standards, though for today it was no matter. There was none waiting for him at the workshop, as both the squires he generally had for help were off.

For the dull ache in his leg that’d initially woken him some hours ago, from too much standing around the night before no doubt, he’d surely been of the mind to do the same. But sadly, or maybe fortunately, walking had been found the better remedy to this particular ailment, in his experience.

Returning the pot, cups and basket left at the workshop from yesterday’s evening tea was as good an excuse as any for a stroll. It was slow going, traversed in a hobble and with the occasional curse, but there was no not suffering it.

Easing the knit away from his face with his index, he put his shoulder against the kitchen door and pushed into the warmth. After the outdoors, it prickled the skin almost unpleasantly.

“ Morning. “ He greeted the room, eyes downcast as he closed the door swiftly behind himself. “ The usual rush in here, I see. Though you appear to have acquired a fresh pair of steady hands into your midst. “

The remark was of no particular emotion, delivered deadpan to everyone and no one as he put the basket away on a table in the corner of the room. Where he’d been told to usually leave it. Turning, he flattened himself against the table’s edge in quick succession as someone hassled past with a wooden peel in hand. Only now regarding his fellow knight proper with his look, he willed humour to his tone.

“ How do you fare, Syr Lóthlindor? Fancied a little change of pace, wrist deep in dough first thing in this fine morn, hmh? “

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Louretta had procured an extra apron somewhere for Farren. It was mostly white with blue trim and had embroidered bees lining the bottom of the skirt and enough length in the waist ties to wrap back around in a tidy bow at her front. It had already saved her dark tunic from a tragic floured fate as the Dusker tried to navigate the world of eggs, then butter, then a dash of salt and sifting of cups of flour until she had another batch of biscuit dough rising under a towel on her work bench.

Wiping her forehead of sweat with her forearm, Farren didn't notice the white flour that now marred her face. Yet ever grateful for the quiet love of those who enjoyed feeding people, she instead took a deep dreg of the black coffee that had materialized at her counter at some point in the morning chaos.

There was a peace in this room she hadn't expected. It reminded her of living as a nomad with her people under the shadow of the Eldyr tree. Doing chores and tasks that helped the whole. It was their way of caring for each other, and she found helping within the collective to be an honor easily given; the Knights were no exception. This was her family now.

The thought bloomed a tender warmth in her chest. Especially as she watched one of her fellow Knights enter through the kitchen doors; Louretta watching his limp with a hawk's gaze. Farren in turn smothered a grin at Aarno's stoic addressment to the whole room.

Though she didn't return his hello until he had finally noticed her and offered a greeting. Only then did she answer him with a pleasant smile. "I did indeed. There's only so long one can wander the woods as a beast—and I sorely missed hot baths."

As if remembering her manners, Farren pushed off from the counter she was leaning on and gestured to the orc, "Can I convince you to stay for a bit? I can grab you a cup of coffee?"

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

He flashed a smile at the response, giving a sympathetic nod. Not that he had much experience wandering the woods, let alone as a beast — just as one rather enamored with comfort and finer things. There was getting used to lacking a lot of the more intricate ones, the ready availability of all that the heart might desire, even if the monastery lacked no necessity he could think of.

But once one had gotten used to scented water and never having to endure cold — Well, it had been a task to itself to let go of all manner of cravings.

“ I need no convincing, Syr Lóthlindor. The chill and my work that yet awaits beyond it have my avoidance, perhaps for this entire dreadful day. “ He answered in a wider grin, speaking no lie. Save for, maybe, the last part. His true feeling about it wasn’t half as dramatic.

“ Though I do appreciate the coercion regardless — assigns me loitering here some purpose, even if it be just accepting your supreme offer. Here I thought I’d have to half-arse an excuse. “ He winked, glancing about the room rather shamelessly.

“ Some coffee would be lovely, in fact. “

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Her expression softened, "Please, call me Farren. After all, I took a blade for you and you a spear for me. I think that makes us about even. Especially so tucked away from decorum down here." The woman wiped her hands briskly on her apron with the intent of pouring him a fresh mug from the carafe that brewed on one of the stoves.

But a pert voice cut through the air and stopped her before she could.

"Actually." There was a resulting bustle around them, and a kitchen worker placed a stool next to Farren and dropped a bucket of washed yellow potatoes beside it. Louretta appeared next to Aarno a moment later and handed him a peeler and a hot cup of golden liquid.

"As the lass said. We're all the same down here, good Syr. Which means if yer goin' to stay and chit chat, you'll earn ye keep while ye do it." Her tone brooked no argument, but while her voice was stern, her eyes were like warm honey where they flicked to the knee that so often bothered Aarno.

"An' I brought ye a cup of the tea I make for myself when my body hurts after a long day in my kitchen. Drink up and then you may have coffee."

Louretta had arrived as a force of nature and left just as abruptly, already on to the next task of yelling instructions at her staff. Farren hazarded a glance at Aarno and the expression on his face, a pause between them before she laughed at the absurdity of it all. Still smiling, she turned back to her workbench, reaching for the risen dough to begin balling them into small circles that were ready for the oven.

Without looking at Aarno, she asked, "I've been meaning to check in with you after that little battle we had. Are you doing okay?"

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

Even. Something to live with.

“ Alright then — Farren. “ He responded in a sustained smile, some defiance in the incline of his head as he watched her across the table. Old habits die hard — in the trades he’d gotten used to calling people by their last names, even when titles had long since been dropped. It was like some fundamental part was being denied of a sudden, a nuanced camadarie.

He figured it wasn’t as much about the enforced respect, as the distance it implied. The varying meaning of words, to whomever. He hadn’t longer to ruminate on it, when another arrested attention, leveling another demand at him.

And then something worse — A bargain. That finally pried a reaction out of him, the baring of sharp teeth as a breath escaped betwixt them in a hiss.

“ Too kind. But if that is what one must endure to get a cup of coffee in here — “ He protested, a careful sidelong glance regarding Louretta as he accepted both tea and peeler. There wasn’t much else to be had or said, as she already hurried back to her tasks therein. A low, lamenting hum in his throat, he meandered towards the stool set out for him and his toil. If it hadn’t been so scalding, he would’ve downed the tea in one.

But alas, acting on spite had a higher price today. Not yet taking his post, he settled to hover next to his designated seat, determinate to take his damn time with his drink.

“ Of course. “ He responded fast, staring down at the potatoes like they were a swarm of foreign insects. “ I’d broken nothing, just bruised, so mine was the return to relative normalcy afterwards. Business as usual. “ Fortunate, one could argue. Way too much would it had been to lie prone with one’s thoughts, the shock of the experience yet lingering in the empty hours of recovery.

“ And yourself? “ His look sought her almost in secret, watching the side of her face from beneath a frown as she worked. “ Your shapes and injuries were many, that day. “

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Ignoring his question for the moment, Farren looked at him from the side with a knowing grin, "It's not so bad, ya know?" A pause. "The tea, I mean. She's made me that same brew a time or two, and I have yet to taste anything from Louretta that wasn't good."

She turned her attention back to the two, three, and now six balls of dough she had laid out on a pan that had appeared at her side. Her people were good, I'll give them that. Farren mused to herself. They were all like a well-oiled machine, everyone knew their part and when to do it. Something that was sorely needed in a place like a battlefield. Like that battlefield.

Sighing, Farren conceded to finally answer, "Truthfully, Aarno," The ghost of a smile appeared, "I won't lie. That fight took a lot out of me. Changing forms so quickly, especially the bigger beasts I channel, takes a lot of spiritual strength. Let alone fighting in them for long periods of time. And that fight was nothing if not a bloody bear pit. No pun intended of course."

Her focus was intent on placing the next set of rolled biscuits on yet another pan that had mysteriously appeared. "But... I am eternally thankful for Josai fixing up my shoulder the way she did, it barely catches now." She stopped to clasp her right shoulder with her left hand, rotating it for show as she turned to Aarno with a grin, the bells on her braid tinkling softly, "See? Practically brand new."

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

Displeasure at her comment left him in a low nneh and a shrug, petulant as he sipped his tea. She assumed it was all for the taste, which he had found nothing to complain about, and beyond him was it to correct her. The day was much too early for him to make any such bold move, to perhaps reveal too much as it came to the quality of one’s character.

Despite her smile, there was a sharpness to the way she responded his counter, if belatedly. He felt it, attention affixed to her expressions as she described the not so distant past. The little grin when she rolled her shoulder only made it worse, somehow. He couldn’t match it, a weary defeat in his look as he bobbed his head.

Suppose ‘barely catches now’ qualified for a ‘practically brand new’. A joint could be that way, but memory not so much.

“ I do indeed see. And congratulate you for your recovery, sincerely. It has been pleasant to realize most whom returned injured are already back on their feet. “ He hummed, look averting.

“ You're being — rather brave about it. But suppose that is all one can be, when faced with the kinds of horrors that reveal themselves to us at an increasing frequency. “

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Farren's shrug was noncommittal, as if the weight of what they spoke of was of little importance. As if minimizing the events that they lived through lessened the traumatic impact they had.

"As you said. What choice did I have but to be brave? It was asked of me, and I could do nothing but uphold the oaths that I took." She stopped and placed her hands gingerly on the counter, staring off into space, a curtain of fringe obscuring her face, her voice quiet and dreamlike. "It all seems so far away when we're here, do you know what I mean? Safe and warm, and in good company... So it ends up feeling all the more jarring being plunged back into that cold water of corruption and being demanded to swim."

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

Fuck the oaths — some long since buried part of him spat at the concept, his face twisting with primal distaste as she spoke of not having a choice. Certainly, none of them did, half of it enforced by them having been in active combat, and suppose for that it had all served well enough, but—

To wash the rattled expression from his face, he drained from his cup and stared at passing air.

“ Yes. I know what you mean. “ He responded belatedly, a sigh escaping him heavier than he would’ve liked. “ It is so with all grief and fright — they’ll always be out there waiting for you, when your respite eventually ends. “ And it will end, every time.

“ I’d say to brace for it, but aren’t we all fools enough to forget about it. The other route is to just desensitize yourself, but— “ Was there a way, when he had the sinking feeling he’d hardly seen anything yet. And he’d seen plenty.

“ I don’t know if there is coming back from that, afterwards. “

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Noting Aarno's now empty cup, Farren took the brief reprieve from the conversation to pour him a fresh cup of coffee, snagging the small jar of sugar and cream as she walked back, confident that the man had a secret penchant for sweets.

"You know how I see it?" She gingerly set down everything on the counter and leaned back against the counter with her arms crossed to watch the man with a gentle contemplation. "We are not Knights because we always win. We are Knights because we always fight." Restless, she absently began fidgeting with the bow tied at her front. "To get back up is what makes us fools. But given the choice, I think I'd rather die a fool than a coward."

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

The smell of coffee finally roused him to look at her again, an appreciative nod sent her way as she offered additives for the beverage. He added both — sugar sparingly, but cream without abandon. It had been a while since he’d gotten to put either into his drink, usually much too shy to demand them.

Or was it some masochism, maybe? To deem oneself undeserving of finer things in the every day — a whole big dumb fuck of a thought.

Taking a first, much too indulgent sip of his drink, he regarded Farren with renewed concentration as she spoke. Knights, fools, cowards — highly situational, no?

“ I imagine anyone would agree with that. “ He commented, considering the swirl within his cup.

“ But I know I’ll die as all three, no matter when it is. Always a knight, from hereon, but— “ He shook his head. “ Having done and doing yet plenty a foolish thing that I’ll perhaps regret. All the while with more of the ilk left undone and unspoken because I was afraid. “

And of what? That it just end up enforcing the former? Willing a smirk upon himself, he glanced at her with conspiracy.

“ With my years of experience, it isn’t so bad. You learn to live with the thought. “

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Farren acquiesced a small smile at Aarno's words, "I don't think it was a coward who stopped those spears from piercing my sorry pelt. Or perhaps we have different definitions of what it takes to be a coward."

Louretta passed with a basketful of vegetables on her hip, pausing briefly next to them to pointedly stare at the unpeeled potatoes at the knights' feet. "Tsk. I do plan on needing those potatoes soon mind you." A raised brow was all the admonishment she gave before whisking off to her next task with an efficient determination.

It was not in her nature to ask twice.

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

Not a coward— At the hazard of appearing overly humble, he shrugged one shoulder in a filthy smile, baring teeth.

“ Perhaps. “ He repeated in a mutter, meeting eyes with Louretta as the woman came to a stop in his vicinity, all too foreboding. At the remark, his expression took a defiant edge, smirk twisting to a wolfish snarl. Twist a little harder, why won’t you?

“ Geh — I did plan on getting to it. Soon. “ He said, stare nailed to the back of her head as she trailed away again. Performative smile fading, he slung back his head and drained the rest of his coffee, the cup giving a pointed click as he set it down on the table.

Swallowing heavy, he hooked the stool leg with his foot and adjusted the angle, drawing it a bit further away from the potatoes. A seat was taken therein and he gathered back his hair, flipping a quick knot into it as he had naught to tie it with.

A weight sunk in his chest as he picked up the first potato and begun to peel it, jaw working with things unsaid. He felt like thanking his fellow knight — for the coffee, for the favour in battle, for his life, but— Why did it feel so goddamn redundant?

Were they past that, at this point? Wasn’t it obvious, that one should be grateful?

“ Thank you, for the— Coffee. “ He started awkwardly, glancing up at her.

“ And my life. The price for the latter was so close to being much too great. “

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

She wisely hid her smile with a swig of her cup before it betrayed her amusement at his disgruntled nature. He reminded Farren of an old bear that was always on the verge of being woken from hibernation. Best to be left alone, but so entertaining to poke at.

Idly, she watched Aarno settle around his ill-gotten chore. Letting him work through the words that he was so obviously chewing on. Deciding which he would swallow, and which ones would fare better if he just spat them out. She found herself pleasantly surprised when they were words of thanks, for things big and small.

Clearing her throat, she set her cup down. Wiping the last of the dried dough on the front of her embroidered apron before retrieving something from her pocket and extending the item out to Aarno. A length of thin and sturdy leather dyed as red as the string that tied the end of Farren's silver belled braid.

"Here." She offered softly. Yet her voice was strong like Louretta's, a tone that would hear no argument otherwise. "Let us at least agree, that if we are to be fools together. Then we shall be the fools that know not the way of placing the value of our life against others. It is enough to know that you were there when you needed me, and I, you."

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

His look found the red tie first, from whereon it would flit ever upward to meet hers. A little taken aback by the genuine exchange, of both words and gift, he awkwardly cleared his hands from potato and peeler so that acceptance might be given in full. Despite what could’ve been taken as hesitance, refusal was the farthest from his mind.

“ How thoughtful. “ He remarked, a coy little smirk breaking the tension from his face as he inspected the length of dyed leather. A small, precious thing, the resemblance of which wasn’t lost on him.

“ I’ve always admired the colour. Fits you. “ Wasting no further time, lest Louretta catch him slacking, he opened the knot in his hair and brought it to the fore. It was quickly braided and finished off with a red bow, wherein he sat up straighter, chin lifting as he made himself to a caricature of smug overconfidence.

“ Well— How do I look? “ The braid was thrown over the shoulder in a flick of the wrist as he regarded Farren with humour, tone an impression of some aloof courtier.

“ Fabulous, one should hope. “

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Seeing someone else wear that color in their hair, made her realize how long it had been since she had last seen her loved ones under the great shadow of the Eldyr tree. And a sudden visceral pining bloomed in her chest. Warm, but poignant with the bittersweetness of longing for ones family.

Farren blinked quickly through now misty eyes and stepped forward to softly reach for the end of Aarno's braid. Her face scrunched into a nostalgic expression, a sharp exhale and close-lipped smirk as she brushed her thumb over the leather tie and silk-like tendrils of Aarno's hair. "Indeed." She murmured distractedly, lost in memories.

A quiet moment passed before a staggered inhale centered the Dusker and she gave a playful tug of his braid and dropped it over his shoulder and shifted back before smiling at him. "Yes, very handsome indeed." Farren leaned a hip against the counter and crossed her arms. "My obba actually gave that to me before I left. So I'm delighted it finally found a home."

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

He was persuaded to stillness, sat in silence as she approached and inspected his work. There was a fondness in the delicate touch and careful look with which she regarded, but he let neither influence the insufferable smirk upon his face. It was held, all the way until she finally let him go. No compliment without a bit of mischief, hmh?

Very handsome indeed. Damn right.

He allowed himself an additional uppity toss of his head, before finally losing the character and settling anew to his deadpan demeanour. Back to peeler and potato.

“ Obba— “ He repeated, not recognizing the word. “ That some relative, I assume? “ His eyes drifted to her for but a passing second, not hazarding that he linger and peel more than the potato skin.

“ Get to visit them often— Your family? They aren’t that far, after all, are they? “

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Softly snorting at his antics, Farren watched his hands as he prepped the potatoes, a safer place to rest her eyes while she steered her emotions to calmer waters.

Humming with contemplation at his question, a soft smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. "Obba... my grandfather. My mom's side." She finally raised her head with a laugh that was inspired by a memory. "He is both the goofiest and kindest man I've ever known. A born storyteller, as all my people strive to be. He's bonded to my Ona, my grandmother, who's actually the matriarch of my clan."

Noting a peel that fell outside Aarno's bucket, Farren quickly tucked down and threw it back inside. Reveling in the respite from standing on hard stone floors for so long, she stayed crouched down, resting her arms on bent knees. She sighed before continuing, "And no, I haven't seen them since last spring's Equinox. I imagine my ona is not particularly pleased with me for my long absence. But," She paused, the calendar rolling through her head, "we're approaching spring now. And by that time, my clan usually gathers to the North of the Eldyr tree for a few moons before moving West, closer to the Bystra river, where they let the livestock roam and fatten on summer grass."

She turned a cheek flat onto a forearm to regard Aarno's studious attention to his task with a wistful expression; her braid falling over one petite shoulder with a soft tinkling of bells. "If nothing egregious happens with the cultists, I hope to make it for the Day of the Wishing Trees. I miss them."

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

He listened, the tone in which she spoke of her family prying out a smile. That one should’ve felt so tenderly for their blood was something to envy, the feeling outdone only by the fact that he should’ve liked her enough to also feel happy for her.

A low hum signified his attention while his eyes wouldn’t, trained on the task at hand. She remained closer, suddenly squat to the ground next to him and he got the passing thought it must’ve all looked like they were exchanging secrets. Plotting betwixt each other, trying to hide from whom would put them both to work if they did not. An errant glance was sent to Louretta that hassled in and out of the room, directing her staff.

How long now, until she’d deem Syr Lóthlindor slacking. Much too soon, probably.

“ If something is for sure, it is that we cannot know what will happen. With the cultists or otherwise. “ He started, voice lower as it needed not reach as far past the kitchen ambience. “ But I hope you get to make it. You seem so terribly fond of your family. “

He flashed a little smile, for sincerity of the sentiment.

“ When is this Day of the Wishing Trees? Sounds important — is it a large celebration amongst your clan? “

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Love colored her voice as she murmured, "I am, yes. Everyone has their part to play in our community. Work is shared and no one is left wanting for what they need. In many ways the Order reminds me so much of them. A family." She watched a kitchen worker with a blue apron walk by them and grab her trays of biscuits, walking towards the wall of brick ovens. Turning back to Aarno she went back to watching his hands, passively admiring their dexterity. "I think I miss their stories the most. There's something beautiful and sacred about passing your history down through spoken words only."

She smiled reflexively at Aarno's question and rolled onto her toes to get closer to him, as if they were indeed exchanging secrets between them. "It's only my absolute favorite celebration." A bright light sparking her grey eyes to silver. "It's the only time where we actually write anything down. And that's in the form of wishes and promises that we put down on strips of red ribbon."

"Then we take those ribbons and tie them to trees in a special part of the forest, just north of the Eldyr tree. Then we end the day with a massive feast and a night of dancing and stories. In the morning, we leave to the west, only returning the following year to take down the ribbons whose wishes and goals were actually fulfilled."

A wistfully sad expression flit across her face, "There are some ribbons that have been there so long that no one even remembers who tied them there. But we honor them by keeping them up, even when the words have faded." She placed a hand over heart. "Because it's with the people that their wishes remain."

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

Strips of red ribbon. Wishes, waving in the wind. Fabled and yet so— terribly uncomplicated. Things of memory, mutual appreciation and community.

His head bobbed, understanding in his look as it regarded Farren from beneath a concentrated frown. A downcast tone had come upon it, acknowledging meaning and depth in what she spoke of. The passage of time — the myriad of things that could’ve caused a ribbon to remain unclaimed. Life, death, remembrance.

“ It is a comforting thought — To be marked to memory in such a way, even if one’s wish should’ve gone unfulfilled. “ Despite his curiousity, he suppressed the idle wonder as for the contents of her wishes — what each and everyone might’ve written, given the chance. What even was reasonable to entertain and put up in a tree?

How was one supposed to choose from all the important things.

“ To have tradition tied to the act of wanting things is — grounding, I imagine. That one should get to commit ardent desires to something physical, wherein they exist beyond the confines of just the self. “ Do they mean more that way? Are they chosen to be a goal, or merely a contribution to collective reality. A truth, written and thus released from the flesh and a singular lifetime.

“ What does it mean — to be bonded? “ He asked, stare dipping away into the bucket.

" Would I be right in assuming it is not exactly like what I knew in Alliria as marriage? "

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Farren couldn't help the soft curl of her mouth at Aarno's musings. "Heh. I quite like how you think. Yes, it is something like that. But how we see it is, we are releasing our desires into the world. If we are deemed ready for them, they make their way back to us. If not, they stay in the forest, watched over by the Eldyr tree. And we're freed from their influence while we wait."

The clamor of the kitchen seemed to have died down some around them. They were probably almost done with prep and ready to serve lunch. Her stomach growled at the thought.

To distract herself, Farren answered Aarno's question after a contemplative pause. "Hmmm. Yes, but not quite like Allirians. For starters, the women in my clan run the households. They're actually the only ones who learn how to shapeshift too. As women are deemed sacred and thought to be the ones who can best convey with spirits."

Farren picked up the end of her braid and jostled it softly, the tinkling like silvered laughter. It always gave her chills if she listened close. "These are actually spirits." Her thumb rubbing fondly over the runic engravings over the surface of one of the bells. "We bond with the spirits of the Valen Wilds and it allows us to change forms. And we use those forms to protect the forest."

Shyly, Farren glanced up at Aarno. "I have four bells for the four animals I can become. But there are women, like my Ona, who have eight. She's quite formidable to tell you the truth." A chuckle accompanied the admission.

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

A series of firm nods communicated his attention and understanding, look mooring to her hands at the chime of bells. The silver glittered, engravings alive with both fire and winter’s light. Their pale tone made the red of the string all the brighter, a perfect complement.

“ You’re not terribly unformidable yourself, even if your bells and bonded spirits aren’t as numerous. “ I should know. He commented, another sliver of a potato’s skin dropping off the peeler. By the lessening hubbub about the kitchen, he really ought to have picked up the pace.

“ Should’ve given you the peeler, that Louretta. Or two, so you might’ve complemented my deplorable speed with this— “ He hummed down at his hands, peeling a little faster for effect. It was all in mock lamentation, a knowing smirk about him as his look swept the kitchen about them.

“ She’ll have my head, Farren. Or worse, tarnish my scoundrel’s honour — Whatever will I do. “ His voice lowered into a whisper as he regarded his fellow knight in a glance, one brow raised like he was measuring her up for something.

" Suppose I could run. I already had my coffee. "

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Formidable. It was an odd feeling having that word applied to her. If anything, she was just a person who took the safety and health of her community seriously, and would gladly stand in the way of whatever sought to change that. Teeth bared and ready.

Before she knew it, Farren had offered her hand out to relieve Aarno of the peeler, brow quirked with a coy expression. "I think you make a solid point, dear Knight. Here. Go on." Her head quirked towards the main doorways. "Let me. Your company was more than enough in exchange— I can finish well enough here." Her eyes flitted to Louretta across the kitchen, tracking her progress towards them after quelling the fires for the afternoon. "And me thinks you better hurry if you're looking to leave here without your ass scathed and your hands full of more leftovers than you could manage to eat."

Farren noted his hestitation and tried to assuage his doubts, "Perhaps we can have a proper sit down over a drink sometime and I'll tell you the rest of what I know about the festival, ye? Deal?" The casual way in which she tried to offer the raincheck belied the sudden nervous flutter in her stomach, a feeling she chose to resolutely ignore and examine in private where she could dissect their entire interaction to her heart's content.

Aarno