Dear Fellow Traveler

"I agree with you, the Tapester's story is far better," came a voice from the young man now sitting on the ground next to her.

"Silovar!" Osthryn jumps, catching herself as she nearly topples over in fright. The Tapester merely chuckles, evidently used to Silovar and his antics.

"For one, I much prefer the emphasis on Cointha's role as a mercy goddess, and the much prettier picture the fairy hill paints of what happens after death to good, righteous souls. Much better ending too. And, what is with the South Wing?"

"What are you doing here?" Osthryn asks, prickled at his rudeness: scaring her and hijacking an otherwise perfectly good morning.

"Gōd morgen sīe þē, hu eart þú?" Comes the reply with an insufferable smugness on Silovar's face. He continues despite the iciness of Osthryn's stare, the latter still recovering from the fright, "Much the same as you, I suppose. To wile away this beautiful Norostag morning at the equally wonderful South-East District Market Square. And now, I have happened upon a familiar face!"

"Here lass, have yer tapestry - hope it is as beautiful as you found my tale," interjects the Tapester, laughing as Osthryn rolled her eyes dramatically at Silovar.

"Thank you," Osthryn replies. She runs her hands over the beautifully woven scene: a small green hill stands in a rolling plain, the faint glow of a content yellow-haired ghost peeking through the opened soil. After a moment's admiration, she rolls it and ties it securely with the ribbon the Tapester hands to her.  "It is beautiful, like a small part of home I am still looking to find," Osthryn muses, her voice falling quiet as she says it.

Silovar rises to his feet with her as she stands, "Do you mind if I join you?" He asks.
Osthryn had half a mind to insist on a morning to herself, but soon dismissed the thought. It seems to have become a habit of Silovar’s to chip away at her defences.

"What's the harm?" Osthryn smiles, "Any traveler needs their friends."

Silovar grins, practically skipping as he folds his hands behind his back and falls in step with her. Osthryn is almost flattered at his eager acceptance of her hesitant invitation. She watches with bemusement as his steel-blue eyes, which should have appeared cold, dart with lively curiosity at every diversion in the well-populated square. She smiles despite herself. While she does have less than half the frantic energy, she likely also appears like a curious child drinking in the sights everywhere she travels.

"So, Osthryn, what is it with the South Wing?" Silovar asks just as Ostrhyn comes to a stop in front of a stall selling hand-made jewellery. "Do you know what the Wings are?" Osthryn asks as she studies an intricately cast pendant."Why else would I be asking?" Silovar counters playfully.
Osthryn moves on to a set of hair ornaments - three matching pins, the heads were of bronze roses the size of two of her thumbs pressed next to one another. She absently notes there is no silver jewellery. Perhaps the merchant's budget for materials was too small to allow it. In any case, she is grateful for it. Her speculation is answered in the smattering of a conversation she hears next to her - silver is getting harder to buy. The merchant complains bitterly of some shortage driving up prices. She turns her attention from that conversation before she can get too deeply absorbed into it.

"In the North we do not have gods, not in the way you do," Osthryn explains to Silovar as they walk, weaving the newly-purchased hairpins through her braid. " The Wings are the remnants of the Four Great Dragons that shattered the stones together which formed our world. One represents each cardinal direction. They send the wind where they will it, when they will it. They are like the fae and Great Dragons that birthed them: indifferent and brutal. Harvests are at their whim, and so the lives of the people too."

Osthryn admires the bronze flowers ornamenting her braid, making them a secret little reminder of her true identity that she feels is an appropriate marker of her new start. Satisfied, she lets the braid fall over her shoulder.

"The Fae may be somewhat indifferent or self-serving sometimes, but I do not know about outright brutality," Silovar comments."Have you met one of the Fae?" Osthryn asks sardonically.Silovar smiles absently, "Several, actually." He turns to look Osthryn in the eyes, "Some quite beautiful."

Osthryn's heart skipped a beat, but she determined to interpret the latter comment as a compliment rather than suspicion. Yet, still, her mind flew to fear that Silovar was inquisiting her nature. She stamped it out, disallowing that train of thought, and turned to the question of responding to the compliment instead.

"You should mind those," Osthryn deflects, "Many young men met their ends dancing with a 'beautiful fae woman'."
"I have no fear for the Baobhan Sith, if that is what you are referring to." Silovar winks, but his voice belies that he truly does not fear them. Foolish. If he had met one, he would not be here to follow her around telling tall tales - the Baobhan Sith would have long devoured him. Osthryn scoffs, "No man has ever survived a face-to-face encounter with a Baobhan Sith."
"So you say," Silovar grins, spinning to face her before turning back on his course, walking lock-step with her, his hands still clasped behind his back. Osthryn shakes her head at the sight.

"Why did you travel down south?" Silovar pipes up after a beat of companionable silence.
Osthryn wistfully runs her fingers over the petals of the bronze flowers in her hair. "Wanderlust," she answers absently, directing her gaze up at the clear blue sky dotted with a few cottony clouds, "I wanted something different."
"Is climbing ladders in a library all day and apprenticing for Old Man Oswald different enough for you?" Silovar probes.

Osthryn feels her usual fear of scrutiny rising - but it stays for but a moment before dissolving. "I think so. For now. The quiet is welcome," She finally decides. It is strange for her to feel so easy around anyone, let alone someone as relatively unknown to her as Silovar. She feels a kinship, a rare mutual understanding, with this young human mage. Osthryn has no idea how to deal with it, so she allows herself the indulgence of enjoying the attention.

"How long did you travel?" Silovar asks.
"My whole life, it feels," Osthryn chuckles joylessly, before answering, "Southward would be a few years by foot and riverboat, and finally several months by sea. The last stretch of which I was accompanied by my new scribe-master Oswald."
Silovar stops them in their tracks, turning to stare at her, "That long?"
"I did stop and tarry at several different cities and villages along the way, I am not an uncultured traveler that rushes through the world," Osthryn laughs.
"No, no," Silovar starts, stepping in front of her as if to block her path in his earnestness of this question. "Why didn't you fly?"

Osthryn begins to feel trapped. Unconsciously, she taps her finger on her cheek three times. Her response is quick-footed, "Do I look like I might sprout wings and feathers like some migratory goose?" She asks ascerbically.

Silovar took a good long look at her, his eyes unnervingly calculating. Osthryn feels her heart beating faster under the scrutiny, not noticing that she reaches up to tap her cheek three times again. The rhyme desperately repeated itself in her head to fill the short silence. Silovar's eyes certainly do not miss it a second time, but he leaves it be.

Finally, he cocks his head and narrows his eyes, "No, you don't remind me of a goose. You are more like a crow, collecting shiny things and dripping with sarcasm."

Osthryn masks a sigh of relief with a scoff, "I am no collector of shiny things!"
"Then what is this?" Silovar gestures at the bronze roses and the tapestry, his voice lilting higher with the teasing, "You are practically a hoarder!"

Osthryn shakes her head in amusement, holding her tapestry a little closer. Though she would have preferred a morning at her own pace, Silovar's presence at the market is nothing if not surprisingly welcome companionship from a human mage.