Just Camping

Glasha leads the way through the wilderness. She's not wearing her pretty shawl, but instead carries a backpack with some basic camping supplies. The puffy, white clouds can't be seen through some areas in the forests, but once a suitable clearing is found, Glasha shields her eyes as she walks out. Closing her eyes, she listens. There's the sound of water not too far off, ubiquitous buzzing of insects, and there weren't any major animal trails through the underbrush. "I think this will do," she says. She moves to a large-ish rock in the clearing and hops atop it, looking back at whomever ended up following her this far out.

There's a black and white mottled swiftclaw following her, placidly observing. There's a raven standing on the swiftclaw's head. This is Iuitl, who is currently cavorting around in animal shape because it makes her feel attuned to nature. And because it makes people uncomfortable and that amuses her.

The copper-scale Sith trails along behind Glasha, in the general vicinity of the Crow and her swiftclaw. He is well armed, and under the grey robes, his armour quietly jingles and rattles as he moves along. "One defers to your judgement.", Geir says quietly, moving around the large rock Glasha stands upon, taking up a position on the other side, his eyes scanning the underbrush for potential dangers.

The usually self-assured half-sil that brings up the rear is stumping along at the rear of the group, looking around her with rather wide eyes, in the way of one who's in much higher - and different - company than she was expecting. She hasn't said much this trip, but curiosity wars with nerves, and she watches her companions as much as the road around them.

The usually self-assured half-sil, who named herself Aimarra, that brings up the rear is stumping along at the rear of the group, looking around her with rather wide eyes, in the way of one who's in much higher - and different - company than she was expecting. She hasn't said much this trip, but curiosity wars with nerves, and she watches her companions as much as the road around them.

Morgan is following the group keeping quiet for a change, and unlike most mages she is keeping up with the group. Some times she does stop to pick a root or something but easly ceatches up with the group.

From her perch atop the rock, Glasha thumps the haft of her axe-staff against the ground and puts her hands atop the flat top that usually contains a perched raven. Said raven (possibly said raven, anyway) swoops out of the trees, having followed the group from the air, perching atop Glasha herself. Glasha smiles at the others. "I want to thank you guys for coming with me. Going out into the wilderness and camping is one of those things I miss doing. There were a few people who mentioned wanting to come with me, and I gave them my rough plan of travel. If they follow it, they should join us soon enough."

Iuitl the Swiftclaw finds a suitable spot to linger, laying down and curling up, but keeping her head lifted to watch for potential threats around them. Her Raven, the familiar sitting on her head, lets out a bird noise toward Glasha's own bird in greeting. "Rrrr."

"One hopes they find use before nightfall. Wandering about here in the dark is not advised.", Geir rumbles, moving to the rock, where he removes his backpack, and sets it upon the ground. He eyes the Raven settled atop the swiftclaw, and chuckles, looking then to the bird that lands upon Glasha's axe. "It is good to have a bird's eye view of the area."

The copper-scale Sith moves to the Swiftclaw's side, offering a few strokes along the beast's neck. "Perhaps you could join your familiar in the sky above, to see what can be seen?"

Morgan says as she fixes her haversack "Well I am all caught up with my guild work and have a few days before they need me to do what ever the lazy ones dont want to do." that last part shows a bit anoyance at certain people.

Aimarra listens, rather than chiming in, among people so obviously more capable than she. There is much to be learned here, she senses, and so she does not contribute to the conversation, yet.

Glasha's raven responds in kind to the other familiar in the group. "Hope so!" Glasha says, picking up her greataxe before hopping down from the rock. "Anyone need help with food? I know not everyone who enjoys going camping is great at finding things to eat, and I don't want anyone to go hungry."

Iuitl takes Geir's advice pretty directly. She gets up, shakes some sense into her nerves, and then... launches straight up into the air. There is now a raptor flying around like Superman above the wilderness, scouting for threats that might be more dangerous than 'a flying raptor.'

Morgan shakes her head "I brough some food." she pats the side of her bag "Its mostly dryed meats and fruits with some nuts."

For the first time, Aimarra pipes up from the back. "I can hunt, if people want," she offers, straightening a little.

Geir has barely time to take a step back, watching Iuitl take to the skies. He snorts and chuckles, shaking his head. "If there is any wonder why one loves the feathered one, it is thus." The Sith gestures skyward. He turns to look to Glasha, and rolls his shoulders. "One is rather practiced at catching fish, though there is plenty of food in one's pack. Fresh food is always more delicious."

Morgan nods and agreas with Geir "Its always good to have back up though. And I can hunt and I think fishing would be better though." said in a manor of that fish sounds great now.

"Mostly I just gather," Glasha says with a shrug. "Alright, right now we need stones and wood for a fire," she continues. "At least if we want to do things like my mother and cook meat to eat. I always just eat whatever I can find I know isn't poisonous, but it's probably nicer to eat cooked meat." Glasha picks up her axe and lets the haft slap down against her hand, holding it in two. "I can get us some wood," she suggests.

The copper-scale nods slowly. "One will attempt fishing." The Sith begins the process of shucking off his armor, ending up in grey, homespun shirt and pants. He hefts his spear, and wanders into the underbrush in search of the stream or brook that can be heard nearby. "Though one does not have a preference for cooked or raw meat, the fire is good at keeping the cold at bay during the night."

He casts his eyes skywards a few times, looking for the large raptor that swoops about above.

This, at least, Aimarra knows something of. She steps a little away from the others and sets her pack down, eyes roving the clearing in search of evidence of previous fires or firepits, or materials that may be used to construct a fire pit. The first is rather preferable.

GAME: Glasha rolls 1d20: (13): 13

As Glasha wanders off to get firewood, Aimarra's searching turns up an old fire pit. It hasn't been used in at least a couple seasons, but with a little work, it can be made safe for fires again.

Morgan puts her pack down and looks for a long stick that she sharpens with a dagger "well I will help you with the fishing." said to the dragon kin. For a mage she is very hands on.

A few sounds of splashing can be heard a distance away. "One thinks we shall have bass for dinner.", comes Geir's voice. "How is the building of a fire coming along?"

Oh, good. While the others have gone off to hunt, or fish, or gather firewood, or whatever else they are doing, Aimarra scuffs up the area she found, unearths rocks with burn marks on them. "This place has been used before," she calls back automatically, setting about methodically turning over every rock she finds. This sends bugs scurrying in every direction, but it doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest.

A few minutes of this activity reveals a previous firepit, now freshly overturned, dirt tossed amid the grass, but the undersides of the rocks look reasonably safe to use. There are some grasses and plants in the remnants of the old firepit to be pulled up, and she begins to set to that.

Morgan is floating above the water with her makeshift spear trying to spear a fish, and she is glad that she has two better hunters here as she keeps missing the fish that she is hunting up stream from Geir from.

The Sith has set his spear aside, and crouches in the pool of water. Several fish swim around his feet and ankles, unperturbed by his presence. A lunge, and one of them is deftly snatched from the water. That is carefully laid upon shore, and he returns to his previous position to wait. "Hmm, it is not surprising, with the fish here so good, that the area has been camped before. There appear to be plentiful game trails also. Let us endeavor to keep this place a secret, so that we might enjoy it in future."

Grass and dirt continue to fly over where Aimarra is, but they stop eventually, and while there is still activity over there, it's of a quieter sort, from where the others stand. A few minutes later, she steps back, wiping dirty hands across her sweaty forehead and leaving streaks of dirt behind, then jumps into the re-created pit and jumps on each of the rocks a few times to ensure that they are firmly seated.

Morgan spears a fish by luck and the giddy yes she gives she is new to that. She holds it up and says "Well I caught enough for me." said as she looks at the small meal she got.

"We fish for all, or not at all.", the copper-scale Sith says quietly. A lunge and splash follows, itself followed by a muttered curse, indicates a failed attempt. "Unless you wish to forage for your own wood and campsite?"

The fire-pit complete, Aimarra turns and goes herself into the woods, but returns much sooner than Glasha, and with three or four longish branches, still half-green. These she cuts into varying lengths, using her longsword, a hatchet from her pack, and a well-placed foot, then carries the lot of sticks down to the stream a little downstream from where the others are. It's unclear what she has in mind as she dumps the lot into the stream a bit downstream from Geir.

Glasha returns to the campsite with her arms full of wood. She dumps the lot of it near to the center of the clearing. Her bare arms glisten with sweat and her axe will need cleaned from the wood bits on it, but she's got her job done. She looks around, seeing who's got what around her. "Wood," she says, pointing at the logs.

The copper-scale straightens, slightly, as he turns to peer at Aimarra. "One wonders what you are doing, miss." His tail curls back and forth slightly, like a large cat's. He looks down a moment, and lunges. This time, successful. "Two. One each should be plenty, yes?", Geir asks of no one in particular.

Aimarra looks up, then back at her pile of sticks, now thoroughly wet. "You can't very well cook fish on a stick," she points out. "You can make a platform to cook them over the fire, wrapped in the river grass, but if you don't want your platform to burn, you need to soak it first." A ready grin. "Keyvan taught me that trick."

"Don't look at me," Glasha says after a moment. "I mostly gather." She gestures at the wood. "I making the fire?" she asks.

Glasha will find, in answer to her question, that a freshly-secured fire pit awaits her wood, lined with stones and with dirt and grass pulled away from it. Aimarra looks up at the call, and shrugs. "I have no traps with me, but I can bow-hunt if it is not enough. Go ahead," she adds to Glasha. "I cleared the fire pit, there was one already."

Geir snorts and nods to Aimarra. "A reasonable solution to the issue at hand. One often uses a thin, flat rock, and places it into the fire. One also brings metal sticks, and a grill, to cook things on or over the fire. It's a little like cheating, one supposes. We can use your method, one shall see if the flavour is affected."

He crouches once more, and after a short period of time, a fish swims too close, and is snatched from the water. "Three." He glances in Glasha's direction. "One assumes there are other things to go with the fish. One has herbs. A few roots."

GAME: Glasha casts Prestidigitation. Caster Level: 2 DC: 14

Glasha assembles wood into a vague pyramid shape with smaller sticks beneath. She then speaks in that unknowable language all wizards seem to have foisted upon them by magic itself, combined with some tired gestures. A flame sparks beneath the fire and Glasha flops onto her butt.

"But it's way easier than mine." Aimarra makes a face at the sticks in the water that is dangerously close to a pout. "I didn't even think of what kind of wood making a difference in the flavor," she admits. "We can sure try it." She, too, is distracted, then, by the mention of things to go with fish. "I can go find something."

GAME: Aimarra rolls survival: (13)+10: 23

After a time, the Sith returns with five fish in total. He lays these out upon a flat rock that Aimarra had unearthed. From his pack he pulls a few sharp knives. Settling upon his knees, he begins to clean and filet the fish. "A long day?", Geir wonders of Glasha. "Food and sleep will seem magical, if so. It is the thing one enjoys most about living rough."

He looks to Aimarra and chuckles. "Truthfully, it should not impact the flavour poorly. One is only curious, that is all, about what changes it might, if any, make. It is always handy to understand one's options should one find one's self in this sort of situation. Involuntarily. Voluntarily, one can choose to do things the rougher way, or the more... modern, if lazy, way."

Glasha casts prestidigitation on the rock, cleaning it properly as fish are prepared on it. She shrugs. "I'm an indoors girl," she admits. "Chopping firewood and hiking is definitely a workout for me."

"Yeah," Aimarra agrees. "Being lazy isn't always bad, though. Keyvan used to say that being smart is its own form of laziness." She had trailed back behind Geir, leaving the sticks to soak in the stream for now. "I'm going to see what else I can find to go with the fish." Clearly having far more energy than Glasha, she turns and takes herself back into the woods.

"As they, this nebulous thing, they... they are fond of saying, work smarter, not harder." The coppery one chuckles. "Efficient, others would say. Better. One believes, it is simply different." He nods to her. "One suggests either root vegetables, or perhaps some of the sweet berries found on bramble bushes. Either would be welcome flavours."

He nods then to Glasha. "One believes that you are doing well, for an... indoors girl. Confident, you should be, of your abilities to not die when in such situations. One has watched people come apart when thrust so far outside their comfortable room."

"Mom would take my sisters and I out camping every weekend," Glasha explains. She crawls to her pack on the rock and pulls from it her waterskin. She casts Prestidigitation again to cool the water, then chugs some. She stands with somewhat renewed vigor. "Healthy body," she quotes, "healthy mind. I'm the eldest, but still somehow the smallest between myself and my sisters." She shrugs. "Still, thank you." She moves and sits next to the rock as he works on the fish. "I heard part of you guys' discussion. Why can't one cook fish on a stick? I've done it that way."

the Sith shrugs. "One believes she meant that it would be difficult to do so with a prepared fish, as thus." He gestures to the delicate filets he is slowly setting out, still cutting and working with the fish. "One could stick the whole fish on a stick and thrust it into the fire. But one risks eating bits that may not agree with one's digestion. Better to cut out bone and scaly bits, intestines and so forth."

Glasha shrugs. "I can eat pretty much anything," she says. "I really didn't pick up survival stuff very quickly. Mom tried to teach me what to eat and what to look for, but it was like I forgot each time we went out. So, basically, I had to just figure out what's the worst thing to eat and avoid those things. I could subsist on pine cones and moss, I'm sure," she says, playfully. She grabs a stick off the ground and goes back to the growing fire to poke at it. "Probably would be better if we lived in the forest with my grandfather and not in the city where Daddy worked."

Geir chuckles. "One finds that everyone has different tastes when it comes to eating and survival. People could survive on very little, or odd things, this is true. In truth, water is far more important. If one is lost for only a few days, one can go hungry as long as one is not thirsty. But if one is able, and knows how, one should prepare food to taste."

He regards Glasha for a time and cants his head to one side. "Did you not write down what your mother taught you? At least then, one could forget, and remind one's self by flipping a few pages, yes?"

"No books," Glasha explains. "The whole camping thing started because Mom wanted to get my nose out of books and outside. She didn't think it was healthy for me to read so much." She touches her nose. "Probably why I don't need glasses like Daddy," she speculates.

Morgan comes from the wood line with some spare wood that is put in a pile. She goes over to small fishes she cought and is carefully cleaning them as she is using the wrong kind of knife and you can tell she knows that.

Glasha caps her waterskin and moves to Morgan. She flops down next to her and watches her a couple moments. "Mind if I teach you, teacher?" she asks with a playful smile.

Merek takes the time to put on his black attire, from the pants to the shirt, a belt adjusted about it, a felt hat which he wears, while there is a scarf which shifts about in the wind. A dragonspitter is on the hip, while he watches folk when he comes upon the camp, with a wave to people.

Morgan nods "I know how to do it but a dagger is much harder to clean a fish, but if you know tricks please show me." said as she holds the blade and offers the handle to Glasha.

GAME: Glasha rolls Survival: (9)+5: 14

Glasha begins teaching Morgan what she knows. She looks up and waves to Merek, whom she doesn't know, yet.

The copper-scale nods to Glasha, and shrugs. "Certainly, she meant other books? Reading those about nature and survival should surely have met her approval?" He sets aside the filets, awaiting the return of Aimarra and her setup to cook said fish filets. The Sith offers Merek a polite nod. "Pace upon your nest.", he intones.

Aimarra is nowhere to be seen at first, and it has been some time since she disappeared into the treeline. When she comes back, though, it's with an old hollow log on one hip, and it looks to have something pale-colored in it. She approaches the fire more closely, grinning triumphantly. "There's a pear tree growing wild about a half-mile from here, I'd never seen one before!" she tells them excitedly, setting down the log. In addition to some ripe pears, she seems to have found a blackberry bramble. "The birds got most of the blackberries, but there were a few deep in the spines." The girl's bracers are tucked into her belt, and her forearms and hands are scratched up and bloodied, along with a nasty-looking raised bite scar on her left forearm from wrist to elbow. She was bitten by something big, and nasty.

Glasha stands and moves to Aimarra, ignoring Geir's question for now. She looks over the other woman's arms and says, "You should be more careful. I don't have teleportation magics nor even a scroll of cure wounds." She looks over Aimarra's haul, then her forearms again. She makes eye contact and says, "Were peaches worth that?" she asks, gesturing to her arms.

Geir looks over Aimarra's haul as well. "Hmm, one thinks we shall try blackberry and apple roast fish. Excellent finds. If you would go and gather your wet sticks, we can cook these. One asks that you give your arms a good rinse, also. We can tend to those wounds that do not stop bleeding after a good rinse, yes?"

"Do you need healing?" Merek asks then to Aimarra, while he looks to Glasha and to folk about. "Do you need any assistance in cooking?" he asks, while he takes a moment to shift while the beltcape then does. The man tips a hat, "Merek," he offers as an introduction. No titles offered of course.

Morgan stands near Glasha "he is also part of the guild and in the past has advised me on my studys." she then says to the group "I dont need to eat but is there enough for all of you?"

Glasha gestures at Merek. "You're a healer? If you've got cure wounds, would you mind curing this nice lady here? I don't know if she's contracted any poison or disease," she admits. She looks toward Morgan, specifically lifting the other woman's hands, looking for rings.

GAME: Merek rolls spellcraft: (16)+21: 37

"Oh, please," Aimarra rolls her eyes at Glasha, although not angrily. "You sound like Grandmother, scared of everything. The blackberries did that, they're not poison or anything like that. They'll itch, but no worse than that. The pear tree was really nice, I got everything ripe I could reach." The brown girl is a short little thing. "They smell so much better than the ones in the market back home." Some of her grin fades, and she nods to Geir. "You're right, I ought to clean them out properly."

GAME: Merek casts Cure Moderate Wounds. Caster Level: 10 DC: 16

The Sith lets out a chuckle, and nods to Aimarra. "My people do call you softskins for a reason. Your heads, however, are not soft. Very hard headed, and one does not mean physically. But you do not appear to be bleeding overly much. One assumes if you were badly off, you'd have made noise about it. So one's only advice is to clean the wounds. We can wrap any that do not stop bleeding. If you require, after that, one can offer healing, as can others here. One is a servant of the Deathdragon."

Merek looks to the scar Aimarra would keep on that arm. He then takes a moment to lift up a hand, while he motions with two fingers, a light chant, while the pendant which he wears with an ankh-like sigil begins to glow. Then it heals up the wounds of the woman's. The man nods a bit to the people, while he takes a moment to find a place to settle in. "What do we need to cook?" he asks.

Glasha takes a step back and lets Merek do his thing. Once he asks the question, Glasha answers, "We've caught some fish and collected some fruit. One of us found a nice flat rock. I was going to suggest we use that as a cooking surface.

GAME: Merek rolls profession/cook: (12)+8: 20

Morgan nods "I know where there is a apple grove that can take me about 20 minutes to go to. But if I do go I have to go alone as it is being taken care of a Dryad and I think she is in a mood that might keep the men folk there for a week or so." she leaves it at that.

Aimarra blinks as the scratches on her arm vanish, and blinks again. "Um ... thank you," she tells Merek tentatively, then takes her hands back and pulls the left arm close to her. "I had sticks soaking in the stream to cook on, but they aren't wet enough yet to not burn. Maybe we can use the rock now and try the sticks later?" she offers.

"One is fine with either.", Geir says, moving to use the rock to make a paste out of the blackberries, and cutting the pears into fine slices. The paste is spread over a few of the filets, while the pear slices are set over the others. He sets the rock into the fire, and settles down on one side. "One usually lets minor scratches be healed by the body as it was intended by the creators." Getting comfortable, he leans back on an elbow. "One wonders how you received the scar.", the copper-scale wonders of Aimarra. To Morgan, he shakes his head. "One does not want to know.", he says with a rueful chuckle.

Glasha shrugs. "Stuff grows in the water," she says. "Water can make you sick. I prestidigitated the rock clean. It's clean clean. When it's hot enough to boil water off it, it'll be clean no matter what's in the local fish." She gestures at the fire. "Only downside to rock is that it holds a lot of heat. It takes a long time to get hot and once it is hot it takes a long time to get cool."

Glasha looks at Morgan and says, "See if your friend might want some company. I've never met a Dryad, before, and she sounds interesting. Maybe I'd be interesting to her as well." She aims herself at the rock in the fire and attempts to cast Mage Hand on it. The spell simply fails. "Nope. Figured it would be too heavy for that," she admits.

"I can assist with the cooking, don't want to take up work from folk," Merek admits, while he nods a bit to Geir and Glasha, a look to Morgan, "The Fae folk." There's a nod while thinking about that.

Aimarra bites her lip at the mention of the scar, suddenly looking - scared? Her eyes dart around the clearing, as if searching for something that it doesn't find, and then they drop to her lap. "Um ... I'm being watched," she explains in a very small voice.

The copper-scale Sith eyes Aimarra for several long moments, and then nods slowly. "One understands. You are not obligated to divulge anything you do not wish to. Perhaps later you might search one out, yes?" Geir eyes Glasha a moment, and shakes his head. "The fire will cook things well enough. Save your magics, yes?"

Glasha gestures to the fire. "Just wanted to be able to add wood or move things around," she says. "Keep it even so the fish doesn't slide into the ashes," she adds, more quietly.

Still biting her lip, Aimarra nods. "Um ... maybe," she tells Geir, and quickly shuts up to watch as the others move in to set about cooking.

Morgan nods to Glasha "I will ask her, but I will never asume things with her." she takes a seat and lets others do the cooking.

Geir cants his head slightly, and nods to Glasha gently. "One meant no disrespect. One shall keep an eye on the cooking, and will rescue the fish should it be imperiled." His glance shifts to Aimarra, and he nods to her as well. "One can be found in Vardama's mountain temple in Alexandria, or the Soldier's Defense. One is willing to make time to discuss things, should you wish."

Merek nods a bit between folk, while he begins to tend to fish. A nice nod from the man while he looks to Aimarra, luminescent gaze thoughtful then back to Morgan, "Anyway, I am thinking about moving to the country, it's nicer in the wild."

Morgan looks over to Merek "do you know where in the country?"

GAME: Glasha casts Mage Hand. Caster Level: 2 DC: 14

Glasha grabs one of the pears and punctures it a few times with her stubby tusks. She then lifts it and gently taps it forward, as if propelling it in microgravity. The pear floats into the lapping flames, pear juices sizzling as they strike the wood, causing pops to intensify. She looks up, noticing the first stars of the evening and smiles. "Good evening, Mother," she says, mostly to herself.

Luna jumps up from the grass onto Glasha's head and peers into one of her eyes. "Your mother isn't here," she says in her pale immitation of Glasha's voice.

"No," Glasha admits, "but we always get to see the same stars," she says, gesturing toward the heavens.

Geir's eyes are drawn to the heavens, noting the passage of afternoon into evening. He smiles at Glasha then, nodding in agreement of what she says, and chuckling at the Raven's argument with her.

Aimarra's eyes, too, turn to the stars as they come out, and her stomach begins to growl as the smell of fish and fruit join the smells of wood fire. She lets the topics drift around her, her eyes on the stars above.

Morgan hmms "every thing smells nice, cant wait to try some of it."

Glasha nods her agreement with Morgan's words, but continues to look up, Luna also looking toward the heavens, now.

Merek looks between the people while he begins working with the fish. "This is nice, I like fishing, and making fish," he says, then to Morgan, "I don't know, probably someplace quiet with a nice river view."

"One offers a gift, to you all.", the Sith rumbles, reaching in with a knife to cut at one of the filets. "Mind yourself.", he says quietly to Merek. "They are almost done." He clears his throat. "Yes, a gift. Go and travel to Am'shere. Go and stay a night. Look up to the skies then, and see what you might see. A different sky. Different stars. Something to humble and shock you, something you might have to sail half a world to see. In a short journey to Mictlan, and into the portal."

Morgan streaches her legs and lays on the ground "Well some day down the line I might make a cotage some where and stay a long time at. But I might just make it a portal to my ideal home where I can study magic and a large libary to keep all the books I find."

Glasha listens to Morgan, but says to Luna, "You wanna see other stars?"

"I want my own demiplane filled with hunks and lots of shinies where people feed me all the time and all I have to do is sit on your shoulder," Luna replies.

"I mean--" Glasha tries, smirking. She clearly doesn't know how to respond to the bird. Instead, she looks to Morgan. "Can I teleport to your study and magic with you?" she asks, hoping her mentor and friend will still be available for academic shenanigans when she's got her perfect home.

Geir leans forward and shoves his hand into the fire, to retrieve the flat stone. Grunting, he sets the stone down, and shakes his hand, blowing on it lightly. Walking to his pack, he returns with several small, wooden plates, and wooden forks. "One believes they are ready. Seasoned with blackberry, or pear." In one hand, he offers up the plates, and in the other, a wide knife handle first, for selecting a filet for one's self.

Merek nods a bit to the Geir, then he looks to Aimarra, and to Glasha, and Morgan. "I'll keep that all in mind of course," he then takes a moment to begin eating, while he leans back to look at the stars thoughtfully.

Morgan shrugs "By that time you wont need me, and this is a plan I might do in 30 years." some times the elven people forget the age thing with others. "But I will have access for a lot of people to come and visit."

Aimarra is not slow to claim her share, although neither is she rude about it, selecting one of the pear ones for herself and taking it back to her seat by the fire. For now, she is content to eat, and to listen, about matters she has no idea about.