An Apple a Day (Closed)

[Lechies Degrantine]

Lechies stood before the vendor's stall, one hand gripping her staff and the other rubbing her chin as she eyed the selection of herbs and powders before her. The owner, his patience as generous as the size of his belly, did his best to pull Lechies' attention off the prices marked overhead and back down to the bins' actual contents.

"Fine quality stuff, this," the man was saying. "Same as what our local healers use to keep the winter cough off the streets." He nodded meaningfully at the bronze sun hanging from her neck. "I'm sure you can appreciate the value of good medicines when it comes to keeping our fair city healthy and bright."

"I can," Lechies said slowly, unable to stop her eyes from drifting again to the signs above. Her brow pinched. "But all the same, two silvers a bundle seems a bit..."

"Fine quality stuff!" the merchant repeated, waving a massive hand across his wares. "I'm hardly cheating you, miss! And you wouldn't do me the same crime, would you?"

"No, I suppose I wouldn't."

Lechies hummed in thought. She took her hand from her chin and dug into the satchel at her side. It came back with a hemp bag tied shut, which she dangled in front of the merchant.

"That said, I notice you're quite low on your stock of feverfew. It so happens that I've extra, so perhaps we could work out a deal?"

Minutes later, a satisfied Lechies exited the rows of stalls into a small plaza, a fountain bubbling merrily away in its center. Roderick was where she'd left him, the sandy-haired youth perched on its edge, head tilted up to the overcast sky. At her approach, he lowered his chin and gave a tired smile in greeting.

"Welcome back. Finished with your shopping?"

"Nearly." Lechies made for the next street over, Roderick close at her heels. "I just need some bandages now. They were past all those snack carts, if memory serves."

A quiet noise came from behind her, and Lechies paused to glance at her companion. Roderick was frozen mid-step. The noise came again, and he stared at his shoes, his cheeks coloring. He pressed a hand to his stomach, to no avail. Gurgle.

"Uh, could we maybe get a bite too, while we're at it?"

Lechies grinned as she resumed her walk. "Of course we can! Why don't you pick something for us both? Only, I'll ask you to pick something on the cheaper side, since I'm not sure how much longer my purse can-"

Roderick's eyes went wide. "Wait-"

He flung out his hand to stop her, too late, before Lechies felt her shoulder collide hard with someone else's.

[Mara Whitewood]

"I shall meet you back here by the fountain."

Heidrich's voice, deep and time-worn and beloved, reached her ears through the dark. Mara dropped the thread of her thoughts to angle her head in his direction. There was a faint rustling, the metallic clinking of reins, and she felt the air beside her stir before she heard her father's draft horse blow restlessly through his nose. She pictured the great beast flinging its head and chomping at the bit, eager to move on.

"Yes, father. In half an hour," she agreed, backing up a few steps from the horse and the cart hitched to his broad back.

The older man made an inarticulate noise that she interpreted as agreement. "Ristgir guide you," he said more clearly, and she smiled. His manner was brisk, but she detected the subtle affection that cast warmth upon his blessing as the sun peering through a break in the cloud.

Mara inclined her head and murmured softly, "And with you," in reply.

Heidrich clicked his tongue and snapped the reigns with a practiced flick of his wrist. Horse, man and cart lurched into motion with a creaking of wooden wheels and the heavy thump of hooves on cobblestone. Mara did not wait for the sounds of their departure to recede. Instead, she turned and waded into the bustling crowd of the midday market.

It had been some weeks since she was here last -- nearly a month. She could not be sure without the benefit of sight but Mara felt fairly certain that very little had changed. The layout of the market was more or less the same from day to day, with stalls on either side of the thoroughfare that bisected a spacious plaza. At this time of day any number of Fellsgardian flowed from one end to the other in either direction like fish in a stream, surveying wares while vendors tried to sell them on their "true value."

As a frequent visitor, Mara knew the currents well. Even so, she kept a firm grip on the staff-turned-walking-stick and allowed it to precede her as she navigated the proverbial waters. Scents and sounds abounded and she filtered them to the best of her ability as she wove her way through one pocket of space after the other.

Mara sensed the occasional eye on her, wary or curious or both, but nobody halted her progress. Hardly anyone did anymore. She supposed she was a common enough sight here after two decades, although the simple gray robes and the sunburst amulet dangling from her throat undoubtedly helped. Eschewing finery for a simple and righteous way of living, Ristgir's priests were bland in nearly every sense of the word; they moved unobtrusively through the world, doing little to garner attention from those around them.

Normally this was not a problem for Mara, who preferred to disappear among the masses. It was better to go unnoticed, particularly because of the traits that made her an unfortunate oddity within Tviyr. This invisibility was, however, merely figurative, a fact made abruptly apparent when a heavy weight careened into her.

Mara emitted a sound of surprise that was between a squeak and a squawk. A foot trod on hers, pinioning her in place and causing her to stagger. To maintain her balance, she dropped her staff altogether and put out both hands. The white oak staff clattered to the ground just as she snared the bodily obstruction by its arms.

"Please do excuse me!" she exclaimed, somewhat breathlessly. Surprise and pain had released a surge of adrenaline through her blood, potent in spite of how little it really was.

"I am very sorry," she continued a moment later, once she was sure they both had their balance, "that was very clumsy of me. Are you unharmed?"

Her toes smarted, as did her shoulder and the left side of her abdomen where bony protrusions found the softer areas of her torso. None of that really mattered just then. She would live.

[Lechies Degrantine]

Briefly winded by the impact, Lechies was surprised only for a moment before the realization of what had happened struck her. Horror and guilt slid down to her gut, scalding like a first sip of tea taken in too much haste. The noise that came from the stranger only made it worse, not to mention—dear gods, Lechies had stepped on her.

'You idiot,' her brain chided. 'Weren't looking. You absolute idiot.'

"Oh no, please, that was my fault," Lechies said quickly, cheeks hot, taking hold of the other woman's arms as well. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching the road..."

Her apology trailed off as the stranger's features finally registered. The pale hair, the token of Ristgir—the visor.

Lechies would never forget the visor, nor the circumstances under which she first laid eyes on it. Memories from years ago sprang to the front of her mind: a carriage rattling along the rails beneath them; the countryside green and bright through the window; little sandwiches sticky with jam. It was one of the few times Lechies had taken the train anywhere, as she usually preferred the steady anticipation of arrival on foot. But the favor asked of her, and the company she'd kept, had made expeditious travel rather necessary.

This was no stranger at all.

"As I live and breathe..." Despite her wounded pride—and bruised shoulder—a delighted grin was spilling wide over Lechies' lips. She strengthened her hold on the other woman's arms, squeezing with affection. "Mara Whitewood, is that you?"

Beside her, Roderick straightened from where he'd knelt to pick up the fallen staff. He held it out to Mara, perhaps not yet understanding the significance of the visor. His eyes darted between the two women.

"You know her, Miss Lechies?"