OuyangDan

It was the hardest part, keeping them clean. The feathers had a way of holding onto odor, and it forever bothered him, sometimes to distraction. The new ones were free from the wear and tear and smells, but the the plucking had left behind smudges which had to be cleaned away, one shimmering green and purple variegated feather at a time. The sheen under the ever-present candlelight had an almost calming effect as he very gently washed each calamus, having care not to wet the actual vane, then laid them gently back into the small chest where he'd been keeping them while he collected them. It had taken months, but he finally had enough. The pro

It was Brunhilde who came to see her when she should have been abed and not pacing the halls endlessly. Brunhilde who was a wonder to behold in combat. Brunhilde who was nearly perpetual motion of blonde braids and glints of sunlight off of steel. Long arches that made the sword an extension of her well-muscled arms. Brunhilde who pushed her to learn faster and left little room for mistakes. There was no room for excuses amongst the shieldmaidens. For all her sternness, it was also Brunhilde who had taken her under her wing and treated her as a sister. "Sif you should retire to your bed." Her bright blue eyes pierced Sif with a fierceness she

The sun filtered through the tall trees of the private garden, dappling the ground with a shimmer of gold which flickered with every breeze, and blew strands of Sif's similarly coloured hair into her eyes. It carried that quiet which made her uneasy in her stillness. She rolled her shoulders, smoothed her hair back into her tight ponytail, and let out a long breath. Archery was hardly her favorite. She was skilled enough that should could teach it to Loki, though he quickly passed her in skill. She trained her eyes down, focusing on the target, and curled fingers around the riser. She loosed the arrow, striking the target — but only bar

It felt like she was falling. She hovered enough near consciousness that she was aware that she was moving. Then not. She skimmed so close to wakefulness that she couldn't dream, but she couldn't open her eyes, either. Kahrin didn't know how long she'd been out. Sound seeped in eventually, invading her darkness, tugging at her mind. There was… something she needed to be doing. Slowly aches returned to her, and she itched. Not her skin. Deep in her blood, she felt like she needed to be moving. The smells came next. Strong, like the balm her nan used to rub on her chest as a girl or the salve she slathered on scraped knees and elbows. He

Kahrin had met King Cailan before Ostagar. She'd been quite young and he not much older. Kahrin herself had been kept mostly from Court to avoid the uncomfortable necessity of turning down offers of marriage, but King Maric and his son had not been strangers to the Couslands, or to Highever. One of her fondest and earliest memories included being perched upon King Maric's knee while he told tall tales about Grey Wardens and darkspawn, and while Cailan hung on his words and begged his father to embellish the details just a little more. But that had been the furthest it ever went. As far as she knew, there had never been talk of potential match

The woman's brow was drawn down, her eyes peering out and almost through them. The timbre and cadence of her voice seemed as though she were talking to herself, and they only there to listen by chance. "I have watched your progress for some time. Where do they go, I wondered. Why are they here? And now you touch ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?" "Don't answer her," Alistair's voice was low, the hint of menace obvious. "She looks Chasind. There may be more of them." Kahrin said nothing as she examined the situation. She'd never seen a Wilder before. The woman before her certainly didn't look like a baby-eating monster barbaria