Sticks and Stones [Khaal] Nov 16, 2017 18:06:39 GMT
Post by Tempest Meadowlark on Nov 16, 2017 18:06:39 GMT
Sticks and stones may break my bones...It was very rare that Tempest allowed herself a day off – much of her staff still needed far too much training to be allowed to run the place without her, and she worried far too much for the patients’ health to leave it in the other healers’ hands for long. Controlling? Perhaps a tad… At least she cared. This was one such day off, which she’d had pretty much forced upon her. In all honesty, the infirmary was better staffed today than it had been for a long time, so instead of digging her heels in, Tempest had only put in a few token complaints before allowing them to take the lead. That didn’t mean, of course, that she hadn’t left them extensive notes and instructions. Her parting words had been: ”And if anyone passes today, they won’t be the only ones!” Accompanied, obviously, by an all-encompassing glower.
Most people would put their feet up and relax, given a day off. Tempest was not one of those people. Not only did she like the outdoors better than her home, she also had an issue with people who sat idle. Not much of a surprise, considering she had a problem with most people for one reason or another, but there it was. She went home only to get her pack. Though there were plenty of places she could get food or drink in the forest, she always thought it was better to be prepared with at least a little of one’s own. After all, the forest didn’t always like to share, and it was pretty rude to assume that there would always be something on hand – being out in nature wasn’t anything like being at an inn. Plus, she always carried the basics of a medical kit – gauze, needles, and catgut at the very least, along with a small amount of a variety of useful, pre-made tinctures – and the materials for a torch, or fire.
Sure, the pack pulled at her shoulder, but when one hurt, she simply swung it onto the other shoulder and carried on. Stubborn, through and through. At first, Tempest started on a well-worn path, plucking flowers, leaves, seeds, and pulling the occasional set of roots or bulbs. There was nothing too rare or potent this close to the fairy dwellings. For the good stuff, one had to put in a fair amount of travelling time. St John's Wort, Balm of Gilead, and the extremely versatile yarrow plant were her main aim, but her keen eyes were always on the lookout – Tempest's motto mirrored that of our own Boy Scouts; “always be prepared”. To that end, although it wasn’t particularly cold, especially enveloped in the dense foliage as she was, Tempest carried a fur cloak. Like all her others, it had more pockets than a magician’s robes, but it was far too warm to wear. Yet, anyway.
The hours passed fairly quickly, Tempest entertaining herself by whistling, humming and singing by turn. She had the occasional conversation with whatever avian creature fancied a chat, but it was mostly a solitary journey. Discontent to keep still, the birds didn’t often stay long – and she couldn’t blame them. They could fly faster than she could, and fit through much smaller spaces. She wondered, briefly, about the places they could access that she couldn’t, but her attention was quickly taken again by collecting her plants.
Tempest felt the change in the air all at once, instead of the gradual buildup she had expected, and she landed rather harder than she had intended next to a large pine. She rested her hand on the trunk to steady herself, and quickly pulled her hand back, shaking her hand as if that would rid it of the cold that had immediately permeated it. Thrice damned frost… Tempest thought, glowering at the tree. At least she knew she was in the right place. Swinging the thick fabric over her shoulders and fastening the clasp with practiced fingers, Tempest took her first step onto the frozen ground, wincing as the coldness sent needles through the soles of her feet. The things she did for her work….
... but words can never hurt me.