//2nd Vhalar, 723.// | The Dust Quarter. |
Vahekoh was slow to wake in the morning, her headache grumbling lowly in the background of her head. She'd slept stiffly, lying against the saddlebags she'd unsaddled from her horse Vahdah late in the night, and with a tiredness born of the long day's ride she'd had. So it was stiffly and sorely -sore from the ride to Rharne, and from
Her waking was slow, and the first thing that Vahekoh was aware of was her headache -low, but ominous in her head- and the aching of her body and her wrist. "Ugh," she mumbled, still mostly asleep- and for ten bits or so she lay there, on the ground, aware of the aching of her body but not wanting to wake. "Go back to sleep," she mumbled to herself, but by the time she mumbled it she was mostly awake. Vahekoh mumbled to herself some more and, stiffly and sorely, got herself up from the saddlebags.
Sitting on the ground, Vahekoh looked around at her surroundings. "Dust Quarter," she mumbled, aware of where she was, though in her memory she was still out in the Stormlands. Her thoughts were always slow like this in the morning, like little birds not willing to wake.
Looking around, Vahekoh thought sleepily that she must've located a bit of ground on the outskirts of the Dust Quarter to sleep on. In the outskirts of the Dust, Vahekoh saw little groups of tents here and there, like the Dust had stretched its legs some, out into the beginnings of the Stormlands. Out here it smelled like smoke- but also like fires cooking. It smelled like breakfast, but also -Vahekoh breathed in deeply- like long-cooking foods. That's not just breakfast cooking, Vahekoh thought, and realized that while she slept, the tents and the other residents of the Dust must have been awake, cooking long into the morning hours.
"What's going on," Vahekoh mumbled to herself, and -with some discoordination because of her aching wrist- looked through her pockets for something to inform her of the day's goings on.
"Got back to Rharne by dark," she said, mumbling over the writings that were in her own hand. Holding the papers in her hands, she wondered offhandedly where her journal was.
"Journal," she realized then, looking at the disparate papers she was reading. She went through her pockets, looking for the bound journal that she wrote in daily to organize her otherwise disorganized thoughts, but there was no journal on her person. "Journal, journal," she mumbled, worried now, and she moved stiffly, one of her wrists twinging badly, to go through the horse's saddlebags.
Vahekoh went through the saddlebags one time, then a second time, but there was no journal in the saddlebags. "Did I lose my journal?" she wondered, and just saying that she might have lost her journal brought bright tears to her eyes.
It was bad for her to have lost her journal, and Vahekoh swallowed back the tears, wondering where and when she might have lost it. Her journal was the thing that made sure she -whose memory worked differently than others'- remembered what she was doing in the day to day. It was, in its way, her second source of memory. Brushing a tear from her cheek, Vahekoh looked through the sparse papers she'd discovered in her pockets, reading and rereading her own writings.
"Get a medical kit at market," she read, and then, going back in the writings to what she thought was their beginning, "Going out to the woods."
"Going out to the woods," she whispered to herself. Why? she wondered. Why she had written on this paper and not in her journal? Had she lost her journal in the woods, and that was why she'd been going out? But then, if she had lost her journal and was going to look for it, why would she not have written that that was what she was doing?
The papers, too, were not marked with dates. The writing about the woods might have been from two days ago, four days ago, or a whole season ago- she didn't know because they were not marked.
It didn't make sense, and Vahekoh remained where she was, sitting on her knees on the ground next to her saddlebags, with the papers spread out on her lap.
"I've been bad lately," she realized, her headache still grumbling in the background of her head. She'd gotten out of habit, she realized, with her writings. It was only lately -within the last day or two, she thought- that she'd gotten back into the habit. "Oh, Vahekoh, why," she whispered to herself.
For a couple of bits Vahekoh sat where she was and breathed, breathing slowly and deeply, trying to will the worry away. The realization that she had gotten out of her habits, and that because of that she had lost time, was like the realization of being literally lost- it was like being a child, with no older child or no grown person to inform you where to go. It was like standing in the woods, not knowing where you were going or where you had been. It made her feel little, and lost, and stupid. "Hek, Hek, Hek," she whispered to herself.
She was still on the verge of tears when something bumped her in the back of the head. "Ouch," she said, holding one hand to her hurting head, but she smiled a bit too, because she knew that bump. "Vahdah," she sighed, and the horse bumped her in the head with his nose once more, lipping at her hair.
"I'm not going to cry about this like a child," she told the horse, and got in one last deep breath. The horse continued lipping her hair, and Vahekoh moved his nose from her hair before he started to graze her. "Okay, I'm moving," she said to the horse. She made herself smile. "I'm going to keep moving. I'm going to figure this out." Holding her writings in her hurting hand, not letting go of them for one moment, Vahekoh gathered her things into her saddlebags, and stood sorely to touch her other hand to Vahdah's neck.
"First things first," Vahekoh breathed, looking momentarily at the papers. "I've got a headache, and it's going to get worse if I don't get some herbs." She sighed. "I need to get the herbs, and I need to get a medical kit because I guess I've let my medkit get low, too." She was a mess, it seemed. "But before that I need to get you some breakfast." Vahdah nibbled at her shirt, and Vahekoh sighed. "Before you decide my shirt is your breakfast," she said softly to the horse.
"Okay Vahdah," she said, laboriously saddling the horse. Her hand twinged badly when she lifted the saddle, and the saddlebags, onto the horse's back. She would have to get a better look at her hurt hand, too, she thought. It was going to be one of those days. "Let's get going," she said to herself as much as to Vahdah.
the trouble she'd had in the Stormlands
- that Vahekoh woke.Her waking was slow, and the first thing that Vahekoh was aware of was her headache -low, but ominous in her head- and the aching of her body and her wrist. "Ugh," she mumbled, still mostly asleep- and for ten bits or so she lay there, on the ground, aware of the aching of her body but not wanting to wake. "Go back to sleep," she mumbled to herself, but by the time she mumbled it she was mostly awake. Vahekoh mumbled to herself some more and, stiffly and sorely, got herself up from the saddlebags.
Sitting on the ground, Vahekoh looked around at her surroundings. "Dust Quarter," she mumbled, aware of where she was, though in her memory she was still out in the Stormlands. Her thoughts were always slow like this in the morning, like little birds not willing to wake.
Looking around, Vahekoh thought sleepily that she must've located a bit of ground on the outskirts of the Dust Quarter to sleep on. In the outskirts of the Dust, Vahekoh saw little groups of tents here and there, like the Dust had stretched its legs some, out into the beginnings of the Stormlands. Out here it smelled like smoke- but also like fires cooking. It smelled like breakfast, but also -Vahekoh breathed in deeply- like long-cooking foods. That's not just breakfast cooking, Vahekoh thought, and realized that while she slept, the tents and the other residents of the Dust must have been awake, cooking long into the morning hours.
"What's going on," Vahekoh mumbled to herself, and -with some discoordination because of her aching wrist- looked through her pockets for something to inform her of the day's goings on.
Locating some written-on papers in her pockets,
Vahekoh read slowly, her thoughts still waking up. "Get a medical kit at market," she read slowly. And, "Was without direction for a bit, but rode all day and got back to Rharne by dark.""Got back to Rharne by dark," she said, mumbling over the writings that were in her own hand. Holding the papers in her hands, she wondered offhandedly where her journal was.
"Journal," she realized then, looking at the disparate papers she was reading. She went through her pockets, looking for the bound journal that she wrote in daily to organize her otherwise disorganized thoughts, but there was no journal on her person. "Journal, journal," she mumbled, worried now, and she moved stiffly, one of her wrists twinging badly, to go through the horse's saddlebags.
Vahekoh went through the saddlebags one time, then a second time, but there was no journal in the saddlebags. "Did I lose my journal?" she wondered, and just saying that she might have lost her journal brought bright tears to her eyes.
It was bad for her to have lost her journal, and Vahekoh swallowed back the tears, wondering where and when she might have lost it. Her journal was the thing that made sure she -whose memory worked differently than others'- remembered what she was doing in the day to day. It was, in its way, her second source of memory. Brushing a tear from her cheek, Vahekoh looked through the sparse papers she'd discovered in her pockets, reading and rereading her own writings.
"Get a medical kit at market," she read, and then, going back in the writings to what she thought was their beginning, "Going out to the woods."
"Going out to the woods," she whispered to herself. Why? she wondered. Why she had written on this paper and not in her journal? Had she lost her journal in the woods, and that was why she'd been going out? But then, if she had lost her journal and was going to look for it, why would she not have written that that was what she was doing?
The papers, too, were not marked with dates. The writing about the woods might have been from two days ago, four days ago, or a whole season ago- she didn't know because they were not marked.
It didn't make sense, and Vahekoh remained where she was, sitting on her knees on the ground next to her saddlebags, with the papers spread out on her lap.
"I've been bad lately," she realized, her headache still grumbling in the background of her head. She'd gotten out of habit, she realized, with her writings. It was only lately -within the last day or two, she thought- that she'd gotten back into the habit. "Oh, Vahekoh, why," she whispered to herself.
For a couple of bits Vahekoh sat where she was and breathed, breathing slowly and deeply, trying to will the worry away. The realization that she had gotten out of her habits, and that because of that she had lost time, was like the realization of being literally lost- it was like being a child, with no older child or no grown person to inform you where to go. It was like standing in the woods, not knowing where you were going or where you had been. It made her feel little, and lost, and stupid. "Hek, Hek, Hek," she whispered to herself.
She was still on the verge of tears when something bumped her in the back of the head. "Ouch," she said, holding one hand to her hurting head, but she smiled a bit too, because she knew that bump. "Vahdah," she sighed, and the horse bumped her in the head with his nose once more, lipping at her hair.
"I'm not going to cry about this like a child," she told the horse, and got in one last deep breath. The horse continued lipping her hair, and Vahekoh moved his nose from her hair before he started to graze her. "Okay, I'm moving," she said to the horse. She made herself smile. "I'm going to keep moving. I'm going to figure this out." Holding her writings in her hurting hand, not letting go of them for one moment, Vahekoh gathered her things into her saddlebags, and stood sorely to touch her other hand to Vahdah's neck.
"First things first," Vahekoh breathed, looking momentarily at the papers. "I've got a headache, and it's going to get worse if I don't get some herbs." She sighed. "I need to get the herbs, and I need to get a medical kit because I guess I've let my medkit get low, too." She was a mess, it seemed. "But before that I need to get you some breakfast." Vahdah nibbled at her shirt, and Vahekoh sighed. "Before you decide my shirt is your breakfast," she said softly to the horse.
"Okay Vahdah," she said, laboriously saddling the horse. Her hand twinged badly when she lifted the saddle, and the saddlebags, onto the horse's back. She would have to get a better look at her hurt hand, too, she thought. It was going to be one of those days. "Let's get going," she said to herself as much as to Vahdah.
2nd Vhalar is the Great Harvest March.
Because there might be some misunderstanding- I date Vahekoh's threads and writings OOC even if Vahekoh doesn't know the date IC. When Vahekoh says that her writings aren't dated, they're not. The dates you see, marked inside double slashes like //2nd Vhalar, 723.//, are dates for me and for others reading, not for Vahekoh IC.Rharne Calendar, Cold Cycle 723 wrote:2nd of Vhalar The Great Harvest March: The festival kicks off with a lively procession through the forested trails. Locals and visitors alike don traditional attire adorned with vibrant autumn hues and carry baskets overflowing with freshly harvested fruits, vegetables, and most importantly perhaps, grains.
They come from as far as Volta and Caervalle town, marching the Zynyx adjacent roads, or on river boats, toward Rharne where they bring their bounty to the festival that is to be held there.
If you'd like a link to her writings, they're here.
Also, here's a link to the Dust Quarter.