Ashwyneth

It took Ash a long while to get back to Bree after the failed rescue attempt. Her sister's limp body caused her face to be overcome with anguish and worry. "I cannot lose her again." She was grateful to Allyster, nay, deeply indebted to Allyster for his sacrifice. Without him, they would likely be captives as well. And Carria would likely be dead by now. "Stay safe, Allyster. I will come back for you all.

So, a journal. Ash bought me one. I don’t know why. It’s not as though my thoughts should ever be seen by any. And if they are, I can only hope they read it all, so that they understand.

Ash keeps the hood of her cloak covering her face and hair as much as possible as she approaches one of the Watchers just outside of Hookworth. She masks her voice as best she can, handing one a note. "Please sir, if you would deliver this note to Miss Brynleigh for me? You do know which house is hers, yes?" The Watcher assures her that he will deliver the note and she hands it to him reluctantly.

Ash attempted to get a better look at the face of whoever stood above her. The hand was gloved, but she could feel it was not a man's hand. Her mind raced to form some sort of plan. Her knife was within reach...but her hand was near her own face. She formed the plan in her brain, hesitating only a moment before swinging her fist as quickly as she could. Her fist connected with the woman's chin and she crashed to the ground. Ash sat up quickly and drew her knife, crouching down and holding it to the woman's neck.

The Watcher left Ash there, standing in the Comb and Wattle Inn. The fire gave a dull glow, causing the room to look overly eery and much larger than it truly was. The only audible noise was that of the fire's crackling and the shaky, drunken footsteps of a couple drunkards which had only just left. The remaining drunkards were talking in loud, raucous tones, but were in the corner of the room, speaking to themselves with slurred words. She shuddered as one glanced her way, then nudged a friend of his.

My Dearest Sister,

“Now again, through the next hole…like that…now pick up a loop- No, the other way. Pull through the first two…you’re getting it, now the sec- good!” The small fingers moved as Sareva had directed, the young girl working slowly as she practiced. “Your treble crocheting is starting to look more uniform.”