The cluttered pile that was most of her personal things sat at the end of her bed. The smaller room was far from the pristine organization that she had crafted for her shop. But, work came first, and she had also rather enjoyed putting it together, setting up her sanctuary. Now, it was time to figure out the haphazard pile of boxes and yet empty drawers that was her room.
Taking one box, she dumped its contents on the bed. As she was sorting through the bits and trinkets, the cat wandered into the room, pretending as if it were there purely by coincidence and not for attention with the way it settled into her pillow, looking just past her but not quite at her. She chuckled, reaching over to scratch it behind the ears and stroke its fur, so much softer than when she’d first met it. It purred with contentment, stretching out its legs then curling up again.
Each of the trinkets eventually would find a home; here was enough space, more so than when she had worked with her mentor. There was the wooden figurine she’d been given, elsewhere a cross-stitch pattern depicting a waterfall another friend had made for her. That brought back memories.
Years ago, the time she and Drina had ridden out to the waterfall, the day seemed so perfect. A picnic lunch and dinner packed with them, the friends followed the ridge to where the lake emptied spectacularly into the river below. It was a funny thought that she could have just watched that running water all day, but it held a splendor that came not just from the falling of the water. If that were the case, she’d just pour water from a pitcher and be content with that. But the way it cascaded over the rocks as if it were leaping from stone to stone, the spray that dampened their faces even from yards away, and the thunderous roar as if the drops were jubilantly celebrating their escape from the calmness of the lake above. It had put her so at ease, a welcome and well-deserved break after many days of long hours sequestering herself in the shop, working hard to save for the enterprise that would one day come.
However, the trip back had not been so serene. As the approached the ruins between themselves and home, they had noticed a stirring among them. That never boded well. Hooligans, bandits, perhaps even orcs could be hiding there. Thus, in the waning light of the evening, they skirted them, giving the aged and toppling walls a wide birth, and rode silently so as not to be noticed. It was a reminder that even when things were ideal, there was always danger that lurker.
Sareva had been reminded of this recently. After returning to the neighborhood following a two-day trip to Bree for fabric, she stopped to relax at the Mad Boar before returning home. That night she met someone new, Aeglorond by name. He seemed a reclusive fellow, or at least one who wouldn't choose to interact unless approached. At least, that’s what her first impression was, but he didn’t seem all that withdrawn after Deorda had invited him over to the table where she and Sareva had been chatting. He’d spoken of his concerns over what he saw as a growing threat overtaking Breeland. It was something Sareva always tried to keep in mind, though she didn’t know the specific dangers of which he spoke. ‘Always be wary,’ she reminded herself, ‘always protect yourself.’ Though, she had little means of doing so.
This reminder was underscored when Aeonid entered. He was clearly off, gruff and agitated. He soon told them he’d had a less than pleasant encounter with a boar and was on his way to sew himself up. What?! How could he? Did he so blatantly disregard his own safety that he would not get it immediately seen to instead of roaming all over Middle Earth beforehand? She’d later found out why after she’d obstinately followed him to see that he was taken care of. How had she gone from sewing fabric to sewing flesh together? She had to think of it as if it were just like her job, just sewing two pieces together to make a whole, and the banter with Aeo helped. She was no healer, but it was a passable job. She’d learned another thing that evening, that the deepest wounds are those that cannot be sewn shut and could bear an infection that would be hard to uproot. Maybe if that could be done, he wouldn’t be so reluctant to seek a professional healer, which would be a weight off her mind.
As it was, she thought as she pushed closed a now full drawer in her dresser, the weight on her mind presently was what Helen had suggested, tying things tight, though she dismissed it. Knots, they were complicate things. Knotted thread could mess up a new work terribly to the point where it needed to be restarted. But placed correctly, they could make a work of embroidery beautiful or finish off a seam. She looked across at her shop, a sense of pride filling her. She would build this up, make it and herself self-sufficient. Once the groundwork was laid, then she could think about the embroidery.
Sareva stood from her crouched position, chuckling to herself as she and the cat stretched simultaneously. Her room was mostly sorted out. There were still a few things that needed to find a proper place, but they’d get there. For now, she was satisfied with the state of things.
