Into the cold

The shack in the woods was still warm, embers at the fireplace keeping it that way, with enough kindling and small bits of wood to feed them for at least a day. The faint smell of tar permeated the air, coming from the straw-filled gaps in between the boards that made the hut's walls, protecting the inside from cold. A filled backpack rested by the door, next to a strung bow and a quiver of arrows, attached to it - a rolled up bedroll.

A boot rested on a stool, deft hands tying the lacings tightly for them to stay on and not let any snow or moisture in. A grunt was heard as the task was finished, and the boot rested on the floor, it's owner looking around, making mental notes. Food, packed, waterskin, ready by the door, bow and arrows prepared, wax for the bow maintenance, fletching tools for arrows... between that and warm clothes for a change, everything seemed ready. The huntress let out a sigh, taking a step towards the door, when her emerald eyes caught the glimpse of the writing table, over at the corner.

With but a second of hesitation, Kestrea - known in Bree as Woad, huntress and woodswoman - moved towards the table, pushing the chair back to sit on it. Quill in hand, the woman began to write, her thoughts forming right before being poured onto the pages.

"I have thought of many things since my return, and the last night's visit in the Prancing Pony only added to these thoughts. I met a woman, one owning stones with ancient wisdom inscribed upon them. Many scowl at that, calling it cheap tricks and lies, but I think not. Stones are part of nature, they were there in times before races and will be there still after they are all gone and new ones take their spot in the world. Thus I know their wisdom is endless, one but needs to know how to listen. The woman knows, I am sure of it - sure from how she spoke of things I haven't mentioned to none but my mother, and then of some which haven't been mentioned to me.

Two readings I were given. One for myself, one for another. My reading was sensible, full of questions, but also answers to them. Glad I am mother hadn't been there, she would've not stopped nagging me once a certain topic had been mentioned. Much more disturbing was the reading meant for him. It spoke of peril, danger and a dark mind. Choice and wariness. My choice was made already, when I've heard those words. I will move out and I will find the man. He needs company and help to return to health, and I will give that to him - if he laughs at me for listening to a runespeaker, so be it, but I believe him to be beyond that sort of judgment.

I will now go and know not when I'll return. Fates willing, soon."

The quill was swiftly cleaned with a piece of cloth, stained with ink almost entirely. Musing shortly over it's state, the woman folded the thing and left it be. Turning to the door, the huntress picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulders, the quiver was bound to her hip and the bow held in left hand, the right resting on the door. With another glance behind, to make sure everyhing is in place, the woman sighed once more.

"Four corners, three points, one heartbeat" - she spoke, a push opening the door. Letting the cold in, and her - out, into the cold.