Syllea sat with her back leaning against her tree of Lost Ones. She held a book from her Papa in her hands; her legs in front of her, one over the other, and her hair gently waving in the slight breeze made the teenage girl look older and oddly attractive.
Dema had found lots of lost Mathoms in the last few days. The inn on the hill that smelt of sheep had many shiny items hidden between floorboards and buried in window boxes and flower beds. A rusty old key, a few shiny coins (she had polished these and placed them in the little box beneath the bar). She had also found a wonderful hat pin, again she polished it and reshaped the bent pin and placed it on the bar for it to be found. That was always the best part, when the Mathoms were found.
Sitting with the afternoon sunlight streaming over the table she is sat at, Orlenne has a small smile on her face as she writes, the hard lines usually visible softened slightly as the quill moves fluidly across the parchment.