Great and small ((Open!))
Mar 12, 2012 10:25:47 GMT -5
Post by Rhaxta on Mar 12, 2012 10:25:47 GMT -5
Rhaxta sneezed. She had over the last few hours sunk further and further forward into her crouch, becoming more and more enthralled in what she was doing, until she was suddenly teased out of her reverie by the feathered-end of the quill going up her nose.
The woman sat up with the abrupt noise and for a moment stared around her, eyes wide with a look of confusion on her face - then she realised what had changed. The sun was rising.
The fire before her was in the last stages of its un-nutured life, just a glow of amber in the very pit of dead and blackened wood. The young woman recovered and reached to the dead leaf and dry wood pile behind her and threw some on, as she did so she unconciously muttered of fire and heat and life under her breath.
The fire took, reawakened with its hunger. Rhaxta's stomach growled. She took one last longing look onto the pages she had become so absorbed in. Her own, really. There were now a good dozen or so very detailed sketches - most with a few notes in her loopy but unpracticed hand. The picture she was working on now was a half finished and beautiful likeness of a lake bird. Long in leg and neck she could still see her subject, though it had moved from the lakes water and to the sandy perimiter to sleep with its nest-mates.
Rhaxta stood, slowly and painfully, from her cross-legged position. Letting the sun catch her skin she stretched, reveling in the warmth of the sun in this hot plainlands. She could still see Belatona, about a days walk south to her. She had moved up the west side of the lake after her second time in the battlefield, looking for her sword.
The battlefield felt unbearably still and the air over it heavy. Rhaxta still felt the memory of the sucking, painful wrenching on her conciousness. She still didn't know what had attacked her - taken control of her - during the battle. All she knew was she did not want it back again any time soon. It certainly saved her life, from Vulnar and his enormous dragon. Yet the loss of control and the sheer power of the force overwhelmed her and made her - even though she was a very talented magician - feel very, very small.
She closed her book with a snap and quickly placed it and the quill into a sheep-gutt bag. The ink went into her pack along with this bag, then it was all covered in dead wood and sand to hide it from any passer-by. Rhaxta was going hunting, she didn't want to come back to find all her other supplies pilfered by human or animal.
Rhaxta slowly stripped off her new, uncomfortably stiff leather leggings - her old pair were scortched and hacked litterally to nothing during the battle. She would usually make her own, yet as she couldn't venture out into Belatona without trousers - and she was not going to wear another dress anytime soon - she had to make do.
When she was in a dark green cotton shirt, Rhaxta quickly removed her boots and then strode out into the lake. She muttered under her breath and she felt the pain of the sharp stones on the soles of her feet lessen. The magic now did not even tire her - she did not even realise she was using magic most of the time when she did, she had become so proficient it had become something akin to muscle memory.
After a moments' wary probing, Rhaxta let down her mental barriers and let her conciousness spread out over the lake like a vat of oil spreading over water. The conciousness of the lake-birds glowed and cried out compared to the inumerable fish and insects. The sensation was very much like a market place- everyone calling for attention within the clamour and those with the loudest voice and brightest words came shining out.
She felt a lot more comfortable this way - after her many years practically on her own Rhaxta was used to having her mind constantly free and moving, studying the land around her and the pinpricks of light within the dark that were the creatures.
Belatona - the city and the battle - meant Rhaxta had to keep her conciousness behind her own eyes and barriered. She felt chlostrophobic for the first few weeks, as if her conciousness was now too big to be confined within her skull.
A jolt ran through Rhaxta and she suddenly dove beneath the surface of the lake and dissapeared, barely leaving any splash in the grace and speed of her descent. She came back up a minute later, a dead fish in her hands. She had of course used magic to kill the fish - it being the most humane way- though she had made herself catch it before she did so. She did not really realise that the fish had come toward her because she set lures within her own conciousness, a small, writhing signal that made the impulse sensitive fish beleive they had actually found prey.
So Rhaxta felt unduly smug at the fact she had caught a fish with her bare hands. At least she had caught it herself- after all- magic could make a hunter really very lazy, so she didn't want to make it too easy for herself.
The woman sat up with the abrupt noise and for a moment stared around her, eyes wide with a look of confusion on her face - then she realised what had changed. The sun was rising.
The fire before her was in the last stages of its un-nutured life, just a glow of amber in the very pit of dead and blackened wood. The young woman recovered and reached to the dead leaf and dry wood pile behind her and threw some on, as she did so she unconciously muttered of fire and heat and life under her breath.
The fire took, reawakened with its hunger. Rhaxta's stomach growled. She took one last longing look onto the pages she had become so absorbed in. Her own, really. There were now a good dozen or so very detailed sketches - most with a few notes in her loopy but unpracticed hand. The picture she was working on now was a half finished and beautiful likeness of a lake bird. Long in leg and neck she could still see her subject, though it had moved from the lakes water and to the sandy perimiter to sleep with its nest-mates.
Rhaxta stood, slowly and painfully, from her cross-legged position. Letting the sun catch her skin she stretched, reveling in the warmth of the sun in this hot plainlands. She could still see Belatona, about a days walk south to her. She had moved up the west side of the lake after her second time in the battlefield, looking for her sword.
The battlefield felt unbearably still and the air over it heavy. Rhaxta still felt the memory of the sucking, painful wrenching on her conciousness. She still didn't know what had attacked her - taken control of her - during the battle. All she knew was she did not want it back again any time soon. It certainly saved her life, from Vulnar and his enormous dragon. Yet the loss of control and the sheer power of the force overwhelmed her and made her - even though she was a very talented magician - feel very, very small.
She closed her book with a snap and quickly placed it and the quill into a sheep-gutt bag. The ink went into her pack along with this bag, then it was all covered in dead wood and sand to hide it from any passer-by. Rhaxta was going hunting, she didn't want to come back to find all her other supplies pilfered by human or animal.
Rhaxta slowly stripped off her new, uncomfortably stiff leather leggings - her old pair were scortched and hacked litterally to nothing during the battle. She would usually make her own, yet as she couldn't venture out into Belatona without trousers - and she was not going to wear another dress anytime soon - she had to make do.
When she was in a dark green cotton shirt, Rhaxta quickly removed her boots and then strode out into the lake. She muttered under her breath and she felt the pain of the sharp stones on the soles of her feet lessen. The magic now did not even tire her - she did not even realise she was using magic most of the time when she did, she had become so proficient it had become something akin to muscle memory.
After a moments' wary probing, Rhaxta let down her mental barriers and let her conciousness spread out over the lake like a vat of oil spreading over water. The conciousness of the lake-birds glowed and cried out compared to the inumerable fish and insects. The sensation was very much like a market place- everyone calling for attention within the clamour and those with the loudest voice and brightest words came shining out.
She felt a lot more comfortable this way - after her many years practically on her own Rhaxta was used to having her mind constantly free and moving, studying the land around her and the pinpricks of light within the dark that were the creatures.
Belatona - the city and the battle - meant Rhaxta had to keep her conciousness behind her own eyes and barriered. She felt chlostrophobic for the first few weeks, as if her conciousness was now too big to be confined within her skull.
A jolt ran through Rhaxta and she suddenly dove beneath the surface of the lake and dissapeared, barely leaving any splash in the grace and speed of her descent. She came back up a minute later, a dead fish in her hands. She had of course used magic to kill the fish - it being the most humane way- though she had made herself catch it before she did so. She did not really realise that the fish had come toward her because she set lures within her own conciousness, a small, writhing signal that made the impulse sensitive fish beleive they had actually found prey.
So Rhaxta felt unduly smug at the fact she had caught a fish with her bare hands. At least she had caught it herself- after all- magic could make a hunter really very lazy, so she didn't want to make it too easy for herself.
