Mystic was very aptly named. It was a village made of trees, where people created their homes by gutting out the base of immense, thick trees. The very small town with a population no greater than fifty people was constantly blanketed in a thick mist, the only phenomena that preceded the trees. It was a strange place to be absolutely sure, but all together benign. Many would have considered Alain and Cuthbert lucky to be found by someone as open-minded and giving as Trish. She had found the door in the middle of town and helpfully taken them back to her house.
So that was where they would wake. They had to share a bed because Trish lived alone and was unmarried, but it was comfortable and their weapons were near. Far as she could have said they were unharmed, just in great need of sleep. And that was just fine with her, it was the middle of the day and she hardly needed sleep, so she waited nearby, in her chair with her stitching in her lap in a small little home with no walls, that existed in a tree.
Not quite like a rose but better than nothing at all.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2015-02-28 02:39 am (UTC)So that was where they would wake. They had to share a bed because Trish lived alone and was unmarried, but it was comfortable and their weapons were near. Far as she could have said they were unharmed, just in great need of sleep. And that was just fine with her, it was the middle of the day and she hardly needed sleep, so she waited nearby, in her chair with her stitching in her lap in a small little home with no walls, that existed in a tree.
Not quite like a rose but better than nothing at all.