Entry tags:
I'd but smell the growing things
WHO: Siuona and [your face here]
WHAT: Let's check out this here garden!
WHEN: After more or less everyone has arrived at Skyhold.
WHERE: Skyhold garden
NOTES: Open to all!
It was a quiet, chilly morning when Siuona felt strong enough to leave her tent among the healers. With a warm woven halla shawl around her shoulders and slippers on her pale feet, she bundled her belongings in a corner of the tent and secreted herself away to the courtyard where she knew the communal garden to be.
Over the course of her convalescence, Sina had become increasingly homesick for the wooded Free Marches, and had felt her spirits weakening to a point where she knew, from the healer's perspective, that it would affect her recovery if she didn't find a way to occupy herself.
'You're so dramatic', she scoffed under her breath in muttered Elvhen, tugging the shawl around herself as she made her way through the dark, drafty hall and through the archway into the cloister. 'Have some self-sufficiency.'
Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of all the vegetation; having spent the last several weeks tromping around in snow-covered mountains and then wallowing inside a tent inside impassible stone walls, the sight of greenery was enough to bring a sudden rush of tears to her eyes.
Shivering from the chill and her lingering weakness, Sina approached the rows of pots and sat by what she knew to be elfroot, tenderly running her fingers over the leaves, mopping absently at her still-streaming eyes with the sleeve of her tunic. It wasn't until she had refocused her gaze on the elfroot, and really looked at it, that she abruptly noticed something strange.
Why was so much of it missing, and so ineloquently clipped?
WHAT: Let's check out this here garden!
WHEN: After more or less everyone has arrived at Skyhold.
WHERE: Skyhold garden
NOTES: Open to all!
It was a quiet, chilly morning when Siuona felt strong enough to leave her tent among the healers. With a warm woven halla shawl around her shoulders and slippers on her pale feet, she bundled her belongings in a corner of the tent and secreted herself away to the courtyard where she knew the communal garden to be.
Over the course of her convalescence, Sina had become increasingly homesick for the wooded Free Marches, and had felt her spirits weakening to a point where she knew, from the healer's perspective, that it would affect her recovery if she didn't find a way to occupy herself.
'You're so dramatic', she scoffed under her breath in muttered Elvhen, tugging the shawl around herself as she made her way through the dark, drafty hall and through the archway into the cloister. 'Have some self-sufficiency.'
Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of all the vegetation; having spent the last several weeks tromping around in snow-covered mountains and then wallowing inside a tent inside impassible stone walls, the sight of greenery was enough to bring a sudden rush of tears to her eyes.
Shivering from the chill and her lingering weakness, Sina approached the rows of pots and sat by what she knew to be elfroot, tenderly running her fingers over the leaves, mopping absently at her still-streaming eyes with the sleeve of her tunic. It wasn't until she had refocused her gaze on the elfroot, and really looked at it, that she abruptly noticed something strange.
Why was so much of it missing, and so ineloquently clipped?

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"Do you think they're salvageable?" she asked, "If not, I know I saw some growing wild not too far outside of Skyhold. I could go dig a few plants up for you, and we could start a garden?" She stood up again, stretched, and looked critically at the space. "I bet it would help the healers here a great deal. After all, there's like to be more wounded. Maybe you could teach them how to grow and harvest correctly," she said. Nahariel hunched her shoulders slightly against the breeze and thinned her lips, "if they'll listen to one of the People, anyway."
It was more an old habit to dig at shem'len ignorance than any experience she'd had so far with the Inquisition. Neither human she'd met thus far had been rude or demeaning, although Sam had cautioned her that not everyone shared those views.
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"Spindleweed and rashvine wouldn't hurt either," she considered, lifting the teacup to take a sip from it.
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"Sina, da'halla, I've heard a few things, and I think they need scouts to go to the mire south of the Hinterlands, and I--" her words started coming in a rush of explanation, "--do you want me to stay until you're better? Or at least sit this mission out? No-one would blame us. We could work on the garden--that's still doing something to help." The hunter smiled quickly, self-consciously, but her eyes betrayed her uncertainty.
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Still smiling, she settled into a more comfortable position, leaning her shoulder gently against Sina's. "So. Tell me how this garden will look when we're finished."
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"It will be a place of life. And peace."
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"Life and peace. Sounds good," she replied, content to sit like that for a while, huddled in front of the straggling elfroot as if it were the hearthfires of Clan Dahlasanor in a less complicated time. After a few minutes spent in contemplation, she sighed.
"We have a little work to do before that, though. I thought you might end up here, so I got you these from the quartermaster--with a few changes," she said, pulling a pair of gloves from her belt and offering them to Sina. They were simple leather with a woolen lining for warmth and the fingertips removed--most likely by dagger, as it was slightly uneven work. A simple whipstitch made the edges less likely to unravel with use. "I know you like to touch the plants when you're working, so I cut the tips. This way your hands won't get cold while you're making everything grow."
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"Ma serranas, vhenan," she whispered, "I will miss you so when you're away."
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"Did you... meet anyone from the other Clan yet?"
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