“But it looks like they left in a hurry. They’ve not even doused the fire properly.” Astrid’s poking around in the remains of their campfire, hunkered down beside it: it’s dead by now, but there’s the faintest lingering heat in the embers. An abandoned tin cup for drinking water. Some half-eaten food trodden into the dirt.
Sitting on her heels, watching Vega prowl around the edges of the camp, she scrutinises the ground and then points: there’s some wetter earth from where a bucket been carelessly knocked over, more drinking water spilled. Faint bootprints, leading westward. It feels like a fishing line going taut, their quarry hauling them in that direction.
The Vints were, technically, in enemy territory. Why hadn’t they fully broken down their camp? What took them away in such a rush?
“Thataway. They can’t be that far off.” She sizes up Vega critically, then, “You’re gonna have to stop stepping on all the twigs, Vee, they’ll hear us coming for a mile.”
"I was about to say that," mutters Vega half-heartedly, toeing at the fire remnants with her arms folded tightly across herself. She isn't doing a very good job at scouting. But Astrid, skirting around the campsite on light, efficient feet, is doing all of the work for them both so perhaps she shouldn't bother. There isn't anybody around to show off in front of, why is she trying so hard?
She feels righteous when she sees, in that same direction, branches broken off of a tree. Somebody barged through them, carving themselves a path.
Before she can point them out, she feels a prickle of irritation and embarrassment both steal over her; her ears go red and she blinks, her eyes wide. She says, clipped, "We are in a forest. The ground is mostly twigs, so I don't know what you want me to do about that —
It’s only two syllables, it’s not like Vega needs to cut that down even more,
but Astrid takes that in bemused stride, a woman who habitually shortens names out of automatic comradely chumminess, whether wanted or no. She straightens back to her full height and rejoins Vega again, cheerfully heedless of any knives seething in the other woman’s tone.
“I didn’t hear your voice in that crystal chatter the other day, the one about nicknames or codenames. If you had to pick one, what would you pick?”
"No." And this is a catch-all no, applicable to every question.
But Vega is aware that she sounds stubborn and childish saying it and folds her arms across her chest self-consciously, disrupting the smooth sling of her bow across her body. She lifts up her chin, gesturing with her head. She holds her breath for five before she speaks.
Calmly, "We're not here to play question games, Astrid Runasdotten, we're here to work."
And we are going this way, in the same direction as that nod. Vega is starting to walk. She says over her shoulder, "If we don't make haste, we will lose them. I'm sure you would enjoy tracking them down again and following their footprints all over the forest, but I have other things I could be doing."
“Like what?” —is another question well-suited for a question game, asked with still completely undaunted cheerfulness. But Astrid falls in line behind the other woman, and they make good progress through the woods following this last portion of the trail.
And it doesn’t take too long before those tracks lead them to… a quaint cottage nestled away in a deep part of the woods, off the beaten path. Its shutters are oddly closed despite the daytime, but the roof is recently-thatched, as if some strapping soldier had perhaps climbed up on a ladder to mend it recently. There’s even a thread of smoke merrily wending its way from a chimney. There are flowerboxes affixed to the fence outside, now sitting dead waiting for spring.
When Vega comes to a halt, Astrid collides with her before coming to a stop. Then she leans up on tiptoe to scrutinise the cottage over the other woman’s shoulder.
“Hm,” she says. She’s staring at that chimney. The building’s small. Only big enough for one person to live, really. But the tracks clearly lead right to its front door.
“They can’t all still be in there. There’s no room.”
Vega doesn't answer and they trek through the forest together more quietly because now she is thinking very hard about where her feet go, whether or not they could come down on a stick and break it. This is what Astrid wanted her to do and so Astrid can't be mad at her about it.
The tiny little cottage makes her stop. Astrid bumps into her. They both readjust, craning their necks to see the cottage better but that doesn't stop it from being exactly that: a cottage. Presumably with people inside (though it looks so tiny she can't imagine a single person being able to bear living there for very long). She looks to her left, then her right. There is nothing else immediately in sight.
Vega is frowning. "Surely they don't think we're going to go up and knock on the front door?"
She reaches back and touches the staff on her back, starting to bring it forward.
“The whole thing? With magic? What, just like that?” There’s a mild trepidation in Astrid’s voice; not outright horror, she’s seen some magic conducted by the shamans and augurs back home, but it’s of a different stripe and far less explosive.
“We don’t know for sure there’s not some civilian insi—”
As if to prove the point, the cottage door opens. Astrid makes a startled noise and immediately drops in a rustle of leaves, dragging Vega with her, trying to still peer through a bramble bush.
The figure — an old woman, it seems? — is slowly and jerkily emptying various kitchen leavings into the garden for compost, old bones and rinds, probably just puttering around on domestic errands. Her head wrapped in a deep-cowled shawl, it’s oddly hard to see her face, but — is she wrapped in a Tevene cloak?
“They must’ve visited her,” Astrid whisper-hisses into Vega’s hair. “We should knock, ask for information.”
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no subject
Sitting on her heels, watching Vega prowl around the edges of the camp, she scrutinises the ground and then points: there’s some wetter earth from where a bucket been carelessly knocked over, more drinking water spilled. Faint bootprints, leading westward. It feels like a fishing line going taut, their quarry hauling them in that direction.
The Vints were, technically, in enemy territory. Why hadn’t they fully broken down their camp? What took them away in such a rush?
“Thataway. They can’t be that far off.” She sizes up Vega critically, then, “You’re gonna have to stop stepping on all the twigs, Vee, they’ll hear us coming for a mile.”
no subject
She feels righteous when she sees, in that same direction, branches broken off of a tree. Somebody barged through them, carving themselves a path.
Before she can point them out, she feels a prickle of irritation and embarrassment both steal over her; her ears go red and she blinks, her eyes wide. She says, clipped, "We are in a forest. The ground is mostly twigs, so I don't know what you want me to do about that —
"And it's Vega."
Not Vee. Never Vee!
no subject
It’s only two syllables, it’s not like Vega needs to cut that down even more,
but Astrid takes that in bemused stride, a woman who habitually shortens names out of automatic comradely chumminess, whether wanted or no. She straightens back to her full height and rejoins Vega again, cheerfully heedless of any knives seething in the other woman’s tone.
“I didn’t hear your voice in that crystal chatter the other day, the one about nicknames or codenames. If you had to pick one, what would you pick?”
no subject
But Vega is aware that she sounds stubborn and childish saying it and folds her arms across her chest self-consciously, disrupting the smooth sling of her bow across her body. She lifts up her chin, gesturing with her head. She holds her breath for five before she speaks.
Calmly, "We're not here to play question games, Astrid Runasdotten, we're here to work."
And we are going this way, in the same direction as that nod. Vega is starting to walk. She says over her shoulder, "If we don't make haste, we will lose them. I'm sure you would enjoy tracking them down again and following their footprints all over the forest, but I have other things I could be doing."
no subject
And it doesn’t take too long before those tracks lead them to… a quaint cottage nestled away in a deep part of the woods, off the beaten path. Its shutters are oddly closed despite the daytime, but the roof is recently-thatched, as if some strapping soldier had perhaps climbed up on a ladder to mend it recently. There’s even a thread of smoke merrily wending its way from a chimney. There are flowerboxes affixed to the fence outside, now sitting dead waiting for spring.
When Vega comes to a halt, Astrid collides with her before coming to a stop. Then she leans up on tiptoe to scrutinise the cottage over the other woman’s shoulder.
“Hm,” she says. She’s staring at that chimney. The building’s small. Only big enough for one person to live, really. But the tracks clearly lead right to its front door.
“They can’t all still be in there. There’s no room.”
no subject
The tiny little cottage makes her stop. Astrid bumps into her. They both readjust, craning their necks to see the cottage better but that doesn't stop it from being exactly that: a cottage. Presumably with people inside (though it looks so tiny she can't imagine a single person being able to bear living there for very long). She looks to her left, then her right. There is nothing else immediately in sight.
Vega is frowning. "Surely they don't think we're going to go up and knock on the front door?"
She reaches back and touches the staff on her back, starting to bring it forward.
"I could level it."
no subject
“We don’t know for sure there’s not some civilian insi—”
As if to prove the point, the cottage door opens. Astrid makes a startled noise and immediately drops in a rustle of leaves, dragging Vega with her, trying to still peer through a bramble bush.
The figure — an old woman, it seems? — is slowly and jerkily emptying various kitchen leavings into the garden for compost, old bones and rinds, probably just puttering around on domestic errands. Her head wrapped in a deep-cowled shawl, it’s oddly hard to see her face, but — is she wrapped in a Tevene cloak?
“They must’ve visited her,” Astrid whisper-hisses into Vega’s hair. “We should knock, ask for information.”