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	23/6/477		23/6/477
	=Log=		=Log=
−	<div></div>	+	<div></div><br> <br>A peaceful early afternoon in the foothills to the mountains of the north. The climate here is cooler than southern Sweetwater, primarily owing to the locale's elevated altitude, making it cool but not unreasonably cold for early summertime. Expansive rolling hills meander about until they hit the mountains, crisscrossed with irrigation ditches and colourful square patches of cropland.
		+
		+	The country lane that proceeds is unpaved, being mostly moist dirt, and maintained by the locals, although it evidently doesn't see a whole lot of use. The folk here have no reason to get around long distances on a daily basis, after all.<br> <br>A smile, a mumble, and a nod as Trace follows behind sveta, silently, looking around the area. "About... About how far is it still?" he offers after a while, contemplating how to best introduce himself once they're actually there.<br> <br>"It's just down the road," Sveta offers, her boots sinking slightly in the loamy soil of the road. "Not too far, now, although 'near' and 'far' are very relative things here, I suppose. Look, there's the cabbage patch. Seems like they're using the fourth field for it this year."
		+
		+	Indeed, not too far from where the two of them stand is a fairly large home, partially of wood, partially of magiced masonry. It seems to have grown from a small cabin built in the traditional style, simply added to when the place needed to grow, in a somewhat haphazard, organic fashion. Fields surround the homestead in neat arrays, although there aren't any livestock save for a few chicken coops.<br> <br>A nod, a smile, and a click of Trace's beak as he continues his steps along the loamy soil, while his eyes cast on the house, the fields, the chicken-coups. "That's a... Big house," the kite offers after a moment of contemplation, nodding faintly, before looking back to Sveta, hesitantly. "How... How big are the odds they won't like me?"<br> <br>"It has to be big, to house everyone," Sveta says with a chuckle. "Come on. I don't claim to be able to read minds - you should really just relax a little. They'd want to see you as you are, aye?"
		+
		+	For such an agarian home, it's odd that the main path leading up to the homestead is lined with rosebushes - some white, some yellow, others red. Sveta leads Trace up the path and past the flocks of scavenging chickens, stopping to rap on the door with a gloved hand.<br> <br>Trace nods and mumbles softly, silently waiting for the door to open, brushing his clothes off once more to look as presentable as he can, while glancing nervously towards Sveta, nodding fainrtly as he shifts a little uncomfortably.<br> <br>At first, nothing...then at large, the door is opened by another goshawk who looks like an older version of Sveta, peering out at her - then at Trace. A little ways behind her are two younger avians, about that awkward age where they're not quite chicks but still not that old yet. Probably Sveta's younger siblings...she was the fifth out of seven, was it?
		+
		+	"Ah! Svetlana! You are home, like you said you would be! And you have brought your special friend with you! Come in! Come in! Give your mama a hug! And this is he who you have been writing home about? He is so interesting!" she moves to pinch Trace's cheeks, while Sveta looks on with a smile and a roll of her eyes. "Your father and the others are in the fields right now, but they will be coming in for lunch soon. Please, come in and sit down, there is black bread baking."<br> <br>A nod, and Trace looks back up at what must be Sveta's mother, seemingly not enjoying the cheek-pinch much, but not daring to say anything about it just yet.
		+
		+	"I... I'm Trace... Trace blackwing," he mumbles, before looking towards Sveta at the notion of being written about. That was definitely news to him.<br> <br>Sveta looks at her two younger siblings, still looking at both her and Trace with some a mixture of interest and shoos them off with a wave of a gloved hand. Funny, none of her relatives are wearing them. "Mila, Zerika, go and help Mama set things out for lunch, all right? You're going to spook him. You can stare all you want at lunch - and when Papa is around to supervise."
		+
		+	As the two scamper off after the matronly hawk, she turns back to Trace and raises an eyebrow at his questioning gaze. "Come on, let's head for the living room and have a sit down - you shouldn't look as if you ate something bad. Something the matter?"<br> <br>A nod, a small smile, and Trace follows after 'Mama' as well, his eyes casting to Mila and Zerika with curiosity, before mumbling. "I... No. E-everything's fine," the kite mutters, swallowing a lump in his throat, before mumbling lightly. "I... I'm quite fine, really," he mutters, more than a little unconvincingly.<br> <br>Sveta tut-tuts at Trace. "Don't be so nervous. If you're already like this when facing just my mother and younger sisters, Creators know how you'll do facing my father. Come on, let's not get in their way while they set the table."
		+
		+	With that, she leads Trace into the living room, right up the large, crackling hearth, and pulls up an armchair near a heavy fur rug. The room is large, spacious, decorated with a few old keepsakes of Thera'doran origin, and more importantly, a large vase filled with cut roses on the mantle. "Come on, sit down, relax a little. Maybe you need a little cold water?"<br> <br>Another beak-click, and Trace nods faintly, huffing lightly as he takes a seat, looking around the room and smiling faintly at his eyes fall on the farious odds and trinkets adorning the room. "I... I... You did tell me to be myself," he mutters after a while, rubbing the back of his neck in silence.<br> <br>"I...I guess I did." Sveta offers him a smile. "But I think that you aren't really a nervous wreck deep down inside." She makes sure that Trace's suitably comfortable, then ruffles the feathers on his head and shoulders. "It won't be long now till lunch is served - you can smell it from here, can't you? What do you think of the home so far?"<br> <br>A small nod, a repeat of his earlier beak-click, and the kite does seem to calm down some, nodding faintly. "Well... It's... Big. I mean, not as big as Lady Longtail's home, but... Big," he mutters after a while, gazing around and trying to store everything in the back of his mind. "And... The food smells good," he mumbles, nodding again.<br> <br>Sveta smiles sweetly and continues ruffling and kneading. "I know you're braver than that, Trace Blackwing. So pull yourself together. They should be just about done, I think - ah, there they are."
		+
		+	Indeed, the sound of boots clomping through the front door, followed by them being pulled off and overcoats cast aside can be heard, alongside that of dishes being set out and after a minute or so, a bell being rung. "Come on," she says. "I think that's our cue."<br> <br>A nod, and another beak-click, as Trace stands up again, looking towards the source of the sound. "Well... After you? Or... Am I supposed to go in first?" he mumbles, looking down at the ground. He's not so much afraid, more... Lost. Like a fish out of water.

---

Revision as of 16:03, 23 June 2014

Participants

• Sveta
• Trace

Date

23/6/477

Log

A peaceful early afternoon in the foothills to the mountains of the north. The climate here is cooler than southern Sweetwater, primarily owing to the locale's elevated altitude, making it cool but not unreasonably cold for early summertime. Expansive rolling hills meander about until they hit the mountains, crisscrossed with irrigation ditches and colourful square patches of cropland.

The country lane that proceeds is unpaved, being mostly moist dirt, and maintained by the locals, although it evidently doesn't see a whole lot of use. The folk here have no reason to get around long distances on a daily basis, after all.

A smile, a mumble, and a nod as Trace follows behind sveta, silently, looking around the area. "About... About how far is it still?" he offers after a while, contemplating how to best introduce himself once they're actually there.

"It's just down the road," Sveta offers, her boots sinking slightly in the loamy soil of the road. "Not too far, now, although 'near' and 'far' are very relative things here, I suppose. Look, there's the cabbage patch. Seems like they're using the fourth field for it this year."

Indeed, not too far from where the two of them stand is a fairly large home, partially of wood, partially of magiced masonry. It seems to have grown from a small cabin built in the traditional style, simply added to when the place needed to grow, in a somewhat haphazard, organic fashion. Fields surround the homestead in neat arrays, although there aren't any livestock save for a few chicken coops.

A nod, a smile, and a click of Trace's beak as he continues his steps along the loamy soil, while his eyes cast on the house, the fields, the chicken-coups. "That's a... Big house," the kite offers after a moment of contemplation, nodding faintly, before looking back to Sveta, hesitantly. "How... How big are the odds they won't like me?"

"It has to be big, to house everyone," Sveta says with a chuckle. "Come on. I don't claim to be able to read minds - you should really just relax a little. They'd want to see you as you are, aye?"

For such an agarian home, it's odd that the main path leading up to the homestead is lined with rosebushes - some white, some yellow, others red. Sveta leads Trace up the path and past the flocks of scavenging chickens, stopping to rap on the door with a gloved hand.

Trace nods and mumbles softly, silently waiting for the door to open, brushing his clothes off once more to look as presentable as he can, while glancing nervously towards Sveta, nodding fainrtly as he shifts a little uncomfortably.

At first, nothing...then at large, the door is opened by another goshawk who looks like an older version of Sveta, peering out at her - then at Trace. A little ways behind her are two younger avians, about that awkward age where they're not quite chicks but still not that old yet. Probably Sveta's younger siblings...she was the fifth out of seven, was it?

"Ah! Svetlana! You are home, like you said you would be! And you have brought your special friend with you! Come in! Come in! Give your mama a hug! And this is he who you have been writing home about? He is so interesting!" she moves to pinch Trace's cheeks, while Sveta looks on with a smile and a roll of her eyes. "Your father and the others are in the fields right now, but they will be coming in for lunch soon. Please, come in and sit down, there is black bread baking."

A nod, and Trace looks back up at what must be Sveta's mother, seemingly not enjoying the cheek-pinch much, but not daring to say anything about it just yet.

"I... I'm Trace... Trace blackwing," he mumbles, before looking towards Sveta at the notion of being written about. That was definitely news to him.

Sveta looks at her two younger siblings, still looking at both her and Trace with some a mixture of interest and shoos them off with a wave of a gloved hand. Funny, none of her relatives are wearing them. "Mila, Zerika, go and help Mama set things out for lunch, all right? You're going to spook him. You can stare all you want at lunch - and when Papa is around to supervise."

As the two scamper off after the matronly hawk, she turns back to Trace and raises an eyebrow at his questioning gaze. "Come on, let's head for the living room and have a sit down - you shouldn't look as if you ate something bad. Something the matter?"

A nod, a small smile, and Trace follows after 'Mama' as well, his eyes casting to Mila and Zerika with curiosity, before mumbling. "I... No. E-everything's fine," the kite mutters, swallowing a lump in his throat, before mumbling lightly. "I... I'm quite fine, really," he mutters, more than a little unconvincingly.

Sveta tut-tuts at Trace. "Don't be so nervous. If you're already like this when facing just my mother and younger sisters, Creators know how you'll do facing my father. Come on, let's not get in their way while they set the table."

With that, she leads Trace into the living room, right up the large, crackling hearth, and pulls up an armchair near a heavy fur rug. The room is large, spacious, decorated with a few old keepsakes of Thera'doran origin, and more importantly, a large vase filled with cut roses on the mantle. "Come on, sit down, relax a little. Maybe you need a little cold water?"

Another beak-click, and Trace nods faintly, huffing lightly as he takes a seat, looking around the room and smiling faintly at his eyes fall on the farious odds and trinkets adorning the room. "I... I... You did tell me to be myself," he mutters after a while, rubbing the back of his neck in silence.

"I...I guess I did." Sveta offers him a smile. "But I think that you aren't really a nervous wreck deep down inside." She makes sure that Trace's suitably comfortable, then ruffles the feathers on his head and shoulders. "It won't be long now till lunch is served - you can smell it from here, can't you? What do you think of the home so far?"

A small nod, a repeat of his earlier beak-click, and the kite does seem to calm down some, nodding faintly. "Well... It's... Big. I mean, not as big as Lady Longtail's home, but... Big," he mutters after a while, gazing around and trying to store everything in the back of his mind. "And... The food smells good," he mumbles, nodding again.

Sveta smiles sweetly and continues ruffling and kneading. "I know you're braver than that, Trace Blackwing. So pull yourself together. They should be just about done, I think - ah, there they are."

Indeed, the sound of boots clomping through the front door, followed by them being pulled off and overcoats cast aside can be heard, alongside that of dishes being set out and after a minute or so, a bell being rung. "Come on," she says. "I think that's our cue."

A nod, and another beak-click, as Trace stands up again, looking towards the source of the sound. "Well... After you? Or... Am I supposed to go in first?" he mumbles, looking down at the ground. He's not so much afraid, more... Lost. Like a fish out of water.