AnonyMouse
Senior Member
After Syvill’s attendant departed, Cephilia turned her attention to the bar and began to think about what she would order. Tea sounded nice. Or, perhaps, some sort of local brew. Something light and easy. Something that didn’t scream, ‘I’m drinking because I’m a nervous wreck.’
In her peripheral vision, she spied Robert King approaching. The damned Wing Clipper had summoned him. Cephilia knew nothing about this man other than what she’d seen since entering the tavern, but Alois said he was a well-known member of a guild of hunters or something, so he couldn’t be entirely bad, right? Cephilia didn’t care. Something about him made her feathers stand on end. If her wings weren't hidden away inside her coat, they would probably be bristling like an angry cat right now.
Thankfully, the elf responded to him before Cephilia could. His ‘noblewoman’ comment got under her skin more than it should have. He probably didn’t mean anything by it, but she’d been underestimated too many times before, as if being born rich meant she didn’t know how to get her hands dirty or learn a useful trade. Then again, aren’t I being just as judgmental? she thought with a small sigh as she half-turned to face him and the archer. If I want people to stop seeing me as just another noble, maybe I can start by not being such an asshole.
Just as she completed that thought, Alois finished speaking and Cephilia was about to introduce herself to Robert, but the avian knight rose and informed them all it was time to go. “I suppose we will have to continue this on the road,” Cephilia said to the hunter as she stood. “Healer, by the way. I’ll be seeing you around, Robert. Not too much, I hope, but… you know what I mean. Don’t break a leg or anything.”
Satisfied that she didn’t absolutely botch that, she bowed and then hurried to catch up with the winged knight. Unknown to her, a single black feather fluttered to the ground as she swiftly strode away. Cephilia passed Alois, Jason, and the Ocalillan girl as she caught up with the avian and matched his steps.
“My company is transporting supplies to the frontlines,” she explained to him as they walked. The words ‘my company’ still didn’t taste right. She never thought in a million years she would return home and take over the family business. “Our caravan is waiting at the bottom of the hill, southeast. Eight wagons, fully loaded, and about a dozen volunteers we picked up along the way. None willing to venture into the breach, of course, but plenty willing to join the fight to hold the line. If we’re headed to the Ravine now, there ought to be enough room for everyone. And if not, I’ll need a moment to let my people know this is where our paths diverge. If that’s alright with you, sir.”
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