This time of year was never good for her anyway, not since that horrible winter five--a hundred and five?--years ago. Not since her horse was torn under her by some beast, not since she survived by the tips of her fingers.
And the noises are so much worse now.
She's losing time, losing her sense of place - sometimes she looks out into the night and thinks she's fifteen, panics because where's Joel and one rabbit won't last them a week and the screaming is right there.
With the way she bursts into frantic motion before catching sight of something to remind her when she is (the tattoo, the wolf), most think she's not going to make it. Unfortunately, she's one of the more prickly ones. She tried to stab someone when they grabbed her by the shoulder to shake her out of a memory that left her glassy-eyed and vacant. The only reason she hasn't been thrown out is because some sympathetic veteran soldier recognizes her strangeness as his own.
Ellie doesn't quite register her precarious situation. She just tries to get through the hours however she can.
She's hearing the high pitched shrieking as much as the young man is, but below it she can hear a gruff, accented voice. She's not sure, but she thinks he's calling her name.
She's nineteen and angry--she's fifteen and there's no one she wants more than Joel. These aren't exclusive feelings.
She looks up at the young man, eyes hard and wary. After a long moment, she heaves herself up.
"Let me get my things."
It takes a few minutes, to bundle up warmly. Ellie even puts little leather pouches over Theseus' paws. The coywolf hasn't been calm, either. She snaps at anything that moves too quickly out of the corner of her eye, and spends most of her time pressed as closely to Ellie as she can.
Ellie is as bundled as she can be, an oil lamp hanging on her right hip and the dagger from her left. She takes three torches with her, one to light immediately and two as backup. She also wraps a scarf around her face, careful to make sure it doesn't obstruct her vision. Otherwise, there's not much to take but her warmest clothes and her bow. It's nice, sleek, and magical.
Ellie takes the lead, torch held aloft. The young man follows at her heels, looking upset.
In the tavern, there's silence.
"Probably for the best," someone murmurs. The old veteran shakes his head, but makes no move to follow the two of them.
The pair of them make their way through the night, first circling the inn, and then heading towards the guard post, swinging the light to catch sight of anything they can - bodies or otherwise. Ellie can feel her heart pounding, but she forces herself to keep moving, even as the sound of scraping steel draws closer.
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This time of year was never good for her anyway, not since that horrible winter five--a hundred and five?--years ago. Not since her horse was torn under her by some beast, not since she survived by the tips of her fingers.
And the noises are so much worse now.
She's losing time, losing her sense of place - sometimes she looks out into the night and thinks she's fifteen, panics because where's Joel and one rabbit won't last them a week and the screaming is right there.
With the way she bursts into frantic motion before catching sight of something to remind her when she is (the tattoo, the wolf), most think she's not going to make it. Unfortunately, she's one of the more prickly ones. She tried to stab someone when they grabbed her by the shoulder to shake her out of a memory that left her glassy-eyed and vacant. The only reason she hasn't been thrown out is because some sympathetic veteran soldier recognizes her strangeness as his own.
Ellie doesn't quite register her precarious situation. She just tries to get through the hours however she can.
She's hearing the high pitched shrieking as much as the young man is, but below it she can hear a gruff, accented voice. She's not sure, but she thinks he's calling her name.
She's nineteen and angry--she's fifteen and there's no one she wants more than Joel. These aren't exclusive feelings.
She looks up at the young man, eyes hard and wary. After a long moment, she heaves herself up.
"Let me get my things."
It takes a few minutes, to bundle up warmly. Ellie even puts little leather pouches over Theseus' paws. The coywolf hasn't been calm, either. She snaps at anything that moves too quickly out of the corner of her eye, and spends most of her time pressed as closely to Ellie as she can.
Ellie is as bundled as she can be, an oil lamp hanging on her right hip and the dagger from her left. She takes three torches with her, one to light immediately and two as backup. She also wraps a scarf around her face, careful to make sure it doesn't obstruct her vision. Otherwise, there's not much to take but her warmest clothes and her bow. It's nice, sleek, and magical.
Ellie takes the lead, torch held aloft. The young man follows at her heels, looking upset.
In the tavern, there's silence.
"Probably for the best," someone murmurs. The old veteran shakes his head, but makes no move to follow the two of them.
The pair of them make their way through the night, first circling the inn, and then heading towards the guard post, swinging the light to catch sight of anything they can - bodies or otherwise. Ellie can feel her heart pounding, but she forces herself to keep moving, even as the sound of scraping steel draws closer.