For Prayer (Day 286)

"There she is!," exclaimed Sarah in a hushed whisper. "She's actually--she's eating one of those things!"

It was well known among the people of the plains that the wildlife in the Stakes was not only temperamental, but mostly a waste of time to kill and eat. The shard wolves had tough, wiry flesh that most cooking methods rendered only barely palatable. It was a last resort as a food source to say the least. This brown-haired woman was presently roasting a messily dismembered wolf leg over a roaring fire. Brea knew well the kind of disappointment the woman was in for once she was done preparing her meal.

From their vantage point behind a stand of rocks atop a slope, Brea and Sarah could just barely make out the strange woman's features. She was indeed not dressed for the plains, garbed as she was in a fine blue tunic and white leggings. It was clear the garment had seen better days, however. It was rumpled and caked with dust, ostensibly from the road. Her exposed forearms shone wetly with sweat but her complexion was quite pale--yet her fair skin had not yet been burned by the sun's rays. If she'd been traveling through the area for even a short period of time, the sun should have made much more of an effect on her. That was certainly strange.

"I'm impressed she managed to kill one of those things," remarked Brea quietly. "I don't see any kind of weapon on her at all."

Sarah's breath caught in her throat. "She. . .she doesn't need one."

"Oh, right--because she's a sorcerer? I'll believe that when I see evidence of it."

"It's right in front of you," grumbled Sarah. "How else would she have taken a shard wolf down? Do you think she used her bare hands? Look at her. She's delicate."

It was true that this woman was rather more slender than your average plainswoman--not unlike Sarah, to be truthful. Looks could be deceiving, however, and judging by this woman's propensity for slaying dangerous predatory beasts, she was more than capable of handling herself. It was extremely unlikely she would be able to take a shard wolf down unarmed, Brea had to admit. Her weapon could be lying somewhere discarded, surely? After scanning the area, Brea caught sight of a thick cloak lying a few yards away from the fire, most likely discarded due to the heat. This was yet another inappropriate article of clothing for the area--but perhaps her weapon of choice was with that cloak?

"She can't be that delicate if she took down a shard wolf. She probably has a weapon, Sarah. See that cloak? It's probably under there for safekeeping."

"She doesn't have anything, Brea. . ." Sarah returned quietly. "She brought the wolf down with some destructive force. She's dangerous. Do you think she wants something with Jiendo?"

Brea scoffed. "Of course not. Even if she were a sorcerer, what possibly reason would she have to be here? There is absolutely nothing of interest out here in the plains--even I can admit that."

"I can't pretend to understand the motives of a sorcerer!" exclaimed Sarah. "All I know is that her being here can't be a good thing."

"I'm going to go talk to her," Brea said suddenly, her mind made up scarcely before the words had left her mouth.

"No!" Sarah yelling, forgetting for the moment that they were trying not to alert the woman of their presence. "Don't! She'll kill you, Brea!"

The woman had clearly heard Sarah's shrill yowl and affixed her gaze on the stand of rocks they'd been hiding behind, her muscles tensed nervously. She let the gory leg fall unceremoniously to the parched earth and rose to her feet, readying her hands at her side. She very much resembled a cat about to pounce. Brea stumbled clumsily down the slope toward the clearing the woman had made camp in, her hands thrust out before her in a gesture she hoped was spectacularly unthreatening.

"Hello, Stranger," she said uncertainly. "I, uh, don't mean you any harm, but I noticed you were out here alone and I wondered if you--well, uh. I'm Brea."

The other woman relaxed the tension in her muscles subtly, but it was clear she was still ready to. . .do something. Whether it was fighting or fleeing, Brea wasn't sure, but it was clear the woman was not quick to trust. "My name is Casnie," she said suddenly. Her voice had a carefully composed quality to it, as if she were delivering lines on a stage.

"N-nice to meet you," replied Brea awkwardly. "What brings you to the plains?"