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Opaque dank fog clung to the ground and wrapped itself sinuously around the heavy trunks of garangutan trees. Luxuriating in the foul weather, large animate fungi plopped fatly from place, in search of decaying plant matter to eat. Silent feline entities stared down from high perches on the piled heaps of rock that made their dens. Above the low-hanging mist, bats flicked and flitted, avoiding the scattered and green-hued shafts of sunlight that found their way in through the occasional holes in the high canopy that had been left when the giant trees occasionally fell.
Rising up sporadically from the leaf litter that thickly carpeted the damp ground, the chilly, silent shapes of hard-edged dark crystals, most of them long cold and dead. However, from a scattered few, a pulsing lavender glow indicated that an energy source of some form still persevered within the angular crystals. Even the solitary lights of the distant outpost were dim and lost in the undulating sea of white fog.
Amidst the pristine dimness, a brown-robed figure riding a big yellow bird threaded between the trees and rocks, and turned a cloaked head to and fro, and sighed and spat in frustration, tugging at reins and turning the chocobo's head a different direction, before kicking lightly against the heavy thighs of the flightless bird. It squawked a protest, then trotted on into the mist that had become more pearl than white, an ashy color that seemed to be darkening. The slanting rays of sunlight had taken on a more extreme angle, and now, pink-tinted, they faded into the same lavender hue as the glowing crystals and vanished alltogether, leaving only darkness thickened by the everpresent fog, with the solitary traveler accompanied only by the sound of chocobo feet hitting the ground, a dull, empty and repetitious thud.
But the rider shifted and clucked the tired bird on, kicking it again, for there was more in the air than just mist...the distinct tang of damp firewood burning, smoke, and, from some distance, an occasional burst of muffled laughter and cheering.
"Boh!"
The sound was abrupt, wet, thick, garbled, and came from right under the chocobo's feet. The sudden startle was too much for the tired, abused animal to tolerate, and, spreading short wings, it reared up in a leap, ducked, sidestepped, and in the midst of this, managed to unseat the none-too-skilled rider, turning on one clawed foot and dashing off into the opaque gloom of the forest, intent on the warmth of it's home stable and the meal waiting there.
Sitting up on the damp forest floor where she had fallen, the young mithra stared in something like stunned horror at the squat, earthtoned figure that stood before her on crooked knees, with bent shoulders and long drooping greenish ears that framed the round silhouette. Remembering that such creatures were prone to equate sitting or lying down with resting and weakness, the mithra scrambled to her feet, at the same time knowing it was a useless effort. The leather armor was tough, sweatstained, marked by blades, the gleaming point of an actual knife, not some rusted hand-me-down shone in the light. A professional goblin, if there was such a thing...as opposed to the delinquent juveniles that wandered close to the cities seking shelter from the bullying thugs like these.
"Mithwa gowts a pwetty taiwl." A flicker of the sharpened edge as the goblin gestured towards a point in the darkness where the fog was lit not in a hue of lavender, but a more yellow-orangey hue. "Wawlk."
Shivering, trembling, the mithra looked at the signs of the campfire concealed within a ring of boulders, the birthpoint of the smoke she had been following, and nodded inanely before forcing herself forwards on quivering legs. The knife-point jabbed her cruelly in the small of the back, and she quickened her gait slightly, tempted to break into a sprint, knowing that goblin bolts from their stout crossbows traveled faster than her feet ever would.
"Well. Well, what have we here, now?" A voice with no trace of the goblinic accent, but the mithra was too afraid to look up and see what spoke so clearly and with such a drawl. The only beastmen that spoke with no accent, when they spoke, were the Kindred, known as demons among even the other beastmen.
"Mithwa gowts a pwetty taiwl." A knobby hand closed around the appendage mentioned and yanked it, turning the mithra around to face away from the warm fire and present her tail, apparently prized to the goblins.
"A nice un she do have."
"But what to do to the rest of the mithra!?"
She squeezed her eyes closed, prayed that whatever would be done would happen soon and be done with, hands held protectively over her bottom as though in anticipation of the pain that would come with a less-than-surgical removal of one of her extremeties.
"Mithwa taiwl mihn! Me gamble wit iht."
"Hah! Gamble who, you halfpint fool!"
"Gamble Boggnix! Mithwa taiwl agintht...hurrm...hish ruby!"
"You itjit..."
"Iffen ee wantss to gamble it let im gamble it! Is is capture!"
"Pass the die then!"
Rattling and clattering, like pebbles thrown into a tin cup and shaken around briskly.
"Bets! Bets!"
"Twuh aights!"
"Tew eieits an a five!"
"Twuh aights and twuh faur's!"
"Tew eieits an a five...an a two!"
"Dahn!"
A brisk shake, a discordiant clatter as the die were thrown, a chorus of 'ooooo' noises.
"Ye foo! Now offin wit eer tail!"
The first voice to have spoken finally made a reappearance after a long lapse of silence, another comment, and the accent was just as different from the disparate pitch and garbled noises that comprised goblin tongue as it had been before, but this time less mocking, more...human sounding. The mithra tried to peek at the source without being seen, but the edges of her hood were in the way.
"Let's not be hasty now. You wouldn't want to be caught peddling damaged merchandise now, would you?" A slightly chilly laugh.
"Whet's ees now, humee?"
"Oh, only that I may be interested in tossing the dies myself for that particular mithra tail...but I'd not have it bloodied and messy."
"Hah! You wanting to gamble with Bloggnix now, too?"
"I'll throw my die in the cup if he's not afraid to lose to a hume," the response came in a cool, unruffled tone of voice. "And I'll put up a fat stake too." A heavy clinking thump.
The mithra suddenly became interested enough in the proceedings to dare a look up and glance around warily, wondering intently if salvation of some form might be at hand. Sitting with crossed legs among the rocks the goblins were perched on, was a blond hume of some presumably mercenary sort, apparently at ease. The gold firelight painted the female...even stranger a person to find out here...a more or less uniform color of gold, skin, hair, even her clothing was orange and brown, warm, rich earthy tones. Her face seemed to be utterly bland, and as the mithra studied her, the hume did not turn to return the appraising gaze, merely sat and stared at one of the goblin clan, fingering the mouth of a draw-sack that was flattened like heavy coins against the rock she had dropped it onto.
Truth be told, the mithra Isandi thought to herself, this stranger didn't exactly look like a better fate than the goblins. She didn't look like much of anything at all, in fact, which slightly worried her in a way the goblins hadn't. On the other hand, anything was better than having one's tail rudely chopped off at the base, surely, and the stranger WAS another woman.
"Would you rather I withdraw my stake?" the sack was lifted, tantalizingly slowly, coins resounding as tension came into the leather pouch.
"Now! Less nat be hastee!"
A cup was produced quickly, and passed around, each member of the group putting a die into it as their turn came, the whole being shaken and rattled.
"Bets! Bets!"
"Tew aights an a fivve serv't wel las ime!"
"I bet four fours."
"Eee lies!"
"Four fours and...an eight."
"Ye's a liar, hume!"
"Place your bet, then."
There was a silent, awkwards shuffling as goblin and hume stared at each other, the soft rattling tempo of the can of dice underscoring the quietness.
"Thro' ee dies!"
Muttering, the clatter of thrown dies, a sharp sound as tensions broke and a sound that was not quite a sigh passed through the group.
"Ye cheet!"
Isandi couldn't see the dies, but she could tell by the leader's reaction what the outcome had been...and a moment later, she was unceremoniously shoved over against one of the packs that was leaned up against the rocky enclosure the camp was taking place in, and almost missed the woman's response.
"So do you."
Another taut moment, before a nervous sort of shuffling laughter rippled through the group, and then another matter was introduced as someone suddenly growled something and, quite suddenly, goblins and hume alike turned to the fire, picking at the flaming logs and moving them, one at a time, flicking coals back with sticks as Isandi watched, amazed, to discover a pot had been buried in the center of the flames, and the campfire was being quite literally moved off of it. The pot was fetched out onto a central rock, while an assemblage of wooden and earthenware bowls and tin plates was produced. The hume blew ash and grit off the lid of the pot before lifting it off with the heavy leather gauntlets she was wearing, inhaling appreciatively at the curls of steam that rose up, before grabbing a ladle from someone and apparently serving herself first, the other goblins jostling and arguing in snuffly voices as she relinquished the ladle and sat back, blowing at the food on her plate to cool it before she caught Isandi's eye.
"Help yourself if you want any, kitty."
Isandi shook her head, not terribly enticed by the smell from the pot, or comfortable enough around the goblins to eat anything, preferring to stare as the hume took everything in stride, jostling, threats, insults, and boasts. A green glass bottle was brought out and passed around, which the hume sniffed at and passed on.
"Don't tell me you don't' have any yagudo brew with you, Bloggnix."
"Peh! Birdmen! Too sweet, too sweet for goblin tongues!"
"Liar. Give it or I'll gamble you again."
More muttering, and then a rope-wrapped jug was produced and passed to the hume, who drank long and deep, giving a faint sigh as she picked at the stew-like meal with her fingers, the same as the goblins were doing, sorting through the pale, sticky lumps that comprised the rather nauseating-looking substance and eating daintily only a few at a time. Setting the jug down before herself, she tilted the plate up and licked at the thick gravy-like substance, before continuing on with her meal, jesting with the goblins. Isandi lumped down against the rock beside the pack, apparently just another possession for now, eyelids growing heavy as the moon rose, apparently forgotten. The plates were emptied and set aside, the bottles and jugs tipped back again, and more wood went on the fire, voices spoke louder, got rougher. An ill-timed jest provoked a kick, which provoked a punch, and reeling fistfight evolved and devolved just as quickly. A harp of some sort was produced, as well as set of pipes, and some wooden spoons and tin pots, and the band set about convincing each other that the resultant racket was musical. Isandi, lulled by the heat of the fire and the relative comfort of sitting down on something soft, drifted in and out of awareness, unsure at times if the luridly detailed and bizzare encounter was some kind of dream-nightmare, or otherwise.
She came sharply to awareness at some point in time after the fire had turned into a low red glow, roused by a hard hand on her shoulder and a brisk shake. She looked up, blinking, rubbing her knuckles across the back of her eyes as she yawned, and shivering. Without the fire or a blanket, it was cold and, she could see by the faint rose tint to the everpresent fog above the ring of boulders, dawn must be coming. Scrambling hastily to her feet, she watched the hume female stand up, then lift a rather large pack similar to the goblin's packs and sling it onto her own back. Around them, it seemed the drunken revel had wound to an end, and, inspite of the mussed and lurid fighting and singing of hours before, each member of the band as well as the hume appeared sober as the rocks that surrounded them.
"Time to get up and go," she said in a gruff voice, before straightening, pursing her lips, and whistling most piercingly, with a sound that seemed to stab through the mist like a lance. A regular thud-thudding came in answer, with the moments-later appearance of a very large, very black chocobo, devoid of a saddle or harness. A moment later, gauntleted hands had clamped around Isandi's waist, and there was a grunt of effort as she was swung up onto the back of the very wild-looking chocobo, which had crouched oblingingly down. A moment later, another grunt of effort, and the hume had swung a leg over the chocobo's back behind Isandi. The creature stood, and, with a soft tsk-tsk noise from the hume, cantered off into the mist.
"Thank you for saving my tail," Isandi said, to break the silence.
"What were you doing out here, anyway?" The hume was riding easily, legs tight against the chocobo's sides, hands resting on her thighs, shoulders moving in time to the thudding feet. Isandi could feel the woman's relaxation through her buttocks, balanced against the thighs of the stranger, and wished she could be as much at ease where she sat, trying desperately to resist the urge to fling her arms around the bird's neck, seeking a more sure balance than her own precarious one.
"Looking...for someone..."
"Out here?" It seemed the regular beats of chocobo feet against the ground slowed down, betraying more than a casual interest in the question, and Isandi fancied that the course changed slightly.
"Yes...well...sort of. A white mage native to Windurst. Supposedly she comes here often."
"Ah-ah." Now there was definitely a change in direction, one of the woman's legs shifting as her heels pressed against the animal's sides transmitted a command to turn, and perhaps one to speed up again.
"You know where she is? Will you take me to her?" the mithra said, ears perking up.
"Mmmm, yes, I think I shall." There was a chuckle in the voice, as the chocobo arched in a wide circle and cantered off into the mist on its new heading.
They came upon the house quite suddenly, it seemed to Isandi, although she had been paying more attention to the woods around them than that infront of them, and when she glanced up at her savior's expression, it was distant and unreadable, carefully blanked out. She hadn't noticed the home until the chocobo had stopped before it, crouching down, and in the next moment, the hume was sliding off, and Isandi tumbled rather disgracefully after her once the source of her balance was removed, falling in a heap on the forest floor once again.
"You really ought to learn a more comfortable way of dismounting a chocobo," the woman stated with a laugh.
"I do just fine with a saddle," Isandi said defensively, brushing leaves and dirt off her tunic, although, she thought disparagingly, there really wasn't much point in doing so by now. After two falls off chocobos, a capture by goblins, and falling asleep leaning against a moss-covered rock, it was pretty much filthy. She pulled the hood back, staring up at the 'house' as she brushed fingers through her orangey hair.
Rising up sporadically from the leaf litter that thickly carpeted the damp ground, the chilly, silent shapes of hard-edged dark crystals, most of them long cold and dead. However, from a scattered few, a pulsing lavender glow indicated that an energy source of some form still persevered within the angular crystals. Even the solitary lights of the distant outpost were dim and lost in the undulating sea of white fog.
Amidst the pristine dimness, a brown-robed figure riding a big yellow bird threaded between the trees and rocks, and turned a cloaked head to and fro, and sighed and spat in frustration, tugging at reins and turning the chocobo's head a different direction, before kicking lightly against the heavy thighs of the flightless bird. It squawked a protest, then trotted on into the mist that had become more pearl than white, an ashy color that seemed to be darkening. The slanting rays of sunlight had taken on a more extreme angle, and now, pink-tinted, they faded into the same lavender hue as the glowing crystals and vanished alltogether, leaving only darkness thickened by the everpresent fog, with the solitary traveler accompanied only by the sound of chocobo feet hitting the ground, a dull, empty and repetitious thud.
But the rider shifted and clucked the tired bird on, kicking it again, for there was more in the air than just mist...the distinct tang of damp firewood burning, smoke, and, from some distance, an occasional burst of muffled laughter and cheering.
"Boh!"
The sound was abrupt, wet, thick, garbled, and came from right under the chocobo's feet. The sudden startle was too much for the tired, abused animal to tolerate, and, spreading short wings, it reared up in a leap, ducked, sidestepped, and in the midst of this, managed to unseat the none-too-skilled rider, turning on one clawed foot and dashing off into the opaque gloom of the forest, intent on the warmth of it's home stable and the meal waiting there.
Sitting up on the damp forest floor where she had fallen, the young mithra stared in something like stunned horror at the squat, earthtoned figure that stood before her on crooked knees, with bent shoulders and long drooping greenish ears that framed the round silhouette. Remembering that such creatures were prone to equate sitting or lying down with resting and weakness, the mithra scrambled to her feet, at the same time knowing it was a useless effort. The leather armor was tough, sweatstained, marked by blades, the gleaming point of an actual knife, not some rusted hand-me-down shone in the light. A professional goblin, if there was such a thing...as opposed to the delinquent juveniles that wandered close to the cities seking shelter from the bullying thugs like these.
"Mithwa gowts a pwetty taiwl." A flicker of the sharpened edge as the goblin gestured towards a point in the darkness where the fog was lit not in a hue of lavender, but a more yellow-orangey hue. "Wawlk."
Shivering, trembling, the mithra looked at the signs of the campfire concealed within a ring of boulders, the birthpoint of the smoke she had been following, and nodded inanely before forcing herself forwards on quivering legs. The knife-point jabbed her cruelly in the small of the back, and she quickened her gait slightly, tempted to break into a sprint, knowing that goblin bolts from their stout crossbows traveled faster than her feet ever would.
"Well. Well, what have we here, now?" A voice with no trace of the goblinic accent, but the mithra was too afraid to look up and see what spoke so clearly and with such a drawl. The only beastmen that spoke with no accent, when they spoke, were the Kindred, known as demons among even the other beastmen.
"Mithwa gowts a pwetty taiwl." A knobby hand closed around the appendage mentioned and yanked it, turning the mithra around to face away from the warm fire and present her tail, apparently prized to the goblins.
"A nice un she do have."
"But what to do to the rest of the mithra!?"
She squeezed her eyes closed, prayed that whatever would be done would happen soon and be done with, hands held protectively over her bottom as though in anticipation of the pain that would come with a less-than-surgical removal of one of her extremeties.
"Mithwa taiwl mihn! Me gamble wit iht."
"Hah! Gamble who, you halfpint fool!"
"Gamble Boggnix! Mithwa taiwl agintht...hurrm...hish ruby!"
"You itjit..."
"Iffen ee wantss to gamble it let im gamble it! Is is capture!"
"Pass the die then!"
Rattling and clattering, like pebbles thrown into a tin cup and shaken around briskly.
"Bets! Bets!"
"Twuh aights!"
"Tew eieits an a five!"
"Twuh aights and twuh faur's!"
"Tew eieits an a five...an a two!"
"Dahn!"
A brisk shake, a discordiant clatter as the die were thrown, a chorus of 'ooooo' noises.
"Ye foo! Now offin wit eer tail!"
The first voice to have spoken finally made a reappearance after a long lapse of silence, another comment, and the accent was just as different from the disparate pitch and garbled noises that comprised goblin tongue as it had been before, but this time less mocking, more...human sounding. The mithra tried to peek at the source without being seen, but the edges of her hood were in the way.
"Let's not be hasty now. You wouldn't want to be caught peddling damaged merchandise now, would you?" A slightly chilly laugh.
"Whet's ees now, humee?"
"Oh, only that I may be interested in tossing the dies myself for that particular mithra tail...but I'd not have it bloodied and messy."
"Hah! You wanting to gamble with Bloggnix now, too?"
"I'll throw my die in the cup if he's not afraid to lose to a hume," the response came in a cool, unruffled tone of voice. "And I'll put up a fat stake too." A heavy clinking thump.
The mithra suddenly became interested enough in the proceedings to dare a look up and glance around warily, wondering intently if salvation of some form might be at hand. Sitting with crossed legs among the rocks the goblins were perched on, was a blond hume of some presumably mercenary sort, apparently at ease. The gold firelight painted the female...even stranger a person to find out here...a more or less uniform color of gold, skin, hair, even her clothing was orange and brown, warm, rich earthy tones. Her face seemed to be utterly bland, and as the mithra studied her, the hume did not turn to return the appraising gaze, merely sat and stared at one of the goblin clan, fingering the mouth of a draw-sack that was flattened like heavy coins against the rock she had dropped it onto.
Truth be told, the mithra Isandi thought to herself, this stranger didn't exactly look like a better fate than the goblins. She didn't look like much of anything at all, in fact, which slightly worried her in a way the goblins hadn't. On the other hand, anything was better than having one's tail rudely chopped off at the base, surely, and the stranger WAS another woman.
"Would you rather I withdraw my stake?" the sack was lifted, tantalizingly slowly, coins resounding as tension came into the leather pouch.
"Now! Less nat be hastee!"
A cup was produced quickly, and passed around, each member of the group putting a die into it as their turn came, the whole being shaken and rattled.
"Bets! Bets!"
"Tew aights an a fivve serv't wel las ime!"
"I bet four fours."
"Eee lies!"
"Four fours and...an eight."
"Ye's a liar, hume!"
"Place your bet, then."
There was a silent, awkwards shuffling as goblin and hume stared at each other, the soft rattling tempo of the can of dice underscoring the quietness.
"Thro' ee dies!"
Muttering, the clatter of thrown dies, a sharp sound as tensions broke and a sound that was not quite a sigh passed through the group.
"Ye cheet!"
Isandi couldn't see the dies, but she could tell by the leader's reaction what the outcome had been...and a moment later, she was unceremoniously shoved over against one of the packs that was leaned up against the rocky enclosure the camp was taking place in, and almost missed the woman's response.
"So do you."
Another taut moment, before a nervous sort of shuffling laughter rippled through the group, and then another matter was introduced as someone suddenly growled something and, quite suddenly, goblins and hume alike turned to the fire, picking at the flaming logs and moving them, one at a time, flicking coals back with sticks as Isandi watched, amazed, to discover a pot had been buried in the center of the flames, and the campfire was being quite literally moved off of it. The pot was fetched out onto a central rock, while an assemblage of wooden and earthenware bowls and tin plates was produced. The hume blew ash and grit off the lid of the pot before lifting it off with the heavy leather gauntlets she was wearing, inhaling appreciatively at the curls of steam that rose up, before grabbing a ladle from someone and apparently serving herself first, the other goblins jostling and arguing in snuffly voices as she relinquished the ladle and sat back, blowing at the food on her plate to cool it before she caught Isandi's eye.
"Help yourself if you want any, kitty."
Isandi shook her head, not terribly enticed by the smell from the pot, or comfortable enough around the goblins to eat anything, preferring to stare as the hume took everything in stride, jostling, threats, insults, and boasts. A green glass bottle was brought out and passed around, which the hume sniffed at and passed on.
"Don't tell me you don't' have any yagudo brew with you, Bloggnix."
"Peh! Birdmen! Too sweet, too sweet for goblin tongues!"
"Liar. Give it or I'll gamble you again."
More muttering, and then a rope-wrapped jug was produced and passed to the hume, who drank long and deep, giving a faint sigh as she picked at the stew-like meal with her fingers, the same as the goblins were doing, sorting through the pale, sticky lumps that comprised the rather nauseating-looking substance and eating daintily only a few at a time. Setting the jug down before herself, she tilted the plate up and licked at the thick gravy-like substance, before continuing on with her meal, jesting with the goblins. Isandi lumped down against the rock beside the pack, apparently just another possession for now, eyelids growing heavy as the moon rose, apparently forgotten. The plates were emptied and set aside, the bottles and jugs tipped back again, and more wood went on the fire, voices spoke louder, got rougher. An ill-timed jest provoked a kick, which provoked a punch, and reeling fistfight evolved and devolved just as quickly. A harp of some sort was produced, as well as set of pipes, and some wooden spoons and tin pots, and the band set about convincing each other that the resultant racket was musical. Isandi, lulled by the heat of the fire and the relative comfort of sitting down on something soft, drifted in and out of awareness, unsure at times if the luridly detailed and bizzare encounter was some kind of dream-nightmare, or otherwise.
She came sharply to awareness at some point in time after the fire had turned into a low red glow, roused by a hard hand on her shoulder and a brisk shake. She looked up, blinking, rubbing her knuckles across the back of her eyes as she yawned, and shivering. Without the fire or a blanket, it was cold and, she could see by the faint rose tint to the everpresent fog above the ring of boulders, dawn must be coming. Scrambling hastily to her feet, she watched the hume female stand up, then lift a rather large pack similar to the goblin's packs and sling it onto her own back. Around them, it seemed the drunken revel had wound to an end, and, inspite of the mussed and lurid fighting and singing of hours before, each member of the band as well as the hume appeared sober as the rocks that surrounded them.
"Time to get up and go," she said in a gruff voice, before straightening, pursing her lips, and whistling most piercingly, with a sound that seemed to stab through the mist like a lance. A regular thud-thudding came in answer, with the moments-later appearance of a very large, very black chocobo, devoid of a saddle or harness. A moment later, gauntleted hands had clamped around Isandi's waist, and there was a grunt of effort as she was swung up onto the back of the very wild-looking chocobo, which had crouched oblingingly down. A moment later, another grunt of effort, and the hume had swung a leg over the chocobo's back behind Isandi. The creature stood, and, with a soft tsk-tsk noise from the hume, cantered off into the mist.
"Thank you for saving my tail," Isandi said, to break the silence.
"What were you doing out here, anyway?" The hume was riding easily, legs tight against the chocobo's sides, hands resting on her thighs, shoulders moving in time to the thudding feet. Isandi could feel the woman's relaxation through her buttocks, balanced against the thighs of the stranger, and wished she could be as much at ease where she sat, trying desperately to resist the urge to fling her arms around the bird's neck, seeking a more sure balance than her own precarious one.
"Looking...for someone..."
"Out here?" It seemed the regular beats of chocobo feet against the ground slowed down, betraying more than a casual interest in the question, and Isandi fancied that the course changed slightly.
"Yes...well...sort of. A white mage native to Windurst. Supposedly she comes here often."
"Ah-ah." Now there was definitely a change in direction, one of the woman's legs shifting as her heels pressed against the animal's sides transmitted a command to turn, and perhaps one to speed up again.
"You know where she is? Will you take me to her?" the mithra said, ears perking up.
"Mmmm, yes, I think I shall." There was a chuckle in the voice, as the chocobo arched in a wide circle and cantered off into the mist on its new heading.
They came upon the house quite suddenly, it seemed to Isandi, although she had been paying more attention to the woods around them than that infront of them, and when she glanced up at her savior's expression, it was distant and unreadable, carefully blanked out. She hadn't noticed the home until the chocobo had stopped before it, crouching down, and in the next moment, the hume was sliding off, and Isandi tumbled rather disgracefully after her once the source of her balance was removed, falling in a heap on the forest floor once again.
"You really ought to learn a more comfortable way of dismounting a chocobo," the woman stated with a laugh.
"I do just fine with a saddle," Isandi said defensively, brushing leaves and dirt off her tunic, although, she thought disparagingly, there really wasn't much point in doing so by now. After two falls off chocobos, a capture by goblins, and falling asleep leaning against a moss-covered rock, it was pretty much filthy. She pulled the hood back, staring up at the 'house' as she brushed fingers through her orangey hair.
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