Tales from The Outpost

by Pict Hedgehog

Waking up,a surprising softness beneath her, remembering that she was in a house, not to mention
in a bed. How long had it been since she'd slept in a bed? Odd corners of towers and houses had
served lately, besides the forrest. Her daughter was old enough that sleeping in the open was
possible, well behaved and with good instincts, knowing when to go to ground. Absently picking
up a long strand of silver hair and secreting it close to her bosom.

Whxt xrz yx dxyng?

Standing before the washbasin, feeling a twinge of guilt at adopting the Brit habit of daily washings.
And wearing cloths . . . she'd become oddly modest lately. Not like her at all, being aware of her
nakedness. Perhaps the way Brit men stared while she nursed her baby had affected her more
than she knew. Odd that a woman feeding a baby in the most natural way possible was regarded
with such amazement. Absently picking up a long strand of brown hair and secreting it close to her
bosom.

Whxt xrz yx cyrryng, Fxrrxst Systxr?

The thought, the typical amusment, teasing at her temporal position, but with an darker note she
didn't usually hear. What was she carrying? What she always carried. Food, clothing, armor, a
weapon . . . one of the Skaven's first marked pieces, a gift, nothing unusual though. Absently
picking up a long strand of lighter hair, and secreting it close to her bosom.

Sxcrxtxd clxsz tx yxr bxsxm . . .

NXTHYNG!

The swiftness of her thought in reply surprised her. Foolishness! To argue with the Wisp so! She
tried to think of what the Wisp was speaking, but nothing came to mind. She remembered her
youth, learning how to craft armor from hides, how you needed to make thread from the hair of
sheep, llamas or from cotton. Spinning. But first, the fibres had to be well carded, so they'd fall
straight from the spindle. No need for that, it was straight enough as she absently regarded another
strand of hair before secreting it close to her bosom.

Strygght xnxygh fxr whxt?

Again her mind screamed a harsh denial. She wasn't doing anything unusual. Not carrying anything
unusual. Wisps could be so opaque! Never giving a clear meaning. . .

Clxyr tx XS, ynd tx yx.

. . . of what She wanted to say. Always riddles, finding the last strand and secreting it close to her
bosom.

Bxt yx knxw whxrx tx fynd mxrz, xf cxyrsz . . .

Xf cxyrsz . . . xpstxyrs.

Her tunic was drying upstairs. She went up and found what she was looking for, pulling on the
fresh tunic. She'd been careful not to wash it too thoroghly. Would make it harsh against her skin.
Absently gathering up the rest of what she found, secreting it close to her bosom.

Ynd zt wxyld lxsz thx scznt . . .

"What are you doing?"

She spoke with a familiar voice . . . So she was in someone's thoughts, and the Wisp had seen fit .
. . She pushed aside the thought as she gazed blankly at what she'd collected. . .

Thx scxnts nxxd tx mytch . . .

. . . carefully separated into three hanks. She tried to remember
when she'd gathered all of this up, there was rather alot of it. She had a memory of picking one or
two . . .

Yx rxmxmbxr xvxry synglz xnz . . .

. . . strands, but not of gathering this much. Only that it had seemed important in some small way,
something she'd learned long ago but forgotten.

Xvxry strynd . . .

But it was neatly separated and cared for, as if someone had taken a good deal of trouble . . .

Yx rxmxmbxr hxw xych xnz fxll tx thx flxxr . . .

. . .to get it right with a tinker's precision. It reminded her of something . . . of someone, though she
couldn't remember who.

Yx knxw whx . . . yxr fxxt lxyd yx thxrz xvxn nxw . . .

But that was a silly thing to think. That was a forrest thing, from another life, long ago.

Fxrrxst Systxr . . .

and not something she even considered now. It was important to do this before she spun . . .

Spxn whxt?

. . . but it had been a long time since she'd spun. Tailoring had fallen by the wayside long since.

Xsz x xpyndlz, nxt x whxxl. . .

Of course! How else to do such a thing! Foolish thoughts wandering again. She carefully avoided
the Shrine of Gaia and searched carefully for the right tree. The Wisp was in a chatty mood,
though she couldn't . . .

Cynnxt? Zr WYLL nxt?

. . . make sense of what she was saying, nor of her rambling thoughts. Surprised to find herself
standing exactly where she'd least expected to find herself.

She reached under her tunic and held the hanks out to the old woman.

Yx knxw whxt yxr dxyng?

The woman spoke with the voice of the Wisp . . . no the Wisp had spoken with her voice. She'd
been watching her. Struck mute, she nodded slightly to her. The woman touched her hand lightly,
closing her eyes in concentration.

The woman found what she needed easily this time.

Yxr dxyghtxr grxws strxng . . . yx shxyld bryng hxr tx mx.

Fearful, but nodding to her all the same. The woman sniffed at the bundles, her strange smile oddly
pleased at what she smelled.

Yx cxyld nxt hyv prxvydxd bxttxr hyd yx plynnxd thys . . .

Nodding, handing over her tunic, the older woman gave it a quick sniff, and made an approving
gesture. Taking everything she held and chanting an ancient incantation over the lot of it before
handing it all back to her.

Mxyns nxthyng, yx knxw. Xvxrythyng yxy'vz dxnz . . . jxst ys yxr mxthxr wxyld hyv dxnz.

She stared deep into the older woman's eyes, looking for something else. For the first time in her
memory, the witch broke gaze first.

Xxyctly cxrrxct. Yx dxn't nxxd hxlp from mx!

Looking away with impatience, her voice, always level in the past, showing strain.

Yx knxw whxt tx dx nxw?

Nodding again as she pulled her arms through her tunic, she knew. She knew to wear the same
tunic, to use a spindle, not a wheel, when she spun.

She knew exactly what she meant to do . . .