On The Outskirts of Beinost

[Flick]

Flick buried her face in the down pillow with a smile frozen on her face. No matter how she tried to soften the ground in her camp with leaves and moss, it could not compare to a mattress. She turned and flopped with arms outstretched. For the first time in a while, she looked up to wooden support beams and ceiling instead of blue skies or a sea of stars. She admitted sleeping indoors had that one downside, but the benefits far outweighed the detriments. With a deep breath, she sat up in her bed and surveyed the rest of her room. Of the common furnishings, the tub caught her attention the most. For the past month or so, the small stream that ran by her camp provided enough cold, clean water to wash herself with a rag. The idea of an actual soak and proper clean appealed to her.

A moment of hesitation crossed her mind. The young Valkyrie looked toward the door. She had to double-check. Flick swung her feet off the bed and walked to check the handle. The lock rattled and the door stayed. She hung her head in relief, then looked toward the one window that filled the room with the luminescence. Beside were two bunched of draped sheer— enough to obscure a wandering eye but still allow light to filter through. She pulled them closed and spent a few moments trying to look at the street below. Through them, all she could see were rough blobs of color moving about, nothing more. Still slightly unsettled, she felt safe enough in this small enclosure to let down her facade. Illusions faded around her person and the lace sash around her waist stretching into a pair of blue, iridescent wings connected at her lower back. It felt good to let them breathe.

Finally comfortable enough in her solitude, Flick removed her studded leather breastplate and worn clothes. Without ceremony, they fell to the floor. Fair skin exposed, Flick crawled into the tub. Not much warmer than the chill of the spring, her skin prickled with cold. Still, the difference was enough to be pleasant by comparison. She spent the next few moments unmoved. The soft sounds of civilization outside mixed with the muted clatter of cookware below. Through closed eyes, she could just envision what kind of warm meal awaited her. An hour felt so long. She couldn’t truly relax and enjoy herself with the anticipation that weighed on her mind. A soft sigh drifted from her lips. She at least resolved herself to finish freshening up. Of her entirety, she spent the most time gently preening the feathers of her wings. So much time on the ground collected all manner of dust, dirt, and debris. As she cleaned, she wondered about her mysterious benefactor. Who was he? Why did he pay for her room? Did he want anything to do with her wings? She could only imagine the price they would bring in certain markets. Wings of a Valkyrie? Even a half blood such as her? She shuddered at the thought.

Finally clean, Flick left her bath. She dried herself with a set of linens neatly left for her atop the nearby dresser. She eyed her dirty clothes on the ground with a snarl. To finally get a good wash only to put on filthy garments sat poorly with her. She paused to reflect with a grip of her chin. Should she? It would be a risk. Maybe at least her lingerie? She nodded. Flick put on the very bare essentials and threw the rest into the tub to soak. Her armor she hung where one might hang a cloak or shawl. Standing in the middle of the room, she let her magic encircle her. A moderately fashionable blouse appeared over her chest, white as the northern snow. Over her waist and legs materialized a long, flowing skirt, blue as clear skies. A black lace choker wrapped around her neck and her wings hugged tight to her side where they became the same elegant sash as before. Clothed in her illusions, Flick gave herself a spin and final inspection. She felt confident. On her travels, she had yet to encounter anyone that would see past the reality she presented.

From the hallway, she heard doors open and close. The sound of voices collected under her feet, and a faint savory aroma seeped from beneath her door. Had an hour passed already? Her stomach reinforced her curiosity and anticipation. With key in hand, she opened her door and turned to lock it behind her. The lack of pockets forced her to be creative and tuck the key into the waistband of her faux skirt and subsequently the only garment physically on her person. Nerves again gripped at her chest. Despite her confidence in her abilities, she still felt the worry of being around others. She always worried about others. Flight proved a great way to escape most situations, but again, the amenities of the indoors had its few detriments. Now, she paused in the hallway. Uncertainty hung in her throat. The stranger likely waited for her below. Was she so naive as to trust him? He did pay for her lodging and meal and without his charity, she would have likely been forced to fill out the tavern’s form. It wouldn’t have been the first time, but the less of a trail she could leave, the better.

“Alright,” she muttered. Her hand flexed in front of her, and the air chilled enough to produce wisps of vapor. If she had to, she could defend herself enough to make an escape. She bolstered her confidence and nodded again.

Flick made her way down the hall, stairs, and into the common area. An eruption of smells bombarded her and her mouth began to water. Tenants from the tavern and those seeking a hot meal already gathered around the long tables. She eyed the lesser used sitting areas along the walls. As much as she would rather keep her distance, the familiar head of hair she had followed into town sat in the middle of the room. Her anxiety caused her hands to ball, and she flicked her nails in worry. Biting at her lip, she approached the mass of people partaking in the feast.

She wove herself through the tables until she stood behind him. Her stomach growled. He spoke. He urged her to take a seat, where an entire roast quail waited ever so patiently to be devoured. Temptation sang its sweet song. The hesitation lasted only a second, and she took her seat, careful to keep hidden wings against her hips. She wasted little time in tearing a leg from the foul and taking her first bite. Campfire food could not compare to the herbs, spices, and slow cook of a proper kitchen. She almost couldn’t contain the wash of flavor and satisfaction. It took tremendous willpower to not tear into her food like a primitive savage. She stilled herself and turned her head ever so slightly to her side where the stranger, Cildorian, sat.

“Flick,” she replied quietly. It wasn’t a name she was proud of, but it was one most came to know her by. She picked at the quail in front of her. Hunger begged her to grab it with both hands and take a huge bite. Instead, she peeled a chunk off its breast and popped it into her mouth. She savored the bite and swallowed.

“Thank you…” she followed then paused. “But why?”

Caution and unease crept up the back of her neck. Her hands sat in her lap and frost chilled her fingertips.