Snippet #1528394

Years on the road had taught Talae the subtle art of packing both lightly and quickly, and it did not take too long before much of what remained inside the tent amounted to little more than the cots and two matching packs with wood frames, made of durable canvas and carrying all of the sisters' worldly possessions. Well, except for one thing, which was the reason she was currently casting about the empty space for her pestle and mortar.

Honestly, she'd used it just yesterday... what for? Well, poison, obviously, but had it been the kind that required seclusion and cloth over her nose and mouth or not? If it hadn't been, she would have just made it right here in the tent, but... it had been before she'd made her short-lived visit to the taphouse, but after the battle, obviously. Which left her with a good couple of hours in which she must have lost it somehow. Not that this made any sense either. Talae never misplaced anything, so this was rather off-putting.

Shaking her head, she supposed she might as well just ask Fae if she knew its whereabouts. She didn't exactly have time to go searching for it, since it probably would not still be where she had left it anyway. It wasn't like she had only the one set anyway. "Fae," she called stepping outside the tent (which she'd be pulling down in a few minutes anyway), "do you have any idea where my pestle and mortar went? The sandstone one. It'd smell like Monkshood probably."

Talae noted that she was interrupting a conversation and paused until she realized who it was. An amused smirk took up residence on her face, and she nodded to Kisikoni. "Morning. Feeling all right?" She did not frequently drink and fight, but she expected the combination might make for something of a difficult morning. Not one to intentionally interrupt further than necessary, she decided her sister's answer could wait and started removing tent stakes from the ground and folding the cloth into a tight bundle, which would then be loaded onto the supply cart. The poles were piled neatly off to one side, and the cots collapsed. It never hurt to be ready ahead of time, after all.

---

After taking a shift at the supply cart, Alistair was eventually relieved by another Legionnaire and decided to return to the main area of camp, perhaps pack up what few things remained. He took the long way, though, not really wanting to get in anyone's way with his awkward ground-movement. Truthfully, it wasn't that bad, but he was extremely self-conscious about it.

He was passing through a clearing towards the rear of camp when he noticed that the nightmarian, Neira, appeared to have chosen this particular spot for some variety of training. What exactly she was doing, he could not be sure, but it appeared to be some kind of slowed-down version of one of numerous ways in which to attack someone. He did something similar with spear forms, of course, but these were rather intricate-looking.

He shrugged, deciding it was really none of his business anyway, and continued onwards. You had to admire that kind of dedication, he supposed. It seemed that on those rare occasions he spotted her, she was always doing some for of exercise or what he guessed was meditation. His opinion of the woman was rather divided; she was abrasive to say the least, but then it was not as though she ever engaged her considerable cruelty potential on anyone but the enemy, so perhaps it was not his place to judge. In fact, he quite well knew it wasn't.