Jan. 1st, 2007

fighting_mad: (long - looking down)
There isn't much to move from the temporary quarters the royal couple had been sharing. Just a few boxes, a few bags. It only took Rial and Plourr two trips. The servants could have easily done it, but Plourr doesn't mind the work; it's only a few hours that she's been out of the infirmary, and she relishes in being able to do things for herself again.

She glances around to be sure that Rial isn't in the room--the warm, comfortable sitting room, decorated simply in creams and golds and yellows--and she eases herself down onto a box to catch her breath. He worries so when really, she's fine. Settling the sling more comfortably around her neck--a few more weeks, she reminds herself, only a few more weeks--her eyes fall on a box beside her foot. She leans forward and tugs it toward her, pulling open the flap.

Her smile flutters, quick and startled, as she sees what is inside; she carefully pulls out something lumpy and wrapped in linen and an old tunic (for purposes of camoflauge), and she peels back a corner of fabric and peers inside. Whatever she sees satisfies her, and she sets the small package on her knees.


fighting_mad: (Default)
Plourr Estillo

January 2017

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