UNPROMPTED INBOX THINGS || ALWAYS accepting || @abanlok
left among litriu's things is a quiver full of arrows, they look to be crafted out of coral skeletons mixed with clean steel, wood is palm wood and by their soft glow they'd been enchanted with evoking magics. next to the quiver lays a small pouch, rosmary, thyme, mint, elfroot, blood lotus and many more, already ground and separated into even smaller pouches. this was all bound in a large scaled wrap, hefty in weight but the ombre of colors, flacks of gold specs glittering atop them.
then finally a letter, in neat but curled writing:
warden, i know haven't always gotten along. i admit that my easy going nature can cause problems from times to time. i will however, also state that having your laces tied too tight makes it difficult to enjoy your walk! but never the less, i'm sorry for any trouble i caused you on our last outing. it wasn't in the spirit of being mean but only to have you let loose a bit.
you wardens are always knee deep in doom and gloom. do you all forget that you still live? that the sun shines and there is life to be lived? i hope not. which is why i fashioned this gift for you. new arrows for your hunts, plenty of medicine and bitty snacks for your friends (the fuzzy, feathered and scaled alike!) and the hide of a passed dracolisk. do whatever you please with my gifts.
p.s: don't be a stranger, we can always change our minds.
-your rowdy ruffian, sire ledua.
It's Tracker that finds the note, as Litriu stares at the gifts left with her things. It's-
Perplexing. Disconcerting.
Not many people have given her gifts, in her life, particularly not this numerously.
She does not tend to favor a bow- sticking to daggers, the fangs in her hands as she surges forth alongside her beasts, but there is one always and ever strapped to her back, just in case- and clearly, Sire had paid attention to that.
Quietly, she takes the note from the little cross-fox, lifting it to read, and tilting her head to one side in thought as the words spill across the page and into her gaze.
It's true that her dynamic with Sire has been.. Tumultuous. But despite herself, there's a soft spot, for the qunari- there's respect.
He speaks of wishing she would 'loose' a bit- she huffs a little, shaking her head. She's not the sort, but- she supposes there's something sweet about it.
'Do you forget that you still live?'
Does she? Should she?
She folds the letter, quietly- and then slides it into a small pouch on her belt, with three other letters- old, oft-read things, the paper gone soft from the times she's read and re-read them.
"... We shall have to do something in return for him," she says quietly to Tracker, who chatters agreeably.
He hadn't had to be kind. And yet now he has been.
She won't ignore that.
