The peel of the apple reflected the stormy heralding of the skies. The fresh scent of rain and the fat drops of the recent storm dripping from leaves accented the churning gravel of an approaching cart. His gaze would slide upwards as the knife began to cut through the waxy crimson of the fruits skin. The rivulets of neat trimmings would come to an end as the postman finally halted at the edge of the drive. "News from the capitol," He informed, though his tone was brisk and curt, he was not a rude man - rather, he seemed bothered, stressed by something. 

His trek back into the house was accompanied by cutting the apple in half, carving out the core and biting into the crisp flesh. His attention was brief over each of the envelopes, but lingered longest upon the one bearing his mother's family crest. The words, of course, escaped him, but he allowed his stare to linger over the penmanship regardless. 

Heavy boots illicit the creaks of the floorboards under him as he roamed back to where Ethel resided in the dining room. Offering her the other half of the fruit, he would also hand her the days heralding, taking yet another bite of his own half. "The post has come," though the announcement was unneeded, it left him none the less as he settled across from her at the table. "Anything important?"

Silver eyes watched as steam danced along the golden rim of her white porcelain cup.  Its aroma was a soothing comfort, a scent dedicated primarily to echinacea with a touch of honey.  One could hardly discern the type of tea leaves mingling within; black or green, it was delicious all the same.  It warmed her throat as it slid down to her chest and rested in the pit of her stomach to keep her breakfast of biscuit and strawberry jam company.  Despite the warming days of summer, there was never a bad time for tea.  She drew in a deep breath before placing the cup back onto its saucer and watched out of the dining room window. Ethel's attention was drawn away from the damp laundry swinging on the line to something her eyes were much more eager to watch.  A crooked hint of a smile teased the corner of her dahlia-kissed lips when his tall stature graced the archway to the dining room.  Dainty fingers clasped the offering of fruit while the other reached for the stack of letters.  After taking a bite of the apple half, Ethel placed it on the side of her saucer so she could open the first letter bearing the red wax seal that seemed - to her at least - to bear some manner of urgency.  "Odersten post service."  She murmured while fully unfolding the document to scan over the inked page.  July 9th, 1857.  To the head of house," Could he see the colour drain from her face?  Could he feel the way her stomach sunk to the creaky floor beneath them?  Her body felt cold and numb and terrified all in the same breadth.  She wanted to cry; she wanted to scream at whoever delivered the damned letter.  Delicate hands subtly shook as she held it, praying that the words would change.  No matter how hard she stared, they never did.  "It's... it's nothin'."  She lied.  "It's..." Those who fail to uphold their duty to the king shall be tried for desertion. It was cruel.  It was cruel that his life would be on the line for a war he didn't start, that there'd be nothing she could do to help him, to protect him in the throes of battle.  The decree called for a man to serve.  She was helpless.  Even if she continued to insist it was nothing, his fate was no longer theirs regardless of the choice.  Risk death in battle or death by trial.  Hadn't this been the reason they fled her homeland?  War.  Ethel wanted to vomit.  Heaving a deep breath, she read the letter, in full, aloud. ‘All that we see or seem’, ‘Is but a dream within a dream.

Jahi

He reclined back against the counter, his stare fixated for a long pause upon the wax seal, vibrant crimson against the otherwise bland coloring. His pulse had settled, though it was still a harsh feeling trapped within his chest. Was this it then? Word of his missing mother? Perhaps the message was from she herself, having heard he was back within the continent. That he was searching for leads that would bring him to know of her whereabouts. Maybe it was more dire news, the final chapter of her sad saga, one he had only had the displeasure of witnessing the bittersweet later pages of.

"Odersten post service." She confirmed his own suspicions and what the postman had warned of upon the delivery. He would take another bite of the apple half, allowing his free hand to clasp the top of the cabinet. He was no stranger to the odd look upon her features as she opened it and began to glissade over the scrawled message. It was dismay, but not one of bewilderment, and it stirred within him curiosity, his heart calmed even more, concluding that whatever was intended was not news of the Lady of Dunmeath. So he finished the last of his apple half, "It's... it's nothing." She paused, and he would cross his arms, not looking away from her countenance. "It's..." If her own demeanor hadn't given away her lie, the varying shake of her vocals would inevitably have been her downfall. "Might as well get it over with."

Despite the shuddering undertones, she read the notice. A draft then. A hand drew upwards, cradling the curve of his chin in thoughtfulness. Truthfully, he was surprised that the pale and thin imagery of 'peace' had lasted this long. Many rumors he'd heard in his return since the beginning of this always building tension. The death of the crowned prince and the king's only son was said to push the man over the edge, driving him mad with grief. He knew not what councilman had managed to postpone the order for this long, nor why nothing had done been done in effort to reclaim the vast and fertile lands of Dunmeath. There had been a muted sting, perhaps it would be named guilt, or spurned need for retribution of his post - of his home. Had he been present, would the outcome have been different? They had always been on the brink of the line. For years they had fended back the half hearted attempts of Lavalles and its provinces. It had been their blood shed and their lives lost to stand as a dam to halt the overspill into the rest of Vufrein. His own included, a tool long before his own sire's mind had deserted from greed.

"So... I guess it's finally time. Dunno why they waited so long." He lowered both his arms, allowing the flats of his palms to rest on the smoothed wood on either side of him. To say he was unsettled by the news would be false. If anything, despite himself, he almost felt... like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Though that feeling also came with a penance of guilt. This was a breath of normalcy for him, something he knew, and a reason to return to it, and yet her disposition only deteriorated further. "Everyone will be gathered at the capitol city first." He would stop then, a realization dawning upon him. Everyone would gather, along with the other citizens of Sanctuary. The truth of his own person would come to light. It would be unlikely he would be welcome here again once all was said and done. If they did seek to overtake Dunmeath once more, Sanctuary would be in an indirect path between the two, and could even become a usurped military camp should the king deem it necessary. "Would... you like to go at least that far?"

It should have been expected that a man bred for the throes of war would show little else but indifference when threatened with battle.  When they shared tender moments, when their eyes showed the words their tongues were too scared to say, it was easy to forget the destruction those hands were capable of.  His line of work had truly never bothered her despite its morbidity.  When he came home with another visceral stain on his shirt, she simply washed it away or patched it like new and she was happy to do so.  Was his work truly any different than those who serve to enforce the King's law?  Ethel watched the way he held the shaven point of his chin and listened to the thoughts openly shared.  Her fingers nervously twisted the marital band now housed upon her wife-hand.  Dimitris had been honest when asking that they come to Klewyth, together, fully detailing that the land had been sundered into war.  There would be a time when he'd have to fight but truthfully, Ethel hoped that it would be delayed just a little longer even if it was a selfish wish.  They'd built a comfortable life here in Sanctuary, after all. Her gaze drifted from the fading steam of the teacup and partially eaten apple to the cool blue of her husband's eye.  Since arriving in Klewyth, Sanctuary had been the only manner of civilization she'd been to.  She dare not venture outside the walls, especially as the moon neared its fullness.  That was when the wolves were more volatile, more unrestrained in their attacks.  It was safer behind the walls.  The idea of going into the capitol of all places filled her with a flutter of excitement and a reminder of security.  With most of the men gone, it'd be safer there than in the middle of the wilderness.  She'd also be able to somewhat keep an eye on him.  Braided tresses shifted at her shoulders as Ethel nodded her reply.  "I'd worry myself sick if I didn't."  And she truly would.  Even now when he left for a few days at a time, the nagging thought that he may have gotten hurt always lingered in the back of her mind.  It was quelled only when he walked through the door with more hides tossed over his shoulder or a small bolt of cloth meant as a gift for her.  "When do we leave?"  The query came amongst a plethora of thoughts she aimlessly loosed beneath a murmuring breath.  "We'll have to get Hazel ready.  And the house.  Oh, there's so much we'll have to bring.  Will poor Hazel be able to handle the trip?  Where will we be stayin'?"  ‘All that we see or seem’, ‘Is but a dream within a dream.

Jahi

"I'd worry myself sick if I didn't." She obliged without hesitation. He would shift with a slight frown twitching over his lips. The top row of cabinetry pressed against his spine as he eyed the letter, only tearing his gaze away as he felt her stare upon his features. Only then would the rigidity of his expression disperse and he would lower the arms crossed over his chest. Addressed out the ninth, received the eleventh and expected to be standing ready in Odersten within a mere five days' time from there. What the sense of urgency was he did not know. His trips into the capitol had been very few and far between, his route almost exclusively consisted to the vulnerable lands of Sanctuary and their safety. What would happen to the women and children left behind should a battle embark? What if another stray beast found its way into the supposed arms of safety? What guard would there be to fend off such a plague?

He found himself drawn into another dark expression, this one somewhat deeper than the first. While it was true that he had very little in way of affiliation to any of them, he knew a great many to be her friends. Such of the wife and children of the man savaged by the feral wolf in recent days. What of men such as him, as well? He was made lame by the assault. Never again would he wield a bow to hunt, let alone a sword to fight for those of Vufrien. Was he still expected to serve? He knew the answer - if it was his father's reign. His hands tightened upon the lip behind him. The man would be garnished in the colors of Dunmeath and set upon the front lines, a body to stemmie the flow of the enemy. While he was being cut down, his comrade had a better chance to kill the one to strike him. A lame man with little use was viewed as a waste of resources. Of food and armor and steel. It made the hearty sting and twinge of his own mending injury more pronounced. In spite of the ropey pink eye sore, it was mending, and it didn't rob him use of his hand any more. He was not useless.

"When do we leave?" Her breathless question, the first of many it would seem, drew him back to the present, bidding him release his grasp and once more focus upon her briefly before he was set into motion. "I'm expected to be there in less than a week. So I s'pose we should pack and leave immediately. It's a long ride to the capitol." "We'll have to get Hazel ready." He would briefly nod, removing the oils and various maintenance materials for his weapons from the cupboard. " And the house." Another nod. What would they do with the house? Would good deeds and helpfulness have won him a place here in the long run, or would the stringent rules apply that he would no longer be permitted within the perimeter that he solely upheld for the most part? "Oh, there's so much we'll have to bring." This would drag forth a faint grunt, "We should travel as light as we can. We won't be furnishing another house anytime soon." "Will poor Hazel be able to handle the trip?" He would turn his attention back to her once more.

Their trip from her homeland had been much more lax, he would admit. It didn't serve as a lesson on how quick they had to depart now, and if it wasn't for the ill feeling of trusting another with her safety, he would merely ride out and send for her once he had more stable accommodations arranged for her. While that may prove to be the most easy for the two of them, it wasn't something he was willing to put his faith into. If a draft with such a sudden deadline had been issued, it didn't seem to bode well. Perhaps something had already occurred in the mainland that he just wasn't privy to in this remote homestead. "We'll have to get a cart. She can pull a cart." He assured. Finally, she would end her inquiries with: "Where will we be stayin'?" He shook his head slightly. "Dunno yet. Figure I'll be staying in a barrack. That's the way it usually goes, anyroad." He would pick up his usual rucksack, the very one that accompanied him on his hunting trips. "You can find a place you like. I'll be paid for this. We'll have plenty."

Sanctuary.  Stronghold for the luckless, ruined souls whose homes had been turned to cinder and ash.  A haven for the homeless - a place for the destitute to find their purpose.  It stood as a monolith of mortal determination.  Despite the war which howled at their borders, the war pressing its yellowed fangs to their throats, humans found a way to thrive.  Ethel didn't know the circumstances under which the small city had been founded; she only assumed its people suffered the same trifles as those in Rophuin.  She was ignorant of the horrors these people faced and the terrors that plagued them still.  Screams were hard to forget.  Watching blood pour from the face of a loved one while you stand there, frozen with surreal fear, created a vicious cycle.  A never-ending loop of cerebral theatrics.  A lifetime you can never get back.  Normality?  A forgotten memory.  A torture so cruel that she'd - thankfully - never been privy to.  She nibbled on the apple half between sentences, her flurry of thoughts finding their voice and also answers in the familiar drawl of her husband fair.  Less than a week.  That's all the time they - he -  had to appear before the grand marshall in Kaisermont.  Her dark lashes widened subtly as the realization truly sunk in. "That soon?"  She'd murmur lowly, not entirely expecting a response.  A feeling of overwhelming dread sunk down between her shoulders, slithering along the lithe curve of her spine like droplets of cold rain.  It was the same nagging voice whose hoarse whisper urged caution, preemptive warnings akin to bells trilling throughout her senses and dipping its toes into the rippling pool of uncertain emotions.  There was no explanation for it; she could not comprehend it.  Pack light.  Ethel nodded.  A wagon for Hazel.  Another quiet confirmation.  He would stay in the barracks with the other soldiers while she was housed elsewhere.  Anxious teeth gingerly razed the curve of her bottom lip that would, inevitably, coil into the faintest semblance of a smile as she rose and began to clear the table.  They had much to prepare for and dallying would only prolong this ordained order.  ‘All that we see or seem’, ‘Is but a dream within a dream.

Jahi