Chapter 13 - Blossoms

Penrith, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein Year 995

Amara stabbed a fork into what was probably scrambled eggs and shoved them into her mouth, barely processing their texture and flavor. She didn’t remove her gaze from Isolde, who, in comparison, was methodically slicing her food into small, neat pieces that felt excessive for an establishment like this one. Some sort of noble perhaps, Amara thought. Or someone from a wealthy background, maybe a long line of ore licensed artisans.

“Sooo, why’d you want to see the mines?” Amara asked.

Isolde waited until she was done swallowing her current bite to answer, a courtesy that Amara hadn’t afforded. If Isolde was at all bothered by her companion’s poor manners, she gave no indication of it.

“Curiosity, you could say. I’m from the southern regions of Vanstead, near the Arcvale border, and I was interested in traveling north. It’s quite different up here.”

“South, huh.” Edith had said she was from further south, too, though in her case Edith had suspected she wasn’t from Vanstead at all.

From what Amara had heard, it was nicer in southern Vanstead. There was less unstable land to worry about thanks to most of the mines being located north, and the closer proximity to the capital in Arcvale naturally came with better living conditions and better access to materials and supplies. She’d always found it ironic that the parts of the dukedom furthest away from the mines were the ones with more access to magic ore.

They were also much more likely to get a nearby Rose’s help in the event of an Aberration attack, whereas far up north, Roses left most things to the watchmen and usually only showed up for rank B and above Aberrations, and sometimes not even those would elicit a response.

“What about you, are you from Vanstead as well?”

Amara shrugged, swirling her drink absentmindedly. It was some kind of thick, dark liquid that she hadn’t bothered to look at the label of. “Sort of.” She took a sip of the liquid, discovering it was probably some kind of coffee.

Isolde smiled knowingly. “I don’t suppose you’d like to elaborate.”

“Well, it’s kind of a complicated story,” Amara joked. “Lots of funny stuff going on.”

“I can only imagine.” Isolde tilted her head, her hair shifting with the movement. “I suppose it’s related to your desire to see the Warped Forest?”

“Eh, sort of.” Amara took another sip of the drink and set the cup down, the liquid sloshing with the action. “I’m kind of just going sightseeing. Seeing the world, adventuring, that sort of thing.”

“This seems like a terribly somber place to do so.”

As if to prove her point, Isolde’s eyes drifted over to the other patrons sitting at the tables. After the strained cheer of the previous night, the few stragglers who’d remained now sat alone in the quiet of the morning, more than one’s gaze drifting out the window towards the distant treeline.

Amara’s eyes wandered over to Wallace, who, seated behind the counter, seemed to be watching the patrons as well. Amara hummed and turned back to shove the last mouthful of eggs down her throat. Isolde had already finished eating, and she waited patiently as Amara finished chewing and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She rose, her chair screeching behind her, the sound overly loud in the quiet room. Isolde rose as well.

“You ready to go?” Amara asked. Isolde nodded, striding forward towards the door and pushing it open without hesitation.

—

By the time the two of them stepped onto the main street, the sun had fully risen. The last hints of rose quickly vanished from the sky, replaced by a pale blue that darkened the higher up it went.

Amara blinked, squinting a little as her eyes adjusted to the light. Penrith’s homes looked softer in the morning compared to the heavy shadows of evening, more ephemeral. The sound of footsteps sounded behind her, and Amara spun around to see a stream of people walking along the road, all of them moving steadily south. They didn’t even glance in their direction.

Amara’s eyes followed the group as they passed, a long train of people of varying ages. She saw quite a few families closely gathered together with their arms held. Most of the travelers carried large bags, and one had even brought a horse, the creature's hooves clopping softly along the dirt road and kicking up clouds of dust.

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The group walked with their heads facing forward, moving just a little faster than a regular pace. Whenever she caught a glimpse of their eyes, Amara recognized a certain unsleeping fear. Not the vivid terror of abrupt horrors or even the shaky jerking of paranoia, but a more weary, somber wariness towards an inevitable future.

Without thinking, Amara waved at the group as they passed by. As expected, none of them waved back, and soon the stream of people became mere specks in the distance.

“They must be evacuating,” Isolde remarked. Amara just hummed, watching them for a little longer. Isolde didn’t seem to share the interest and turned away, nodding in the opposite direction the group had headed. “Shall we continue?”

Amara followed without complaint, and the two continued along the road.

The streets were even more empty than they’d been the previous evening, and the people that were outside weren’t doing chores or sweeping like Amara usually saw. Instead, they were hurrying around with large black bags that mirrored the dull, muted colors of the town. As they reached near the edge of town, however, a burst of colors caught Amara’s eyes.

Up ahead, a small beige house stood surrounded by a garden of bright, vivid blossoms. Large flowers with densely layered petals surrounded the door in neatly arranged rows, their colors seeming to shine in the morning light. Smaller blooms stood nestled between their larger companions, forming a soft blanket of flowers that a woman currently leaned over, a small watering can in hand.

Amara moved closer, past Isolde, and didn’t hesitate to approach the woman.

“Those’re pretty,” she said. The woman jumped slightly, spinning around and nearly dropping her watering can. She blinked, taking in Amara’s appearance. The woman was rather pale and a bit older than she looked at first glance. Her light brown hair was tied back in a loose bun that looked like it had seen better days, and her dress was covered in streaks of dirt. Her shoulders relaxed when she saw who’d spoken, her eyes lingering a bit on Amara’s arms, but she smiled warmly.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I didn’t know that many flowers could bloom up here.” Some time after Amara had woken up, she’d developed a sudden interest in plants and had attempted to start her own garden. Joan had been supportive, believing that it would be good for her to be involved in “new hobbies.” In the end, none of the flowers had survived for long, all of them soon wilting and dying, their stems drooping to the ground. Amara herself hadn’t cared too much when she’d seen them—her interest in plants had turned out to be a passing phase mostly sparked by the sheer novelty of seeing so much green that had quickly lost its charm once she was more accustomed to Winrow—but Joan had looked heartbroken.

The woman smiled sympathetically. “It is rather difficult.” She nodded at the flowers. “These are all native to northern Vanstead, so that makes it a bit easier.”

Amara raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’ve never seen them before.”

The woman winced. The watering can tilted, a sudden stream pouring out onto one of the blooms, and she quickly righted it again. “These are native to the regions past the Shattered Peaks,” she explained, shifting her weight a little. “Now that the Warped Forest has taken over, not as many people know about them.”

“You’re from further north, then?” Isolde asked, walking up to the two of them. Her eyes briefly landed on the colorful flowers, then shifted away without a second glance.

The woman nodded, her smile strained. “Yes, I am.” She sighed and shook her head, setting the watering can down. Her eyes lingered on the garden, not looking directly at either Amara or Isolde as she spoke.

“It’s a shame I’ll have to leave the garden again. It takes time to grow flowers like these.” She laughed softly to herself. “I’m not certain I’ll be so successful next time. I was surprised at how well they turned out. I think these are the prettiest ones I’ve grown.”

Isolde frowned slightly, tilting her head to the side. “Could you not simply cut some blossoms and bring them with you?”

The woman blinked. “Well, I suppose I could,” she said, fidgeting and chuckling nervously. “It, ah, it might be needlessly sentimental, but I’m not fond of the idea of cutting any of them.”

“They would die either way, would they not?”

The woman winced. “I, I suppose that’s true,” she muttered.

Amara’s eyes scanned the two of them, watching the conversation closely. Her eyes lingered on Isolde. She hummed, posture casual. “Well, once you evacuate, you can always grow them again. Maybe they’ll be even prettier this time ‘round,” she pointed out.

“Yes, that’s true.” The woman gave Amara a thankful smile. She sighed. “Honestly I may move further south this time. It feels like I’ve spent so long running from the forest. It’ll be strange, leaving northern Vanstead behind.” She blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. “Oh goodness, look at me rambling. I’m sure the two of you must be busy with packing, too. I won’t take up anymore of your time.”

She bent down and picked up her watering can, circling to the back of the house, where more flowers grew.

“Nice talking to you!” Amara called, waving. The woman waved back.

“You as well! Please be careful!” she said just before she vanished from view.

Amara turned, eyeing Isole, who was watching where the woman had just stood by the flowers with an odd look on her face, one that she couldn’t quite discern. Amara’s eyes narrowed. Before she could study her expression more closely, however, Isolde shook her head and turned back to the road.

“Come on,” the woman said. “We should continue.”