Butterflies in the Winter

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wisp

wisp

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Derya sat in the small sitting room of her Inn. Her chin was in her palms and she stared blankly at the table top. She cursed herself repeatedly. She was impulsive, impatient. Her mother would blame it on her youth. At this particular moment, she couldn't argue. Should things continue as they were she'd never see her first century. With a small groan, the elf shoved her hand under the scarf that wrapped her head. Things had moved so quickly. She had panicked.

THUMP. She let her forehead bounce off the table top, arms hanging loosely. All right, you useless bit of jellyfish. Get on your feet and get to work. What's done is done, learn from it, move forward and be better. If you die, you die. Nothing to be done for it now.

Stomach still pumped full of butterflies, Derya dragged herself out of her chair and threw her coat on. She was heading down to the docks. It was time to see what rumors she could dig up, maybe some juicy bits about nobility, maybe some local history, maybe some urban legends. And, if she was lucky, she could forget how incredibly childish and stupid she felt, could make up for it, even if only in her mind.
 
As Derya leaves her room, standing in the hallway is a young teen boy dressed for winter. "Quick, follow me. You can't leave out the front," leading you to a door to a room at the end of the hall.
 
Derya hesitates only a moment as the boy approaches her. Her brow furrows and she bites her lower lip. Heeding nameless messengers from anonymous acquaintances had bitten her in the *** before. But, she was a creature of gut feelings, and for better or worse her gut said to go. Wordlessly, the elf changed her path, following the boy to the room at the end of the hall.
 
Closing the door behind her, the lad heads over to the window, "Well have to climb along the ledge to the roof next door." Opening the window, "watch your step," as he steps out the window. "And close the window behind you."
 
Derya slips out the window behind her guide, grimacing a bit as she does so. She's a relatively decent climber, used to the ropes and masts of a ship, but she usually handled those with bare feet. These boots might prove a touch cumbersome. Trying to move quietly, Derya closes the window behind herself before watching her guide as he moves, seeking the same steps he takes.
 
Climbing over the next two roof tops, the pair disappear from sight.
 
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