1st Winter [Action]

[aryaunderfoot]

[Early this morning, somewhere deep in the woods, there is a wolf howling.

It's a long, mournful howl, and the wolf doesn't seem to want to stop. Occasionally, she'll pause for breath, and then throw her head back again after a moment's rest. This place isn't right. Her cousins aren't here, the smaller ones of her pack. The air is too warm, too full of the smells of spring. And the more she searches, the more she howls, trying to get some sort of answer out of these unfamiliar trees.

Around mid-morning, the crumpled form of a small girl can be found on the path leading from the village to the Battle Dome. She's not hurt, just very much asleep (and scrunching up her face with each wolf howl) and very much covered in grime (and smelling faintly of fish cart). And there's also the fact that she's in a New Feather dress. As the howling reaches a higher pitch, she awakes with a start, freezes, and tries to figure out what this place is. There's a chill in the air, yes, but it isn't winter building up to full strength. It can't be the Summer Islands, and it most definitely isn't Braavos. This place...

...is less concerning than the fact that there is a journal right next to her with "Arya Stark" printed right on it. She gives it an incredulous look for a moment before deciding that this must be a test of some kind. The kindly man must be behind it. With a shake of the head, the girl stands, pushes the journal with a foot until it's tucked out of sight under a nearby bush, and then turns back to the task at hand.

And tries to ignore the mournful howling that is practically tugging her in its direction. That's not something she needs to worry about. That was Arya Stark. Not her. She's nobody.]

[With so many things glaringly wrong with this place, she figures it's time to try scoping it out. The girl very cautiously approaches the village, keeping to the trees for cover until she's sure there aren't any Lannister banners flying anywhere. When there aren't any, it isn't much consolation; the buildings are huge, and the architecture isn't anything she's ever seen before. This place may not be full of lions, but it's not exactly a safe zone, either. She's not even sure what it is.

Eventually, she finds her way into town, going around to see what exactly there is to see here. She doubts she'll spot any familiar faces, but she still makes her way through all the shops in the main square, trying to get some kind of sense of what kind of town this is. The smith shop is familiar, the fashions in the clothing shop completely outlandish, the foods in the indoor marketplace entirely alien.

And she is so, so very lost. As she makes her way through town, the old phrase starts repeating in the back of her mind: Fear cuts deeper than swords. She can do this. She has to do this.

Towards nightfall, after much exploration and poking around, the girl makes her way back to the stables she passed by at some point. The horses are horses. That much is familiar, at least. This much she can understand completely. And the familiar, earthy, horsey smells are something of a comfort when you're trying to wrap your head around what in the world happened to bring you to a place such as this.]

[[ooc: Feel free to run into her at any point!]]

Comments

[aryaunderfoot]

[The girl meets that curious look with an expression of carefully controlled blankness. She's suspicious, as she is of just about everyone here, so she'll approach this cautiously.]

You wouldn't have. I only just got here.

[complicatedliar]

Ah, 'tis that time again already.

I trust you are familiar with horses and have read the rules posted on that wall? [He tilts an eyebrow up.]

[aryaunderfoot]

[She noticed the rules, but has decided to disregard them. Still, she nods. Might as well give off the appearance of having paid attention to them.]

I've spent most of my life around horses.

[complicatedliar]

[That's good enough for him, really. Loki's never been overly enamored with rules, and if the girl chooses to ignore them, it's ultimately not his problem.

In fact, it might even be a bit funny, particularly if she decides to mess about with the prettiest horse in the stable.]

Then you won't do anything foolish.

[He pauses a moment, considering the time of day. It's a bit late for going for a ride.] You're not thinking to stay here, I hope?

[aryaunderfoot]

[She shakes her head. No, she won't do anything foolish. And pretty has never been much of anything to draw her attention. Craven was a pretty horse, but Craven was also. Well. A craven. Reliability, that's what matters. And surefootedness. A high-strung and beautiful horse is still just high-strung at the end of a long day.]

And what, sleep in the straw? No.

[Not that it would bother her, really, but she's small and easily stepped on, let's face it.]

I just wanted to look around.

[complicatedliar]

[Loki murmurs something to his horse, who obligingly turns so his other side can be groomed.

Vakri's pretty, but he's also the most intelligent, calm, and patient of the horses; it comes from being an unearthly horse, and being the mount of a sorcerer.]

Oh good. It has a brain. [Loki grins.] You'd be... [He tilts his head slightly.] actually, I doubt you would at that. Anyway, of the silly things people try to do when first arriving in this place. I trust you have found yourself a suitable dwelling?

Look all you like. A good number of the horses are held in common.

[aryaunderfoot]

[The girl frowns, impressed in spite of herself that the horse is obeying a command like that. It must have taken a lot of training, and she can respect that much.]

Of course I have.

[A lie, but one told with such baldfaced confidence that she almost fools herself. She can always find somewhere later.]

Are all of the horses trained like yours?

[complicatedliar]

Which building? [Asked in a mild, incurious. As if he's just one more adult discharging his perceived responsibility.]

Nay. Vakri and I have been together for centuries. [He pats the beast's neck, smiling with uncharacteristic fondness at him.] And he is no ordinary horse.

The rest have had standard training for saddle, bit, and bridle.

[aryaunderfoot]

[She might have picked at the "centuries" part if the prodding at her living arrangements wasn't happening. That just makes her frown deepen.]

Why do you care which building? I can go where I like.

[The girl is very sure someone said something along those lines, and she's sticking to it.]

[complicatedliar]

Oooh, defensive. [He has a feeling, so why not. It's a way to poke.] So you actually haven't, I take it.

[aryaunderfoot]

I have. But that doesn't mean I have to tell you which one.

[Sticking to her metaphorical guns, this one.]

[complicatedliar]

Don't lie to the Liesmith, little one. It doesn't work terribly well.

[aryaunderfoot]

You're not a very good Liesmith if you're telling people you've had your horse for centuries.

[complicatedliar]

[Loki grins.]

And how old do you think I am, my little doubter?

[aryaunderfoot]

[Appraising look. And then another one for Vakri.]

Mid-twenties, maybe. Your horse can't be more than ten.

[complicatedliar]

How flattering, but no. By the reckoning of Midgard, I'm well over a thousand years old. And this fellow is working on his fifth century.

The trick with lies is they are best used sparingly, because the truth is often so much more amusing.

[Loki exits the stall. He does this by walking through the door without bothering to open it first. He does love to show off.

He offers Arya a courtly bow and a wicked grin.]

Loki of Asgard. I'd say at your service, but I am at no one's service but my own. But I am pleased to meet you, lady...?

[aryaunderfoot]

["Lady" stings her enough to start to protest before the fact that this man just walked through a wall fully registers.]

I am not a la--

[Wait, wait, wait, back up. He was in the stall, and now he is not. And the door never opened.

And there is nothing that can walk through a solid door that Old Nan ever told a story about, or that even the kindly man ever spoke of, that is entirely friendly. The girl backs up a step, cautious, but not running. Watching for another move. Fear cuts deeper than swords.]

[complicatedliar]

My mother raised me to be polite. Thus unless you'd like to try to convince me that you're a boy, you're a lady.

[He tilts his head, a quick, curious movement.] And the young lady's name is...?

[aryaunderfoot]

[Eyeing him with no small amount of suspicion, the girl chooses the most recent name she's worn.]

Cat. Cat of the Canals, from Braavos.

[Fear cuts deeper than swords. She straightens up again, defiant.]

And I'm not a lady. Ladies live in castles and sew. I'm just a girl.

[complicatedliar]

[He gives her a look that seems to say you're not fooling me, but continues on.] Lady Cat, then.

I was dear friends with a lady who could beat me in wrestling and was a fearsome hand with a sword. She couldn't sew worth a toss.

[He considers a moment, then holds one hand up, an illusion of Sif in miniature, in full armor, riding her horse, appearing.]

[aryaunderfoot]

[This illusion piques Cat's interest keenly. The woman seems like everything she wants to be: swordswoman, an excellent rider, powerful.

Which just means this must all be some kind of spell he's trying to trick her with. She looks up from the illusion to frown at Loki suspiciously.]

What kind of trick is this?

[complicatedliar]

This is a simple illusion. [He shrugs, hand dropping back to his side. The illusion remains where it's at, hanging in the air.]

And that is the Lady Sif, one of the greatest warriors of the Aesir.

[aryaunderfoot]

[Oh, how she wants to believe in this great warrior woman. She might even have been able to stand equal with Queen Nymeria. But Cat is still suspicious that this is a trick.]

I've never heard of Aesir.

[complicatedliar]

And I've never heard of Braavos. Though I suppose that could be because I haven't bothered with Midgard in quite some time.

[He dismisses the illusion with a flick of his fingers.]

Though you'll find that here, people are from a myriad of different universes, and different realms within those universes. The Aesir come from a realm called Asgard. [He smiles crookedly.] The realm eternal.

[aryaunderfoot]

[So much of that just flew over the top of her head that she's not sure she wants to bother trying to unravel it. Different realms she can grasp, though. And she's traveled enough to know how huge the world really is, so that could explain a lot.

Except for that one snag.]

How is it supposed to be eternal? Nothing lasts forever.

[Winter always comes.]