Wirrow

Maegan ties her hair back with a ribbon, then sets to washing dishes. Just the same as she has every day for the last 18 years. …Well. As far back as she’s willing to remember. Some things are different, however. The ribbon in her hair is olive green today. Keggruk’s favorite color.

She smiles one of her rare, quiet smiles. Those have been less and less rare over the last two years. Then she speaks softly. "Come and dry, Wirrow dear."

She holds out a wet plate to her daughter. "I won't have anyone to help me with the dishes once you've gone. But I suppose there will be fewer dishes too."

Wirrow picks up a towel and gives her mother a dubious look, golden eyes peering over the top of the plate as she starts to wipe the water away. "Not really... you know I don't contribute to that, Mom."

A few heartbeats pass as she thinks a bit more, and then Wirrow's shoulders sink. "Oh, right. Keggruk's coming too." She eyes the ribbon in Maegan's hair. Honestly, it was hard to say if she'd rather he came with her or stay behind. If she'd had her way, Keggruk wouldn't have to be part of the discussion either way. They'd been fine without a replacement her whole life.

"I guess you're right, then... is that something to celebrate, or are you saying that because you're getting worried and don't want me to leave?" Trying to forget her dissatisfaction about Keggruk's presence, the wry tone in her voice indicates the small attempt at humor. Even that much confidence is a far cry from the Wirrow of two years ago, even if it's also an attempt to quell some of her own unresolved worries just as much as her mom's.

"And these don't count for anything?" Maegan gestures to a small shelf where there are a handful of small opaque flasks. "Somebody washes them out, you know." She nudges Wirrow playfully with her hip.

It's strange how marrying an orog of all things would bring this sort of behavior out in her.

"I don't need to tell you again that I feel a lot better about you going now that Keggruk will be accompanying you. Someone who knows... you." The smile is gone. In its place is that mask of apathy that Maegan wore for so many years.

The faint cry of a child interrupts the conversation, and Maegan brightens once more. "It sounds like Matt wants to say goodbye before you leave." She dries her hands and hurries to a back room.

Maegan soon returns clutching a young toddler. She grunts as she puts him down on the floor. "Oof. My big boy is getting so big!"

And it's true. Even at a year and a half, Matt is already larger than most children twice his age.

He looks up at Wirrow with incredibly wide eyes, then stomps over to her determinedly. "Wee-woe!"

Wirrow grimaces as her mother leaves to fetch the child. Mom's 'big boy', maybe, but he wasn't her brother. Anyone can see the clear differences; most starkly the way his darker skin and hair clash with her own--practically bleached--and the little tusk-fangs that jut upwards from his mouth, a clear orcish trait that her own mouth structure certainly lacks.

It's not his fault. She always tries to be neutral about it, but it's hard not to be reminded of Keggruk getting forced into her life every time she looks at the child. For Matt's sake and her mom's, though, she at least tries.

"Erm... hi," Wirrow manages to awkwardly spit out.

Matt (short for Mattock) gives her legs a snuggle/hug, then he toddles away looking for food.

Maegan cuts out a slice of bread from a loaf and offers it to the little boy, who immediately accepts.

Then she opens a cupboard and pulls out a black satchel. "I've got enough here to last you for a tenday. But after that... You can always ask Keggruk for help." She carefully hands the satchel over to Wirrow. "I had Sheemish make it cold inside. A 'bag of colding', you could say. It should keep everything fresh...er for you."

"Oh!" The quiet exclamation is accompanied by a smile, a sight not usually seen outside the house. "That's... very thoughtful. And, probably good planning."

After accepting the satchel and putting it over one shoulder, Wirrow hesitates. Then, she pushes herself forward, wrapping Maegan in a brief hug of gratitude and goodbyes. "Thanks, Mom."

Maegan accepts the hug and squeezes her daughter back. "You be careful out there. Not just with the beasts and monsters, but the people too. Stay close to your friends. Maybe trust them... At least perhaps Aiwë. She's different from you, but in a way you'll appreciate."

She sighs. "I need to stop mothering you. Go, my little Sweet Tooth. And come home sometime."

She lets Wirrow go.

Wirrow nods. Parting words like that were always important, right? They felt like it.

Everything she had planned to take already sits by the door. Her father's bow (which Zenithral had kindly helped restore) she clips into place on the back of her leather armor. The swords (also once his) lean up against the wall, each inscribed with... well, it was honestly a gibberish mix of symbols from several different languages, but it looked fancy, so that probably had been the original point. Scabbard belt already on her waist, she sheathes the two of them side by side.

She slings over her shoulder a brown satchel to mirror the black one, albeit larger. Inside it, alongside some standard adventurer's fare, lay writing tools and two journals. One, her father's (unsurprisingly), with details and knowledge surrounding beings of varying monstrousness; the other, her own.

And... that was everything. She'd already decided the unpredictable environment wouldn't be good for her viol; it didn't feel like it was built with travel in mind. Maybe she'd find one on the trip that was sturdier? Maybe Aiwe would have one; that girl seemed to pick up a new instrument every time Wirrow saw her...

Wirrow breathes a sigh of anticipation. She was stalling now, wasn't she? She turns around momentarily to curl her fingers in a slight wave to her mother, and then opens the front door. One wince later, deft hands quickly throw the hood of her cloak up as the sun gleams past her through the opening, silhouetting Wirrow as she steps into a new adventure.

A good one, hopefully.