By the time she'd gone to bed, Asel had determined that she would most certainly be going to town in the morning. She had a little extra coin. Maybe she could buy a record. Or a book! Probably not both, she didn't have enough for that. But in the meantime, she would be able to look at things, and that would be nice all on its own. She woke up early to make breakfast, yogurt and quail eggs on toast. She let the quail out of their pen to roam, and did the same for the goat once she'd milked it. The goat was still snippy with her after yesterday's flower incident. It would surely appreciate a day off, so to speak.
She wore the shift that she reserved for going out, because it was a little bit longer and they preferred that in town. Which was silly, when her own wool was cover enough, but, so it went. She tied a woven ribbon around her waist, and ones to match in her horns, and did her best not to spend too much time fussing over it. She still needed time to row, after all, and the wind would mess everything all up anyway.
Dainty steps on dainty stairs, hooves tapping on stone. She stopped, and frowned as she tried to decide what was wrong. She looked up. She looked behind her. She looked at her boat. She looked down, past the steps.
Oh.
There was a… tree? Driftwood? Or a rock, maybe. But driftwood, probably, because it was on fire. And. Moving. Those certainly did look like scales.
Hm.
Yes.
She turned around, and went back up the stairs. She put the quail back in their pen and locked it, and they did not mind much, because they were quail. She put the goat back in her pen, and she minded a lot, because she was a goat. And with the animals secure, she went back into her house, and locked the door. She shut the curtains, and she went and found her luckiest quilt, so that she could sit on the floor with it pulled up over her head, as was obviously the safest thing that anyone could do in this kind of situation.
She sniffled.
She wore the shift that she reserved for going out, because it was a little bit longer and they preferred that in town. Which was silly, when her own wool was cover enough, but, so it went. She tied a woven ribbon around her waist, and ones to match in her horns, and did her best not to spend too much time fussing over it. She still needed time to row, after all, and the wind would mess everything all up anyway.
Dainty steps on dainty stairs, hooves tapping on stone. She stopped, and frowned as she tried to decide what was wrong. She looked up. She looked behind her. She looked at her boat. She looked down, past the steps.
Oh.
There was a… tree? Driftwood? Or a rock, maybe. But driftwood, probably, because it was on fire. And. Moving. Those certainly did look like scales.
Hm.
Yes.
She turned around, and went back up the stairs. She put the quail back in their pen and locked it, and they did not mind much, because they were quail. She put the goat back in her pen, and she minded a lot, because she was a goat. And with the animals secure, she went back into her house, and locked the door. She shut the curtains, and she went and found her luckiest quilt, so that she could sit on the floor with it pulled up over her head, as was obviously the safest thing that anyone could do in this kind of situation.
She sniffled.
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