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"𝘉𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦. 𝘉𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦. 𝘉𝘦.. 𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘦."
ᛢ Oʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ Cʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᛜ
ᚢ Dαrĸ, тrιɢɢerιɴɢ тнeмeѕ preѕeɴт. ᛩ
ᛒ Seeĸιɴɢ ιɴтerαcтιoɴѕ. ᛏ
ᚱ Deѕ/Lιт. ᚧ
ᛢᛜᚢᛩ ↻+♡ ᛒᛏᚱᚧ
Poor guy, indeed.
She turned to him, hands upon her hips. "Well instead o'screamin' 'bout it, fix it!"
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With the mouth he has, she will mind.
"Lookin' atta poor sod who can't keep his trousers from twistin'!" Saoirse exclaimed with a glare.
"It's like ye got thorns on yer arse and ye whinin' that can't reach back there to pull'em out!" The Druids heavy Irish accent echoed.
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She is softly humming tonight. Creating a simple concoction of herbs that will be brewed into a tea.
Helps with sleep, pains.
Her door is open, lest someone is in need of such mixture.
She has been helping an orphaned turtle, feeding it lush greens from her gardens.
She has yet to name him...
That is why she has yet to return to town.
She will be making a small, shallow pond for him to bask in once the weather warms up.
The taller male had been rather easy on the eyes, and seeing as he took special care of her gift, her smile matched his quickly, albeit, a bit bashful.
But the land he called home... Sparta.
She was curious, the rare occurrences that visitors would set foot in the Isles had—
The olive skinned man graciously took the vibrant flower in his hand, hovering his nostrils over the pistil.
"It smells wonderful. Thank you."
He pinned the lily to his sash, smiling wider than he had been before.
"My name is Alexios, of Sparta."
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The man who stood before her, clad in beautiful shades of rustic earth. The deepest red she has ever laid eyes on
She was in awe, hesitating to reach in her hand woven basket to pluck the whitest lily she had.
A trembling hand offered.
"O-O.. Ostara blessings upon you."
Quiet, deer-like tiptoes against the earth.
A basket full of lilies and tulips.
She is passing them out, venturing into town.
Do you care for one?
