Post by Corinna on Dec 29, 2013 10:07:41 GMT -5
The loud snap of a twig behind her, and with a speed of instinct more than thought, Corinna had already spun around, her hatchet in hand as she assumed a battle-ready stance. But it was only a stag on the prowl for food, more than likely the same one she had spotted not twenty minutes prior, and she relaxed her form just as quickly.
"You're getting old," she quietly muttered to herself.
At sixty and a handful of years, the veteran ranger's gray-gray hair was an accurate reflection of her age, and she often joked that she was as capable as a woman three-quarters of that. The swing of her axe was as strong as ever, and her mind remained sharp enough to recall every tree of her beloved Spiritwood. Still, each winter felt colder than the one that had preceded it, and there was a dull-ache to her bones that never seemed to fade. Her journey through the lands of Sosaria was not yet over, yet she was starting to notice the signs of its ending.
While Corinna was genuinely at peace in matters of her own life and death, she felt no small disquiet when she contemplated what might follow. A king sat upon the throne once more, and the lands appeared more united than they had been since the departure of Lord British. Yet there was also the darkness, perpetual enemies such as Minax and Exodus and the Shadowlords and their like, and she wondered if Britannia would finally stand together or break against them. For it was not her own legacy that troubled her, for the veteran ranger was beyond such material concerns, but the traditions she had dedicated nearly half a century to upholding. While the rangers continued to protect Britannia, their ranks had thinned in recent times, and it seemed that the calling was no longer strong enough to refill them. She was uncertain why this was, only that it was so, and that it was also the source of her unrest.
And being who she was and the path that she walked, Corinna knew what she must do. "Best tell Grace to ready some more beds," she stated as she began to walk towards Skara Brae.
"You're getting old," she quietly muttered to herself.
At sixty and a handful of years, the veteran ranger's gray-gray hair was an accurate reflection of her age, and she often joked that she was as capable as a woman three-quarters of that. The swing of her axe was as strong as ever, and her mind remained sharp enough to recall every tree of her beloved Spiritwood. Still, each winter felt colder than the one that had preceded it, and there was a dull-ache to her bones that never seemed to fade. Her journey through the lands of Sosaria was not yet over, yet she was starting to notice the signs of its ending.
While Corinna was genuinely at peace in matters of her own life and death, she felt no small disquiet when she contemplated what might follow. A king sat upon the throne once more, and the lands appeared more united than they had been since the departure of Lord British. Yet there was also the darkness, perpetual enemies such as Minax and Exodus and the Shadowlords and their like, and she wondered if Britannia would finally stand together or break against them. For it was not her own legacy that troubled her, for the veteran ranger was beyond such material concerns, but the traditions she had dedicated nearly half a century to upholding. While the rangers continued to protect Britannia, their ranks had thinned in recent times, and it seemed that the calling was no longer strong enough to refill them. She was uncertain why this was, only that it was so, and that it was also the source of her unrest.
And being who she was and the path that she walked, Corinna knew what she must do. "Best tell Grace to ready some more beds," she stated as she began to walk towards Skara Brae.