Lys: Rest?

Aithne sat on a tuft of moss, mending a hole in her tunic. The playful breeze felt good on her face, though it pushed her hair in her eyes more often than she'd have liked.

It did not take long. Soon her things were back in her bag, safely tucked away, and she was once more without occupation. She spied the Guttersnipe by the river, her hair falling around her shoulders, and once more she thought how wonderful it would be to dress such a mane...

The poor girl looked so weary the past few days. Aithne guessed she felt she was the true leader of the band, and in all honesty, she was. Wulf was taciturn and a servant by nature, and she and Master Lucius were not much help when illness took them.

She saw the thin shoulders droop in a sigh, and an idea came to her. Quietly, ever so quietly, she laid aside her bag and pulled off her sandals. Then, with the near-silent tread her people were known for, she snuck up behind the girl.

With a war whoop worthy of a Bean Sidhe, she tackled the Guttersnipe, both girls tumbling into the river.

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