(121-02-16) Simple Nature
Simple Nature
Summary: Trystan encounters a woman in the woods who is not suspicious in any way at all.
Date: 16/02/2014
Related: None

A couple of miles from the city there is a little wood, and at its Northern edge is a soft green meadow. Here a still pool is formed in the river by a big boulder embedded into the bank, a stone perhaps representing the furthest trickling trailing edge of the Uplands. It is worn smooth by the ages and large enough for several to sit, or a few to stretch out and take the sun.

The pool, sheltered from the current by the big stone, is broad and deep enough to make a pleasant swimming hole, and in the summer the water is always comfortably warm. This far upstream from the city, it's clean and quite clear.

The pool is utterly idyllic on this summer day, yet no one dips into to the mirrored reflection of greying clouds despite the heat. It is the perfect private getaway, just waiting to be visited.

Not a leaf rustles in the hot stillness. Only bird-calls pierce the air, but gradually … gradually, noise begins to drift, ever-so-quietly, into the small open space from deeper within the small wood. A low sound beneath the friendly chirps and titters, distraught grunts and the muffled, restrained shouts of someone in pain. A twig cracks.

Trystan walks through the wood with his ranger escort, looking about for wild herbs for the kitchen, as well as game birds for the larter. He and his men slowly work their way through nature, though the sound has them all dropping low and continuing along slowly, looking for the cause of the noise, trying to be as quiet as they can.

As Trystan and his men move along, struggle seems to occur up ahead. The telltale scrape of feet against earth and twigs, a branch breaking, all further defined in the quiet. Voices briefly overlap, seeming close, closer …

Abruptly, all goes quiet; a beat; a hurried rustle of bushes to the far left. Closer, higher, branches lightly sway up in a sturdy tree just up ahead, a dark figure in sight twining amidst the branches.

Trystan holds his hand up, balled into a fist. His men stop, and they all look up at the tree, trying to determine what the figure is. With it being so close, they put their bows away and slowly draw their blades, Trystan drawing two knives in lue of a sword. They move to be croutching in a very tight formation, each of the men looking in a different direction to ensure they are not snuck up on.

A faint scramble occurs above, the tree-climber perhaps briefly considering squirreling higher but thinking better when faced with a collection of armed men. A length of dark, curling hair entwined by messy braids spills down first before a round, light brown feminine face — nearly upside-down — pops into sight. Eyes smudged 'round in black charcoal and peacock hues stare at the men with a bright flare of adventure rather than fright. Certainly not guilt. The woman, dressed in simple, black clothes — perhaps trousers, though it's hard to glimpse — clings tight to the branch, one of her arms crooked behind her back. "Heelllo," Eva studies them, Trystan most of all; her voice is heavily accented, lilting, "geeeentlemen."

Trystan starts a bit, as do his men, but then they all look to the woman. Trystan studies her for a moment, then smiles and puts his blades away, switching to Low Valyrian, matching it with what he's heard and learned from merchants of Lorath. "Hello, miss. Didn't expect anyone out here." He then looks to his men, nodding. They put their blades away, but keep looking about in case she's not alone. "I have not seen you in Oldtown… do you live out here?" He looks to be relaxed now, smiling to her.

A smile slowly grows upon the woman's face as the men calm their blades and their leader speaks her familiar tongue; an expression that is perhaps a touch too self-satisfied. Eva tilts her head slowly this way and that, seeming a near-wild thing clinging to that tree, her hair a raging storm. "I am no—" she starts in Lorathi and, with a flick of her smile, adds in the common tongue, " — wildling." She shifts fluidly in the tree, coming to crouch on a lower branch that places her nearly at eye-level. "Have you seen all places Oldtown has to offer," she reverts to her dialect. After a quick glance to her right — their left — she looks Trystan up and down and fixates on his light eyes as if their piercing hue provides a fascinating challenge to her dark, gleaming ones. "Lord…?"

Trystan follows her eyes quickly, his men keeping their constant watch over the area. "Trystan Banefort. I have seen much. Certainly not all. Of course, what I have not seen…" He smirks. "Perhaps most would not see, lest they be causing trouble." He smiles wider. "Of course, I don't mean to cause trouble… often. May I know what you are called?"

"Of the Westerlands," she replies with the vaguest hint of recognition. Smiling further 'til there's a quick flash of teeth. "The encounter is my honour." On a tight shift of her shoulder, she busies herself behind her back with a quick scrape of fabric, but worry not about that, no, worry about her faint stumble as she jumps to the ground; a small thing, as it turns out, barely past five feet. "Salla," Eva lies, pleasant-of-voice, holding out a hand as she seems to try to catch her balance.

Trystan just smiles to her, not quite caring what she tells him for the name and just going along with it. He takes her hand and kisses it formally. "A pleasure to meet you, Salla. What has you out here? Simply enjoying nature?" He raises an eyebrow, still smiling.

Eva lifts her chin up a little higher, as if she is of higher stature — both physically and socially — as the noble kisses her hand with its many rings from many places. "In a manner of speaking," she braves a slier smile but it vanishes in lieu of a kinder look. "Apologies if I startled you and your men. You simply startled me." She's the one who very nearly looks like a bandit in her black garb, half mens', and her habit of hiding in trees.

Trystan chuckles. "Well, then, good that you repaid us the favor of being startled." He looks her over a tad. "I did not expect to find someone from Lothar in and around Oldtown. Bit far from the Free Cities."

"I did not expect to find someone who speaks Low Valyrian off the River Road," Eva says in quick response — along with a cheeky smile that wholly recognizes the fact that she didn't explain her presence in Oldtown. She tugs on the roughly hewn hem of her pieced-together black shirt, settling it around her hips, squaring her shoulders as if prepared to leave. "I am sure I am holding up you and your fine men…"

Trystan smirks and shakes his head. "Not at all, though if you must be somewhere, do not let us keep you."

Eva's head tics subtly to the right, considering Trystan and his accompaniments in a way that seems to secretly entertain her for a moment; a passing amusement that goes unshared. She simply smiles and dips her chin with a lowering of her thick lashes. "I think I will stay awhile among the trees," she says in a ponderous tone, lifting her gaze to the greenery around them. She takes a singular step back, sliding a boot-clad heel over the twists and turns of tree roots until she can lean against the tree that was her hiding place, tucking her hands behind the small of her back.

Her hand encloses protectively around the length of rope tucked into the back of her pants in secret.

Trystan smiles to her, nodding. "Very well. Then, I wish you a good day." He nods to her politely, then him and his men continue their search for herbs and game birds.

"Likewise upon you." Eva twists her head 'round past the trunk of the tree, watching the men carry well on their way before she jolts to her feet, snaring the rope in her hand and winding it up tightly with an air of dark annoyance now that she's alone. A harsh Lorathi curse is muttered on her tongue as she takes to marching to her right into the woods, hoping she does not run into any more stray noblemen.

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