Eorling Mead Hall

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn smiled to herself contentedly by the low fire she had kindled in her room's small hearth. She sat curled in a warm quilt, cozy, watching raindrops streak the window. She had made early rounds, seeing to it that nothing was wanted. Now she took the rest of the morning to herself, listening to the heavy pitter-pat of water above her, smelling the musty fresh scents of spring.

Her ribs felt nearly new, still achy in the damp, but no pain plagued her no matter how swift her motion. She pulled her hands from around her knees, tugging the edge of the patchwork closer to her chin. It was not cold, but the extra warmth comforted her. It was a day for rest... her features softened as she let her thoughts wander, pausing on only those that lingered. Her eyes focused gently into the grey distance through her window. The coals of the fire shimmered, the light within them dancing brilliantly red beneath their blackened edges. The light smell of burning wood filled the room and Saeryn breathed deeply, relief filling her that she could comfortably do so simple of a thing. She briefly entertained the notion of talking a walk about the halls before letting it pass. If she was needed, she'd be found.