Strange had promised Tav a break after the demonic infiltration, only for their little world to go promptly askew. The Gallows attacked, Kirkwall itself attacked, priorities slipped and slid and were continually rearranged.
But it had been a few weeks now, and the man carried a perpetual awareness of it like a pebble in his shoe. The more that the elf was pent-up and miserable, who was to say it wouldn’t increase the chances of an incident occurring, or Tav doing something supremely reckless?
So, Strange had finally taken the initiative to arrange an outing. Parts of the garden had been crushed during the tower collapse, and they should go foraging soon anyhow for more seeds and plants to transplant into all that broken soil, trying to catch up with the growing season. There had been some hemming and hawing about the Head Healer heading out with such a known liability, but he’d bristled with some professional affront; he had once been Sorcerer Supreme of an entire dimension, he was a powerful mage, he could certainly take care of himself, etc, etc.
Which is how they’re here today: tromping along in Planasene Forest. Late-spring early-summer means it’s quite nice, and for all that Stephen Strange has become a city boy, it’s not the worst thing ever. The clean air without the constant churned-up dirt and noise of reconstruction, away from the crowds of Kirkwall. Dressed for a hike, wearing a worn leather backpack with a bedroll and tent tied to it, carrying supplies enough for a day and night away, with the plan to camp out under the stars.
A little break, as it were.
“Did I ever mention I grew up on a farm?” Strange asks offhand, as they walk along under the trees. “I prefer cities, but the outdoors isn’t exactly unfamiliar to me either.”
action; get in loser we’re going camping
But it had been a few weeks now, and the man carried a perpetual awareness of it like a pebble in his shoe. The more that the elf was pent-up and miserable, who was to say it wouldn’t increase the chances of an incident occurring, or Tav doing something supremely reckless?
So, Strange had finally taken the initiative to arrange an outing. Parts of the garden had been crushed during the tower collapse, and they should go foraging soon anyhow for more seeds and plants to transplant into all that broken soil, trying to catch up with the growing season. There had been some hemming and hawing about the Head Healer heading out with such a known liability, but he’d bristled with some professional affront; he had once been Sorcerer Supreme of an entire dimension, he was a powerful mage, he could certainly take care of himself, etc, etc.
Which is how they’re here today: tromping along in Planasene Forest. Late-spring early-summer means it’s quite nice, and for all that Stephen Strange has become a city boy, it’s not the worst thing ever. The clean air without the constant churned-up dirt and noise of reconstruction, away from the crowds of Kirkwall. Dressed for a hike, wearing a worn leather backpack with a bedroll and tent tied to it, carrying supplies enough for a day and night away, with the plan to camp out under the stars.
A little break, as it were.
“Did I ever mention I grew up on a farm?” Strange asks offhand, as they walk along under the trees. “I prefer cities, but the outdoors isn’t exactly unfamiliar to me either.”