The cottage that waited (Dorae)

[DoF Archive]

Date: 8/28/1998 5:51 PM Central Daylight Time
From: DoraeRasta

Musty, stale, moldy. Not a death stench, but a lonely pinning. Hard to believe a house could harbor feelings, but this little cottage seems to be doing just that.
The windows stand open like some awestricken mouth. The front door stands crookedly against the facade of the cottage, having been ripped from its rusty hinges because the wood had swollen up and tightened in the door frame. The roof now sports a skylight, though roughly made and certainly had not been planned nor wanted.
Furniture looks battered and tattered. Various small mammals had found their way inside via holes in crumbling walls. They ripped and shredded the fabric covering the couch, pulling out the stuffing to steal for their own nests. The bed is water logged due to the new skylight right above it; the bedsheets ripped and soiled beyond usefulness.
The paintings. Some had faired well enough, others had perished; their deaths foretold by ink, and paint running amok upon the canvas'. The paintings that mattered had survived. Those had been wrapped carefully in deerskin and placed in water and airtight containers. The picture of this cottage in its prime, a self portrait, some dreams that had needed deciphering, and several of other folk and things.
There were leaves, dust, dirt and other litter covering the floor. A shambles, definitely a candidate for some much needed and belated spring cleaning. It will not take much to righten this beloved cottage and make it habitable once more.
The cottage must have sensed that its owner had returned, for a strong wind blew in from the open windows and yawning door, stirring cobwebs and moving dirt from the middle of the floor to the sides of the room, as if to make a clean path for the feet treading across it. Birds came to rest on the sills, lending song to ears that would hear and welcome the owner back to it's nest.
Outside, with platter sized hoofs resting on the top stair, a yellow horse with red mane and tail pokes his head through the gaping doorway. His nostrils flare and a snort or two exit his nose for the dust that has been stirred tickles him. Large eyes watch the person within, his ears flicking back and forth, listening inside the cottage and keeping a watchful ear on what goes on behind him, making sure no intruders sneak up on them.
The person standing inside the ramshackle home takes stock in what needs doing first, making a mental note of materials needed for each project that would make this place habitable again. Dark curly hair bobs around the head as the body moves during the inspection. The curls are shod with a few noticeable grey hairs, the only outward sign of age taking hold of the very human person. The body is still hard and lithe; workouts while in solitude
made sure of that. Other than the salting of her hair, not much else has changed.
Time is short, precious and calling. Much has happened since leaving the temple, much still needs to happen and be done. No time for dilly dallying. With a flutter of yellow cloak and swirling of dust, the body moves to the doorway, forcing the large equine to back away. Easily the body hoists itself up onto the yellow's back and the pair is off to town to tend to getting the cottage square again.
Dorae has come home.....