#elsewhere

Art looks up from his book, belatedly. "Did you know that to the Iroquois, the Big Dipper was seen as a bear being chased by hunters? In autumn, when the constellation is lower in the sky, it was said that the bear had been wounded and its blood turned the leaves red. But the Lakota see it as part of the seven council fires. I have to cross reference what that means, but still, it's intriguing."

"I had heard," She says with a smile "Bears are big in a lot of tribes. The Cherokee believe the black bears are kind of cousins, for example. Ready to go?"

"To think, I have cousins out here too." He grins. "I'm ready. Are you sure about wanting to go back to Raven's Rest, though? I do think you could absolve your promise to the countess via courier if you didn't want to face her again."

Gladiola says "Sure? No. Going to do it? Yes. I gave my word. I represent Silverwolf. Not well, of late, but there we go. I..." A pause "Wait, is the Countess still HERE? at the gather?" She looks to see if the enterouge has already departed

Seeing the entourage in question, she smiles, "Art, she's still here. Would you like to come with me as I present it to her? I'm just going to say "I believe this belongs to you" and depart"

"You've got this." Art says, "I'll help pack up all this stuff. We'll have to ship some at the airport, or order extra carryons..."

As the Gathering of the Tribes winds down, the air is thick with the scent of smoldering sage and the last lingering traces of woodsmoke. The crowds have thinned, and many of the temporary stalls are being packed away, their wares carefully bundled up for the journey home. at the outskirts of the gathering grounds, near the embers of a dying fire where elders sit in quiet conversation.

Gwen spies the Countess - or rather, Mary Blackfeather, at the outskirts of the gathering grounds, near a dying fire where elders sit in quiet conversation. She is speaking in low tones with an older Osage woman, her hands moving as she in emphasis as they talk. Though still clad in quality attire, she has shed her Sidhe regality for something simpler—woven patterns of red and black, a nod to her bloodline rather than her title.

Gwen nods to Art. Takes the book under her arm, and approaches. Seeing that Mary Blackfeather is at conversation with an elder, hangs back fifteen feet and waits. Close enough to be seen , but hopefully not to eavesdrop too much.

She does respect that the Countess is dressing down so to speak. It shows respect for the gather.

The Osage Sidhe does not look up immediately, but Gwen can tell the moment she notices her. Just a subtle shift in her posture, a slight angling of her head that acknowledges Gwen’s presence without rushing the moment.

She finishes speaking with the elder, and she bows her head in respect. The older woman nods in return.

Only then does Blackfeather turn toward Gwen, dark eyes sharp in the flickering firelight. She steps toward her gracefully. “I see you return with more than you left with,” she says, glancing meaningfully at the book tucked under Gwen’s arm. There is the ghost of a smile, something almost approving, before she gestures for Gwen to follow. “Come. We should speak where the wind carries only what we choose.”

She leads Gwen away, toward a more secluded space— safe from mortal ears. Only then does she stop, her expression shifting from the polite reserve of noble duty to something more personal, more intent. Her eyes gleam eagerly. "DO tell."

"Everything I owe you is here in," She offers the book "And it will speak for me as I am no story teller. I think you'll find much of it very intriguing." She inclines her head

Mary Blackfeather’s dark eyes flick to the book, then back to Gwen, her expression briefly unreadable. After a pause, she tilts her head, considering.

“Have I given offense?” she asks, her voice measured but touched with something Gwen cannot quite place. “That you will not share the tale yourself?”

She folds her arms, her expression unreadable - Gwen can well see why Gwydions dislike the Eilunid, it is hard to catch any inishgt into what they're thinkijng.

"Or is it that someone in my hold has given offense?" she continues, "Perhaps a slight against a Daireann's sense of proper hospitality?"

She lets the words hang for a moment before adding, "It did not go unnoticed that you left after only one night, when three were granted."

No accusation in her tone, only the open question.

"I fear time is not my friend, your excellency. Please do not mistake my pace with anything else." Not a lie, she's tired of lies, "Your staff were professional and excellent. As for yourself, you're an imposing woman, but I do not think that is a failing given your title and nature"

Mary watches Gwen for a long moment, weighing her words, then exhales a short, bitter laugh—more an acknowledgement than amusement.

"I suppose it is so," she murmurs.

She extends her hands, palms open, waiting for the book to be placed within them, patient, undemanding.

The book is placed there in

"Thank you again," She says with an incline of her head what she hopes is the last time, "And my apology to you and the elder for intruding"

Mary draws the book in with a small coo of delight, her fingers brushing reverently over its cover as if already anticipating the knowledge within. Then, just as smoothly, she produces a small token—a finely carved wooden horse, its craftsmanship exquisite though simple (though it may taken Thistle's eye to tell THAT). A mockingbird feather and a raven feather are tied together at its neck with a thin strip of leather.

"Since I was robbed of two days of your company", she says, "I will grant you this instead."

She presses the token into Gwen’s hand. “Give this to Aiden upon your return,” she instructs, “He will understand.”

Dame Gladiola kens it even as she takes it, and also makes note of the design "Amazing crafsmanship if I may say. Did you make it yourself, Countess?"

A playful little smile on her lips. "Ah, but that would be telling." She winks. "Safe travels... I have reading to catch up on."

No magic, other than that inherent in a lovely token,

She hopes the message is not an insulting one, or one that reflects poorly on her to her liege; but what will be will be, "May it make you feel closer to your blood kin and those akin to them" And she withdraws, a new task upon her along with her true mission it seems.

Mary’s expression shifts slightly, acknowledging the deeper meaning in Gwen's words.

"You carry the winds of your ancestors with you, Gwen. Go in peace and strength."

Her words are simple, yet there’s a depth to them, a warmth. Without another word, she turns, leaving Gwen to her task. As she strides away, her posture straightens, shoulders squared, and there’s an air of finality in her step— the soft voiced Osage woman fading away - replaced by the cool, regal Countess once more, bound by the weight of her title and responsibilities.

Art waves at Gwen from across the lot, there are haphazardly stacked boxes with only a single bungee cord on top of the van.

Blessings are exchanged, and Gwen almost pities her. Titles don't just elevate, they can make you lonely. That said I think that woman scares the hell out of me She walks up to Art. "She has the book. I don't know if I insulted her or not, but I tried to be respectful and our parting seemed nice. I must give this to the Baron when we get back" She shows the fine craftsmanship

Then she adds "She said he would understand"

"Wonder if those are both pooka feathers."

She has a ratchet strap, to better secure Art's roof nonsense.

"Makes me wonder if they used to date," She admits "But thats not our concern" She eyes Thistle's work "Looks pretty tight down"

"Eh. Could be worse."

Gwen nods "I think I may have offended her a bit by not staying for the full three days, but I told her the truth. Time's not our friend. "

"You were pretty worried about your mom."

"Still am," She admits "She's ... it's really gotten worse a lot faster than she told me it would. Honestly, I should have just honored the old Dairean was, drugged her with a sedataive poison and dropped her off at a surgeon" Ahurumph "But she'd never forgive that I suppose"

A smile as she takes out the true treasure though "This I think will be better all around though."

"Totally better."

"I would worry about her mental state at a surgeon. Hospitals are pretty banal places, and she is getting on in grump years." Art muses. "Plus, a new hip is one thing, but the aches and pains she blames on the weather are something else entirely. You know, half the time she blamed a storm for aching joints?" He says, in a confiding tone, "I knew there would be clear skies." A shake of his head. "Well, I mean, not like KNEW, like a foretelling... but I checked the weather forecast."

Art whistles softly as he admires the belt in the setting sunlight.

"Yeah, she's stubborn all right. Good thing I'm not like that" Dryly

SNORT.

A smile "And Art, thanks to you for looking out for her. She puts on her best face around me so not to show any trouble even when there is"

THey load the last stuff into the vehicle if there is any "You want shotgun , Art? We both know Thisle is going to want to drive"

"We do need to make it to the airport today, Balboa."

"Yeah yeah, just don't get us arrested, Leadfoot"

She makes sure Ivan has his 'support animal' vest on

"Seven miles over is margin of error."

"It is a margin for a speeding ticket" Hurumphs

"There are such bigger fish to fry."

"Ten over, that's asking for attention."

While Art takes either front or back as he likes, Gwen takes the other "Just remember, technically the rental place thinks we're 24 or older"

"At least I think I'm right. So getting pulled over? Muy Mal"

"I'm not gettin' pulled over, Gwen."