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Saeryn rose early, stiff and weary. As she prepared for a new day, she allowed her mind to wander.
Finding a small mirror in her bags, she examined her face. Though there was no bruising, she could feel where she got knocked on the head by her fall. Her forehead was well and truly bruised, with no color to show for it. She grimaced, remembering her childhood. Not a soul ever took her seriously when she had a hurt, save Degas, because she could never prove the pain with bright shades of blue and purple.
She washed up quickly and dressed, pulling a pair of worn breeches of indistinguishable color on and belting them tight. Over top, and untucked, she opted for a loose white blouse she had lifted from her twin's bags. True to his penchant for frivolty, it's sleeves billowed in a most dramatic way. Unable to work her shoulder to it's full capacity, she left her locks unbraided and sighed over the ringlets she could already see gently framing her face. Perhaps she would ask Gudryn to plait her hair later.
Ignoring her shoes, Saeryn opened her door and went in search for a cup of tea and a friendly face that would not try to helpfully send her back to bed, or wait on her.
"I wonder what this day will bring." she murmered softly as she padded to the kitchen.
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