A Dangerous Journey (5/4, morning, Kenna/Reagan)

[Kenna Merrick]

Kenna gave her horse a light kick to spur her onward. She and Reagan were taking the morning to explore the Cliffs of Callidora, as Kenna had recommended they do. The jousting and archery finals would not be until that afternoon, so there was time for a side trip out to the western side of the island. Kenna hadn’t been out to the cliffs since the previous fall. While she loved the sounds of the surf and the crash of the waves, during the winter the cliffs were so cold and the winds so raw that one feared Amelie would blow her kiss of death right through one’s cloak.

“It shouldn’t take us but an hour to ride out there.” She was dressed in riding pants and a tunic. Even though the day was warm, she’d packed an over-shirt to put on once they arrived. Down by the water, with the wind blowing, Kenna feared it would still be cold. Plus, if they got wet, which was highly likely, the cold water would eat right through them.

“I hope you’re ready for this,” Kenna teased, “The cliffs aren’t the safest place.”

[Reagan Morgandy]

Reagan held the reins with one hand and shielded her eyes from the sun with another, looking out and across the view, to where they were headed. She could already tell it was going to be magnificent, and that she would be barely able to stand once they returned to dress for the joust and the archery. Reagan enjoyed horseback riding but there was little reason to do that around Enyon; they were a port city, and Reagan was a fish, not a fox. She imagined she would be bow-legged for a week -- but perhaps that would be enough to get Cordelia to excuse her from having to sit through the Gods-awful next round of jousting...?

She shifted slightly in her seat, tugging at her long grey riding tunic, happy she had decided to go with a thicker pair of breeches. Reagan sported a woven vest, as well, with a Morgandy emblem emblazoned on the breast pocket. It was certainly nice getting out of her skirts, for once.

"I enjoy a challenge," Reagan said lightly in reply, a wicked smile on her face as she nudged the side of her steed with the heel of her boot, urging to forward on a steady pace.

[Kenna Merrick]

“Good,” Kenna laughed and then spurred her horse into a faster canter. She had no idea what Reagan’s horseback skills might be, but she was certain the woman would never admit to anything less than perfection no matter the truth. So Kenna didn’t bother to ask. She just pushed her horse to go faster.

The ride was long, but Kenna enjoyed the feeling of freedom being out on horseback away from her family and the court brought. Even Reagan was not truly there while she was riding; they couldn’t speak at this pace and Kenna was in the lead. The sky was beautiful, the sun warming her back, and the thrill of danger awaited ahead of them both. Time seemed to stand still, even as they moved.

And then just like that, Kenna could hear the crash of the waves against the cliffs. She slowed down her horse to walk, both so the steed could rest and because she wanted to talk to Reagan some as they headed South to where the beach began. “Can you hear that? The Cliffs of Callidora sound as treacherous as they are.”

[Reagan Morgandy]

The trip upward was enjoyable. They rode in relative silence, and Reagan ruminated in her own thoughts, enjoying the sun soaking into her dark hair, feeling the light breeze play across the pathways.

Reagan paused as well once they reached a spot where Kenna slowed, having led them all the way there, hearing the churning roar of waves slamming against the rocks without having to see them. The sound warmed Reagan's heart, so familiar with the noises of her own home in Enyon. Every morning and every night, Reagan fell asleep and awoke to the methodical sound of the crashing waves, consistent, powerful, enticing.

"Why do they call them that? The 'Cliffs of Callidora.' I know it is some... folk lore, or what have you, of the island, but I am not familiar with it." Reagan looked to Kenna then, who was clearly enjoying herself.

[Kenna Merrick]

“It is the story of the second queen of Forsilvra. Her name was Callidora - I cannot remember her birth house - but her husband loved her so. She began pregnant and they were very excited about having a child. But one child turned into two, and when she went into labor early both babies died. The queen was so filled with sorrow at the loss of her babies that she could not stop herself. She came here to these cliffs and threw herself over the edge into the ocean. Her broke body eventually washed up on the rocks. The King, broken hearted himself, named ‘The Cliffs of Callidora’ to remember her by.”

Kenna had twins, but she couldn’t imagine throwing herself over the cliffs even if something happened them. But every woman was different; hell, here she was attempting to climb them and nothing at all had happened to her children.

“We’ll tether the horses here,” she said, stopping her steed and sliding down out of the saddle. It was the last grove of trees before they reached their destination. “We’ll have to walk the rest of the way to the beach, but it’s not far. Also, I’d put on your overshirt. The winds are cold down on the beach. The water as well.” She pulled her own from her pack and pulled it over her head.

[Reagan Morgandy]

Reagan listened to Kenna retell the story, with a surprising passion she had not expected from Lady Merrick. All the while, they had stopped, and she tethered her mount to a nearby tree, making sure it had grass to chew upon in their absence, however sparse it was right at the edge of the thicket. She pulled on her thick woolen over-shirt, to keep from the cutting winds at such an altitude. The summer weather was still in full bloom, but the lack of foliage brooked no resistance from the breeze.

"How sad," Reagan remarked lightly, her feelings truly going neither one way nor the other. It was a pitiful story; one that might, and often should, tug at the heartstrings. But Reagan had stalwart views, herself, on taking one's own life... but this did not seem the appropriate arena to share them.

As they carried on foot together, the two women set in an easy pace, side-by-side, their silence lingering for a few moments on in their travel. "Do you often miss your winterlands, Lady Merrick?" Reagan posed casually, thinking about her companion's homelands.

[Kenna Merrick]

“I have never been to my homelands,” Kenna replied, “So I couldn’t tell you a thing about the winterworld. You’ll have to ask my cousins instead, for my twin has also never left the capital. Strange, I guess, but I am the apple of my father’s eye and I think perhaps he couldn’t bear to send me away. And then when I was young and seventeen I was wed to a man on the council, who also lived here in the capital. With pregnancy and two young babies and the plague, there was no reason to travel anywhere. Do I regret that? Not at all. Why should I wish to see the Green when my home has always been here?”

They walked as they talked, making good time. Both women were fresh and fit, moving from the grove of trees over the sparse lands that morphed to weeds and sand. The roar of the waves grew louder and louder, and eventually Kenna pulled out her muffs and placed them over ears. They would have to raise their voices to be heard over the echoes of the crashing water and rocks, but then, once they started climbing, there would be little opportunity to talk anyway.

“We’ll walk along there,” Kenna shouted, pointing to where the beach was wide. Here the waves didn’t make it to the cliffs, but Kenna could see that beach narrowed quickly. “We’ll need to begin to climb before we get to the part where the water hits the cliffs. If not, it will sweep us away.” She pulled out her gloves and put them on, wondering for a brief moment if they were both insane.