12-16-2021, 11:44 PM
Sören glanced down at her like the answer mystified him. If she felt the cold so keenly, why was she so poorly dressed for the climate? She sounded genuinely annoyed too, like the perfectly ordinary weather itself was an affront, and he decided it made him in good company for her derision. His lips quirked a little in response, but if he had an answer for her complaints he clearly thought better of sharing it. Doubtless, she would not appreciate where his mind went.
“Det finns inget dåligt väder, bara dåliga kläder,” he said instead, aware that (unless she happened to speak Swedish) the fact he did not speak English was only likely to irk her further. He shifted the bag on his back, and headed to complete his business. With any luck her mood would have improved by the time he returned.
Sören did not generally journey with much. Despite a vast amount of wealth to his name, his tastes for travel were usually basic, informed mostly by need, and generally that need was a nomad’s desire to move quickly. He ate a brief breakfast on the move, browsing the local market while he tallied his requirements for the day, and packing everything neatly in a water-tight bag bought just for the purpose. The supplies were not exhaustive, of course, but he didn’t want the excuse to break the excursion early should something be forgotten, so he planned for several eventualities.
Afterwards he found her at the water, in a vessel he tried hard not to frown at. “Is this to be a lesson on how appearances can be quite deceptive?” he asked. His tone was mild, sure she would miss the joke and assume he was instead casting doubt on her expertise. Perhaps she would use it as an opportunity for a lecture. Either way, Sören proceeded to load his things.
“There's no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothes,” he added, translating his earlier comment as he joined her on the opposite bench. Amongst the top layer of precisely packed purchases was a large shawl knitted from Buryat wool, brightly patterned, that he handed out to her now before closing the bag up. It was traditionally crafted, but most importantly it was warm. And hopefully it would stifle her complaining.
“Det finns inget dåligt väder, bara dåliga kläder,” he said instead, aware that (unless she happened to speak Swedish) the fact he did not speak English was only likely to irk her further. He shifted the bag on his back, and headed to complete his business. With any luck her mood would have improved by the time he returned.
Sören did not generally journey with much. Despite a vast amount of wealth to his name, his tastes for travel were usually basic, informed mostly by need, and generally that need was a nomad’s desire to move quickly. He ate a brief breakfast on the move, browsing the local market while he tallied his requirements for the day, and packing everything neatly in a water-tight bag bought just for the purpose. The supplies were not exhaustive, of course, but he didn’t want the excuse to break the excursion early should something be forgotten, so he planned for several eventualities.
Afterwards he found her at the water, in a vessel he tried hard not to frown at. “Is this to be a lesson on how appearances can be quite deceptive?” he asked. His tone was mild, sure she would miss the joke and assume he was instead casting doubt on her expertise. Perhaps she would use it as an opportunity for a lecture. Either way, Sören proceeded to load his things.
“There's no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothes,” he added, translating his earlier comment as he joined her on the opposite bench. Amongst the top layer of precisely packed purchases was a large shawl knitted from Buryat wool, brightly patterned, that he handed out to her now before closing the bag up. It was traditionally crafted, but most importantly it was warm. And hopefully it would stifle her complaining.
![[Image: odinraven.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/odinraven.png)