Augusta had finished her day's duties. Patrolled the city, watched over the Howlester for a few hours, and took the extra time to form friendships with a few in the tavern. By the time the sun began to set, Augusta was a little tired, albeit just ready to spend the evening with the people she considered deep-down to be her family.
Upon entering the Howlester Castle, she greeted a few guards, and chatted a few up, but didn't stay long. As she moved down to her quarters, she was stopped by a courier whom had come to deliver some notes. He handed her a large package, that was held together with cheap material.
It smelled familiar, and brought her back to her childhood. She didn't stand there very long, soon rushing out to find someone who could read it for her. Coming across a house servant and making them read the little note that was tucked into the string binding it.
"Augusta,
From the day you were born, me and your father knew you would grow up to be something greater than us. Even in your father's last words, he told me that I needed to let you pursue a greater path. The best decision I've ever made in my life was having you. The second best, was sending you to the Howlesters. From what I've heard, you're so big and strong now.
I tried to contact you while you were in Magnamere, but they didn't allow letters through. I tried to visit you, but I don't know if my requests ever got through. I want you to come see me again. Your mother is getting old, you know. There isn't a day in the year that I don't wish to come see you.
Momma."
Augusta was never a woman of severe emotion. Never seemed to shed a tear, never seemed to get overly upset over anything. But by the time the letter was over she cried like a baby. Taking it from the woman who read for her, before trudging off to her quarters. She pinned a small doodle she had drawn herself of what she remembered her mother to look like to the letter.
After a bit of tender self-condolence, she sat down onto the bed, and finally stopped her flow of tears. There was nothing she missed in all of Aloria then her mother. She smelled the package, before gently tearing it open, and taking out a soft fabric cloth-piece. Upon further examination, it was a thick, soft shaw, plaid with careful stitching.
She pressed it to her face, and inhaled it. She still couldn't get over how familiar the scent was to her. Her small room was now rather dim, only softly lit from the hall lamps. She lazily kicked the wrapping paper off her bed, and wallowed and buried her face into the cozy fabric. Not even bothering to place the covers over herself as soon she was out like a light.
This homemade shaw was more precious to her than anything she had ever been given. Gold and jewels couldn't compare to this hand-stitched, traditional Gallovian shaw.
@MantaRey @BullyTheScroofy
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