Jancis prepared for the night in her room, removing the heavy robes she had dressed in. They had been not needed, but the cloak she had brought proved to be useful as a makeshift sheath.
Unwrapping the cloak, Jancis hefted the sword. It wasn't the easily blade to manage, for her at least, and for the most part it was clean. She should take more care of it. A whetstone would be over the top for the circumstance; Jancis doubted it would be used soon. But to make sure it was utterly clean and oiled would be ideal.
She didn't own much for metal tools and having oil wasn't something to keep in her space. Getting up, she went over to Iron's wardrobe and dug through it. Sure enough, he had some for his armor. It would do.
Sitting on her bed cross-legged, she cleaned and polished the blade. She couldn't sleep yet. It was a dark night, the fog upon the shore clearly a show of comfort and protection from the elements themselves. The Twelve were close.
She would have to return and check upon Sir Glacier and return his sword. The chaos of the house might fade with time; but Jancis was concerned if wounds would be tended to. Wounds that were not from blade or club.
Most of the night until she fell asleep, she cared for the blade. Next to her a book of words and poems.
Unwrapping the cloak, Jancis hefted the sword. It wasn't the easily blade to manage, for her at least, and for the most part it was clean. She should take more care of it. A whetstone would be over the top for the circumstance; Jancis doubted it would be used soon. But to make sure it was utterly clean and oiled would be ideal.
She didn't own much for metal tools and having oil wasn't something to keep in her space. Getting up, she went over to Iron's wardrobe and dug through it. Sure enough, he had some for his armor. It would do.
Sitting on her bed cross-legged, she cleaned and polished the blade. She couldn't sleep yet. It was a dark night, the fog upon the shore clearly a show of comfort and protection from the elements themselves. The Twelve were close.
She would have to return and check upon Sir Glacier and return his sword. The chaos of the house might fade with time; but Jancis was concerned if wounds would be tended to. Wounds that were not from blade or club.
Most of the night until she fell asleep, she cared for the blade. Next to her a book of words and poems.
You build on failure. You use it as a stepping stone. Close the door on the past. You don't try to forget the mistakes, but you don't dwell on it. You don't let it have any of your energy, or any of your time, or any of your space.
![[Image: hpThOka.png]](http://i.imgur.com/hpThOka.png)
