A homecoming, and some preparations.

[Cinnabar]

It's mid-morning by the time the covered wagon winds its way through Myrken Wood, taking the back-roads that wind through the countryside between farms and rural estates; a smartly-painted vehicle of the sort favoured by travellers, gypsies, those who live the mobile lifestyle. The carthorse is a sturdy, stolid beast, more calm and dependable than stately or majestic, which is to the liking of the wagon's driver; he sits at the front, features shaded by a broad-brimmed hat, and keeps a light hold of the reins to guide the horse along Myrken's roads. Homeward-bound.

As the sun is rising to its zenith the little caravan turns onto the road that leads to what was once Baker's Farm, now the property of the High Constable-turned-Governor; indeed, as that hat is lifted in greeting to various of the farm's tenants as the wagon rattles past there's a flash of silver hair and a pleased grin which indicates that the Governor has returned from the travels which have taken he and Cambree far from Myrken Wood in recent days and weeks - a leave of absence, a well-earned break from his official duties. Duties which he will be resuming soon enough, but not quite yet - first, there are arrangements to be made.

The afternoon proves to be an industrious one on the farm, starting with the unpacking of the wagon, and continuing with a number of letters being run to town - to Councillor Guillaume, to notify him of the Governor's return; to certain establishments in town, to make it known that preparations requested before Calomel's departure can now be concluded; to friends and amiable acquaintances, invitations to a gathering to be held on the farm in the very near future indeed.

With regard to this latter point, already there is a broad awning being erected near the farmhouse, poles and ropes and pegs and canvas arranged to provide a shelter from the elements - a roof against rain, or shade from the sun, with simple trestle tables laid out beneath. Strings of brightly-coloured flags are run between house and awning and trees and barn, flapping and flickering in the breeze. Victuallers and vintners drive their carts up the farm track, bringing casks and bottles and crates and packages for the kitchen or cellar. A well-provisioned event, it would appear. Meanwhile the house is aired out, floors swept, surfaces dusted, windows washed, and furniture moved around.

It would appear that the Governor is throwing a party.



[OOC: Further details can be found here.]