'It would have been nice to bring Lir' was the prevailing thought as the apothecary approached the old fencing marking the start of the hunting grounds. In the distance, she could see various people in the midst of the sport and, after a moment, heard the distant chorus of cheers following a successful hit. "Maybe tomorrow," muttering her thoughts aloud, she leans against the wooden fence even as it scratches against the skin of her forearms.