Isolde watched from the shadows as Kell pushed open the tavern door. Kell smiled as he entered the tavern. Isolde wouldn't be able to miss his fine white toothsome smile. So few in this time still had all their teeth, some lost to fights, others to decay. The public house was as crowded as ever. Isolde observed him pausing to scan the room. She imagined his dark eyes, piercing, intense and observant, missed nothing. How often had she wished for him to turn that gaze on her. Her thoughts went to his sharp jaw line and chiseled features that gave him an attractive, yet simple appearance. Isolde was too old of a soul to be impressed by men but this one caused the breath to catch in her throat. She waited as the door shut out the light and blocked the sound before she stepped back on the pathway.<br/><br/>Isolde slipped in the door and let the hood of her cloak fall back, revealing her witch's head of red hair. Most avoided her eyes, not from loathing but from deep respect for her power and her craft.Searching the room, she located Kell, a mug of mead in hand, pushing his way to a back corner of the bar where a cluster of men stood watching an arm-wrestling match. As he approached, they all started speaking at once. It seemed he was due for a much anticipated match against the reigning champion. The night might prove to be interesting, she thought.<br/><br/>"How is Greta?" Isolde asked the proprietor of the tavern when she finally caught his eye. He grunted and nodded. The pewter mug in his hand was the object of a sudden vigorous buffing.<br/><br/>"Then I take it that she and the wean are well, recovering." Isolde said with an answering nod. The man handed her a goblet of fine wine which Isolde understood was a token of his appreciation for her ministrations to his wife and newly born child. She flashed him a smile, and then sipped the rich red Madeira. She inhaled deeply at the rather cloudy wine .The subdued nose showed a sweet caramel and a little gingerbread. In her mouth it left a smooth silky texture, yet astonishingly soft and light, on the sweet side, rounded and mellow, very mainstream with sweet toffee and imported sugar and a short sweet finish. Where had this come from in these times, she wondered.<br/><br/>Kell was settling in to accept challengers so Isolde arranged herself in the shadow, not far from the men so she could feast her eyes. The man was a carpenter after all, she thought, arms so muscular and smooth were a by product of his trade, but none the less, he was a sight to make her wanton. Sipping her wine, Isolde's found herself mellowing,relaxing with her back to the rough timbered wall. The ebb and flow of the crowd seemed to be a fitting background for the end of the day. She could allow the cares of the day to flow away from her, forgetting the illness, the disease, the wounded, the walking dead. What time she had chosen to be reborn, she thought with a shake of her head.<br/><br/>Isolde was careful in her use of her powers for her magic went beyond the casting of spells or healing herbs. These were understood and generally accepted by all but her real powers, to freeze time, to move objects with a wave of her hand and to see the future were highly suspect. To the people of Moranwick City, she was a simple healer. She posed herself as a chaste single woman who chose her craft to help others over a vocation to marry and bear children. She hoped she was here to stem the damage being done to the countryside.