So she'd left a note to Jasper and Nate not to bother looking for her and that she'd be back in a week or so, packed a small knapsack and taken one of the most fright-proof horses that she could find, and took off before anyone could stop her. A part of her felt bad for leaving Nathanial behind. She'd come to enjoy running away with him on some adventure to Mourningwood or somewhere equally as deserted. But this time she wanted to be alone. Not just wanted, but needed to. She'd reached her end and was so sick of people she didn't want to see anyone at all. She just wanted to escape from it all, if only for a little while.
Stella wasn't sure exactly where she wanted to go. She'd thought of going to Driftwood for a bit of relaxation, but that didn't seem nearly far enough from the castle. So she'd decided to head to Brightwall. What she really wanted was to camp out in the woods, somewhere right in the middle under the stars, but she didn't fancy not waking up the next morning due to a surprise mercenary attack, so she figured that somewhere civilized was a better idea.
She'd lost all track of time by the time the pair trekked into Brightwood. She was about to dismount and find a place to stop for lunch when the sound of something heavy crashing onto the forest floor made her stop, pulling her horse back who shook his head in protest. "Shhh, Scotchy, shhh," she whispered to him, patting him on the neck. Again he shook his head, tugging at the reins in an attempt to get closer, and reluctantly Stella urged him forward. Something felt off, as if she was walking into a trap. Up ahead something was lying on the ground and it took the woman a few minutes to realize that it was a human.
As he called out, she hid behind the trees, studying him. The clothes were unlike any uniform she'd seen in Albion, and the gun was certainly not of Albion origin. It looked too sleek, too boring, to be one of theirs. Relief flooded her as she realized that he was just another Displaced. She allowed herself to relax a little, urging Butterscotch on quietly. As long as he didn't shoot at them, she'd be happy to act as the Albion welcoming committee. She'd gotten a lot of practice in it over the year.
The sound of a branch snapping underfoot as Butterscotch stepped on it almost made Stella jump out of her skin from the unexpectedness of it, but her eyes flew to the male to see how he'd react. His gun was out and he was calling out some odd acronym, but completely in the wrong direction than she was in. But she guessed that falling from another world into this one could play havoc on one's sense of direction.
"Over here," she called out drily, letting go of the reins and giving a small wave. "Though I'd appreciate it if you lowered your gun. You're spooking Butterscotch." As if on cue, the equine shook his head and snorted, pawing the ground as if whole situation indeed unnerved him, though Stella was certain that he was just getting restless because she hadn't given him a treat all day and he'd had enough.
Hopping off, she took one step forward showing him her hands so he saw that she was unarmed. "I'm not going to hurt you, put it down." Her dark eyes studied him, and she offered him a small smile. "I'm Stella. What's your name? You're hurt, let me help you."