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Phyr can't sleep.
They're stuck in Rivington, trying to find a way into the city. Though her bedroll is no less comfortable than it always is, she seems to feel every rock and lump of dirt beneath it tonight.
She sits up, finding her way outside camp for a bit of meditation. It's not the same here, on the road. These wide spaces are not the Dancing Haven, the Temple to Eilistraee back home.
She settles against a boulder and dreams of the last time she'd been there, just before this whole fiasco started.
***
The musty scent of soil and fallen leaves is unusual here in the heart of Waterdeep. The high walls of the immense roofless building muffle some of the city's noontime bustle, creating a bubble of calm. A grove of oaks fill the space, reaching toward the sky.
Phyr's feet crunch on the leaf litter as she winds her way through the Dancing Haven. Later, she'll help one of the acolytes brush the packed dirt pathway clear, but for now she breathes in the autumn air and centers herself here in this place of tranquility.
Nearby, a sword dancer weaves her blade in intricate patterns, every movement fluid and graceful. A prayer to their goddess.
Phyr had helped build this temple, had planted some of the young oak saplings and watched druids coax them to full growth, their branches arching high overhead. An offering to Eilistraee, an oasis for her worshippers seeking a moment of peace.
It is a special place, a holy place. Walking through it always soothes Phyr. Here she can feel her goddess's presence, a warm glow in her chest. No matter what worries plague her, she can breathe easier in Eilistraee's embrace.
She approaches a large tree now, settling on her knees in its shade. Crisp sunlight dapples her, the earth solid and grounding beneath her. Closing her eyes, she sinks into herself, feeling the coolness of the leaves and dirt, listening to her own heartbeat in her ears.
And she prays.
Gratitude, wishes for a calm mind, a request for a safe journey. Tomorrow, in the company of other priests and clerics, she sets out on the long road to Baldur's Gate to collect new acolytes and escort them back here.
She rests there a long time after her prayers are over, meditating. Finding her center and breathing deeply.
Eventually, she stands, stretching her legs and placing a palm against the rough bark.
Eilistraee guide me. She may leave this place in the morning, but she will carry her faith with her, whatever adventures await.