Simmer

The frontier town of Rayasfield is so mind-numbingly unremarkable that it almost comes full circle into being remarkable for its' sheer insipidity. Perhaps the only interesting thing that's occurred since we've arrived was Variel losing her goddamned mind over a mirror...what was the reason again?
Wait, I may have just imagined that bit.
I suppose that just goes to show the extent of my boredom. She absolutely IS going stir-crazy, though, that requires no imagining on my part. She, Maxwell, and Amity made a few impulse purchases at some cluttered junk shop; a horrifying kite, a book full of poorly constructed research and inaccurate conclusions, and a ceramic vessel shaped as a turtle, respectively. Prior to that, I found myself somehow possessed to ask Amity for a haircut. An unwise thing to do, as though the state of my singed fur isn't sorry enough. Anything for a bit of excitement, I suppose. I have to admit, though--she did pretty well with what she had to work with. The charred matts have been artfully removed and I can actually comb my fingers through these sooty locks. A miracle.
 
Come morning I'm eager to get on the road as quickly as we're able--lest any more dubious choices creep cross my conscious for the sake of cheap entertainment. I'm patient when I need to be but this place makes me fidgety. At first, I thought something here had unnerved me, but no. It's just PAINFULLY dull.
 
I know now why the caravan had passed this place by the first time I came through these flatlands.