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She's not in Lhan Tarren Anymore

Sitting in the small tavern of Aldburg, Blodeucoed sat with the elderly woman she had been left with.  Hroda, before abandoning Blodeucoed in Aldburg, had explained to her that Gerta was his aunt.  Although neither Blodeucoed or Gerta were pleased with the arrangement, neither had a choice.

As Blodeucoed sipped from the mead Gerta had purchased for her, Gerta gazed at the state of Blodeucoed's thick tangle of dark hair. Along her shoulders, Blodeucoed's hair tangles in with the furs that cover her frame and stretches down the oddly fitted dress Blodeucoed had yet come use to.  Sipping gently from her mug, Gerta spoke up, "Do all Dunlendings do their hair so?  I would that you did it more... traditionally."

"Sometimes we braid." Blodeucoed looked up to the woman with a little frown as she realizes one word came across as unfamiliar to her, "What is traditionally?"

Gerta inhaled sharply. "Tradition is the way of things--the old way of things--and they way they have been for years upon years. Why is it that /you/ do not braid, Blóstma?"
The name Blóstma was not Blodeucoed's preferred name.  She found it sounding demanding and quite confusing to pronounce.  However, no matter how many times she repeated Blodeucoed to the Forgoil, they seemed to not quite catch on to it.

Regardless, she decided it not worth her time to argue with the older woman so instead she shrugs a bit, "Braiding dry is hard." She responds as her fingers tug on the curls of her hair, "Hair tangles when braiding dry.  Many do not braid. We also are not so..." She stops before gesturing down to the dress over her frame, "So much this. So much dress."

Gerta's lips pursed, "Is something wrong with the dress I've given you?"

"All forgoil dresses cover a lot," Blodeucoed responds with a shake of her head.  

"Then what would you have us wear?"  Gerta asks sharply, "Nothing, as sava-- your people are want to do?"

Blodeucoed tilted her head as her eyes fixate on the woman's, "How do mothers feed children?" She then reached up to tug a little on her dress, "Children cannot reach breasts. And sun is out, dress does-... It is not..."  Blodeucoed stopped as if her words hit a wall.  How do you convey that word?  What is it?  The feeling of the sun beating onto you and sweat dripping across your forehead.  Blodeucoed knew how she would say it at home.  ''Hyn ffrog ydy'n rhy boeth.'  But she was not home now, she was in a land so odd and different to what she was use to.  Finally, she said slowly, giving up on seeking for the term she needed, "It is not... It makes life hard."

Gerta shook her head. "When your breast must be out to feed your bairn, it is out. But we are not improper, Blóstma, and that message I am trying to teach you. I am sure your people follow your way. We follow our own."

"How are breasts improper? Men take shirt off."  Blodeucoed stared at Gera in utter perplexment. 

Touching Blodeucoed's shoulder softly, Gerta offered the younger woman a faint smile, "Men are men. Women are women. As much as one can take the place of the other, we are not the same. So it has been, and so it shall be."

Blodeucoed's shoulders slumped a bit. Hesitantly, her eyes scanned over Gerta's greying hair that was neatly done up into a tight and what appeared restricting bun.  Stretching her hand out, Blodeucoed gently touched the side of Gerta's hair, "Why do you tie hair up?"

Gerta pulled her hand away from Blodeucoed's shoulder and crossed her arms, "I am married.  Do you know the word?"

Blodeucoed hesitated as she thought for a moment.  The word didn't come to her quickly, but then she remembered a few night prior she had spoken to Sexea about husbands and wives of which the word was mentioned, "It mean you have husband, yes?"

Gerta nods and gave Blodeucoed a wry smile, "A married woman is her husband's and her husband's alone. She ties her hair to prevent men, weak-willed as they can often be, from thinking too much on things that cannot be. That will not ever be. Do you understand?"

"What if woman... what is word?" Blodeucoed pauses, What if woman leave marriage?  Do she lower hair?"

Gerta nods gently, "Of course. You're clever for a wealh."


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