There was a pleasant sort of discomfort that came from a day of hard chores and an even harder night of slumbering. Tairy was already away by the time she arose. Her memory of the night before was a sweet melange of darkness, warm skin, and tender words murmured in a voice as deep and soft as a windless sea. She'd fallen asleep in his arms as happened all too easily. His arms were her haven, her refuge, the one place in Middle-earth where no threat could come near. She would sleep like the dead as long as he held her, waking with her cheek pressed to his chest, hot and damp with exhaled breaths and a faint sheen of sweat from their closeness. He detached himself so very gently from his raven-haired daffodil, trying so terribly hard not to rouse her from sleep as he dressed and armed himself for whatever tradesman or wagon of goods needed a sturdy man with a blade that day.
Summer was drawing to a gradual close, but the sun still crested the eastern hills well before seven o'clock, and she was not long behind her beloved in stirring herself awake. The previous day had been spent tidying up the Knotwood Boarding House in preparation for autumn, and all too soon after, winter. She was not a woman who liked to be caught behind the cart, taken by surprise, and left to play catch-up. The weather still felt quite summery in the afternoons, but a lifetime of farming and living by the seasons of the earth meant that it was impossible to ignore the subtle signals of change. The light of the sun was different now. Its angle a little lower, its beams striking the trees and houses with slightly longer shadows at midday. Crickets sang in lusty chorus all through the night, frantic to mate and carry out their brief purpose before expiring. Already she was finding droves of their sad little corpses in the corners of the cool, dark pantry. And she had seen a flock of northern geese sailing southward over Knotwood, honking non-stop as they began their trek to balmier climes for the still-far-off winter.
Now, as she began to sit up in bed, heedless of her bare flesh, her well-worked muscles buzzed and tingled with an ache that bordered on delightful. She welcomed the clenching and tension that demanded that she lift her arms high overhead, and stretch out her legs all the way to her splayed-out toes. A throaty grunt accompanied the stretch, her body quivered with its intensity, and when at last it released her, she felt dizzy and rather giddy. A moment was needed to simply sit and breathe until the sensation passed.
The cottage felt oddly vacuous without Tairy there. She didn't hate the feeling. He had been there very lately, and would be there again before nightfall. As she drew on her mismatched shoes and stood up, she simply took note of the way she noticed his absence. It was not something she would ever wish to draw out for a long period of time, but for now, it made her all the more appreciative of the memories she had of him, and the certainty of his return.
The grass was still drenched in sparkling dew as she closed and bolted the cottage door. Pumpkin had taken to trailing the couple home now and then, and Taite smiled at the sight of the stump-tailed, ginger-and-white cat waiting on the stone wall in a patch of sunbeams. She ran a hand over the plush fur as she passed by. "Good morning, Pumpkin!" she said softly, as if not wanting to disturb the idyllic, morning atmosphere of soft light and delicate birdsong in the yard. "Ready for the day?" Pumpkin trilled and leapt down to trot behind the woman as she turned onto the hard-packed street.
"It is almost chilly today, aye?" She chattered away to the cat as they walked together, with Pumpkin straggling behind to sit and scratch an itch, or wander off into the trees to sniff something curious, before darting after Taite again like a bolt. The woman embraced herself, palms pressed to the chilly softness of her upper arms. "I daresay I wish I'd brought a shawl! No matter. We'll be in the sun soon enough." And indeed, the shady boughs of the forest that edged Knotwood were about to draw away and reveal a brighter path that turned and headed into the village proper, where the trees were scattered and the sun far more abundant.
"Must get that last bit of weeding pulled," she murmured absently under her breath. One hand swung at her side while the other played unconsciously with the ring that hung about her neck on its cord. "Make sure the chimney is clear. Aye, Tairy or Master Tumunir can do that..."
This last thought stirred a memory. And in her mind's eye, she saw a handsome, somber-eyed stranger who called himself "Darrell" climbing a ladder to the roof of the Boarding House. She had held the ladder from the bottom, and watched him with worried eyes. Not because she cared for the man. She didn't know him. But because she cared for people, and he was a person kind enough to climb on a roof and help a woman that he, in turn, did not know. Clear as day, she could still see the bird's nest he had discovered there, blocking the flue. He brought it down to show her, keeping it carefully in one piece, for there were eggs nestled within the prickly, twisted grasses. And she knew then that he was kind, not only to people, but to all creatures. And she admired him.
A pointed prrreow! from Pumpkin snapped her out of her reverie, and she laughed at herself and her mind, so easily led astray. They were already at the gate of the Boarding House, and she could not remember walking the last half-mile.
"That'll teach me to daydream, aye?" she chortled, bending down to sweep the cat into her arms and give the sun-warmed fur an affectionate kiss. "Come now, you can help me weed the flowerbeds!"
