The twilight was mellow and soft as it descended over the high-walled city at the mouth of the Snowbourn river. Leaves fluttered daintily on the cool breeze, decorating rooftops and streets alike with gold, crimson, and violet, until the town resembled a patchwork of autumn hues. In the crisp air, shawls and cloaks appeared on the men and women, while children fussed about having to put on their shoes and forego the barefoot joys of summertime.
At the south-gate stable, the last rays of sunlight were streaming through the open gates, turning the guards into miniature silhouettes of themselves if one were to look directly into their brilliance. The diminutive figure of the flaxen-haired young woman was facing away, however, so that the amber rays lit up the emerald-clad curve of her spine. The small row of stables was all occupied, and curious heads peeked out over half-doors to observe her in her duties.
While the young woman bent down to pour out grain from a large sack into a line of waiting pails, a slender shadow appeared, blotting out a portion of the sunlight.
“You aren’t exerting yourself too much, are you, Brynleigh?” said the newly arrived woman, who was a good deal older than the other, with wisps of silver in her golden hair, and lines dancing from the corners of her eyes.
The young woman in the stable paused, and her plump, rosy lips drew into a smile before she began to turn towards the voice. “Not at all, dear Elfswith.” She set the bag down and stood up to her full, humble height.
Elfswith drew her gaze along the figure of the woman before her, assessing with a maternal crimp in the center of her eyes. “You’re certain?” she pressed, moving closer and extending a hand that didn’t quite touch Brynleigh’s shoulder, but hovered there in the air. “You’re sitting down anytime you feel the least bit winded?”
“I am,” Brynleigh replied, widening her affectionate smile as the older woman’s concern draped about her like a blanket of warmth. “I promise. I have no wish to become bedridden again. Nor to leave you without a helper.” She lifted her own hand, reaching up to grasp the fingers that seemed to seek contact, giving them a soft press.
Elfswith wrapped her hand around Brynleigh’s, returning the squeeze. Her ruddy cheeks flushed with a bit of color before she released the grip and turned her gaze to the horses lined up in their boxes. Low snorts and lazy hoof-stomps were the music that heralded the evening in the stable. “Have you seen any of your other friends yet? Surely they’ve missed you.”
“Mhm, I have, in fact!” Brynleigh brushed her palms over the backside of her work tunic, and a little shower of dust and straw fluttered down to the floor while she sat on an overturned bucket. “Of course, I told you about seeing Saexwyrd,” she began, glancing down at her knees while her face grew rosy, then quickly going on. “I have also seen Beorggar, and two new faces I did not know, while I spoke with him in the meadhall.”
Elfswith’s wizened eyes rested upon Brynleigh as she talked, and while her young companion rested on the makeshift seat, the older woman busied herself with securing the latches on the doors of each stall. “Oh? Which new faces were these? Anyone I should hear about?”
“Well, let me see,” said Brynleigh, lifting her face and taking a long, thoughtful breath inwards, while her hands rubbed over her knees. “A woman who claimed to be from Marton. Caru was her name. She seemed a rather odd sort to me. A bit fidgety and restless, if you will.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she recalled the scene. “Beorggar seemed to know her to some extent, though I didn’t ascertain how. And then a man came and joined us, after Miss Caru departed. Ingberth, he called himself. A scout, I think, from the hauberk he wore, and the way he talked of going here and there. A very congenial and pleasant man, from what I saw.”
“I’m glad that you’re out and about once more, my dear,” Elfswith said, pushing against the last door to ensure it was securely closed, then making her way back towards her young friend, passing in and out of the shafts of sunlight coming through the windows. “I hope you found what peace you sought, and that your wanderlust is done for now.” She paused, standing before Brynleigh and crossing her arms while turning a pensive gaze onto the village street outside.
Brynleigh regarded the woman for a beat before speaking again in a quiet tone. “I think I have. As much as could be expected, anyway. Perhaps the fever was part of what I needed to suffer, to bring things more clear.” Her sapphire eyes dropped to the hands entwined on her knee, studying the pale fingers and the way they cast slender shadows in the last of the sun’s dying rays. “Ingberth said he had heard of the fever as well. Apparently it was not confined to the poor crofter’s home alone. He spoke to Beorggar and I about whether it was news dire enough to bring to Edoras.”
Elfswith looked down rather abruptly. “And? What was decided?”
A gentle sigh escaped Brynleigh’s lips. “He thought that, since I had not gone into any of the towns, and since he had not heard that it was moving beyond the scattered farms, that it would not be serious enough to trouble the King. It is a terrible thing, to think of the people suffering, but I suppose he’s right. The cold weather always brings illness of one type or another.” Her hands tighten together. “Though this illness seems especially merciless.”
Elfswith stood silently for a time. Then she reached down and took one of Brynleigh’s hands again, and held it tightly. “Thank Béma you were found before it was too late,” she whispered.
“Yes,” murmured Brynleigh in return, giving the woman’s hand a hard squeeze. “But let us not dwell on dark tidings tonight, dear Elfswith! The evening is beautiful, is it not?” She stood up then, wrapping her free arm around the older woman’s waist and gazing out towards the city wall. “You can smell the hayfields and the orchards, can you not? Come! Do not look so troubled, I beg you.”
Elfswith’s face remained solemn for a long pause. The cracked lines around her eyes and mouth deep and grim. But then she seemed to hear the sweet voice of Brynleigh beside her, and all at once her visage softened, and she smiled again. “Forgive me! Yes, you’re right. You are home, alive and well again, if a little thin and pale! Snowbourn is untouched by this dreadful sickness, and may it remain so. Come, walk with me, and tell me all the news that you’ve been holding back, for I know you too well, my dear. I want to hear about this man you think I don’t see that you begin to hold dear.”
A merry laugh split the brisk air as Elfswith beheld the look on Brynleigh’s face. The two women walked together then, arm in arm, passing into the peaceful shadows of the descending nightfall.
