“There she is! Come home at last!” The beaming woman with the sun-creased eyes and silver-gold hair came striding out of the stable door with her hands upon her hips. A bit of straw was stuck into the wispy locks over her left ear, and the apron she wore was covered in dirt and smudges.
“Have I been gone that long, Elfswith?” Brynleigh laughed as she stretched out her hands and embraced the woman tightly, giving no thought to whether she might add a few stains to her own traveling clothes. “Ah, you smell good.”
“Good?” It was Elfswith’s turn to laugh now, in her rich, mellow voice. “I smell like manure and sweat, you mean.”
Brynleigh rubbed the woman’s back briskly before letting her go. “Those are good smells!” she chortled. “Every stable has its own particular scent, have you never thought?” She reached up to gently pluck the piece of straw free, showing it to Elfswith with a grin before scattering it from her fingers.
“Aye, perhaps you have a point, my dear,” said Elfswith, self-consciously dashing a hand over her hair to check for any other invaders. “You look well! Did you get sufficient rest? I’ve been fearing that you would return ragged and grieved and bearing ill news.”
A young boy of fourteen or so summers, with shining hair and gangly limbs, led one of the mares along the walkway between the stalls, past the two women, and began hitching her to a small cart. Brynleigh turned her eyes to follow the lad as he went. “I am rested enough, yes. The losses in Aldburg were few, and for that I’m thankful. Though each death was still a sore wound to the families who bore them.” She looked the boy up and down before turning back to Elfswith. “Peada has done a suitable job in my absence?”
The older woman slanted her own gaze to follow the youth. “Aye, he has. He’s very keen to learn and picks it up swiftly. A good hand with the horses, too.” Her chin nodded thoughtfully as she spoke.
Brynleigh noticed that Elfswith had looped an arm around her shoulders in a rather maternal fashion. She gently set her own hand about the woman’s waist. A moment of silence followed, while they both observed the boy Peada working the leather straps of the harness and carefully nudging the mare into position before the cart.
“What is on your heart, Brynleigh?” Elfswith spoke softly after a time. Her voice mingled with the idyllic sounds of the village around them; wagons rattling along the street, shop owners calling out their wares, a child’s laughter. “I know you well enough. You have that look about you.”
The young woman’s fair face had grown tense and brooding. A furrow sat between her eyes, and her full lips were pressed together, making them into a thin line. “I think my time in Snowbourn may be drawing to an end, Elfswith,” she finally replied.
Elfswith lowered her eyes. Her fingers plied against the fabric covering her friend’s waist. “I am sad to hear that,” she murmured. “But I am not shocked. I think I always knew this day would come.”
Brynleigh looked over at the woman with some surprise. “You did?”
“Mmm,” came the hummed answer. The time-lined eyes were squinted against the bright summer sunlight that slanted through the boughs of the tree overshadowing the stable. “This was never really home for you, was it?” She turned to regard Brynleigh directly.
The younger woman quailed softly under that direct gaze, dropping her chin.
“You haven’t had a proper home for years now,” Elfswith went on. “Not since you lived with your husband in the north.” Her hand shifted slowly to lay over Brynleigh’s shoulder, gripping it with fingers that exuded both mildness and strength together. “Friends are well and good. And something to be treasured. But they do not replace family.”
“Elfswith, do not make me weep.”
“I would not wish to,” said Elfswith, squeezing Brynleigh’s shoulder. “Have you any thought to where you might go? It grieves me to think that you will only wander on and never find the home and family you long for.”
A rushing breeze came hurtling along the street, tossing the verdant leaves overhead and scattering bits of straw and hay over the cobblestones. The young lad had finished hitching the mare to the little wagon, and he was now jogging away to fetch whoever had ordered the cart.
Brynleigh was drawing in a slow breath, filling her lungs, giving herself time before replying to the question. Quiet words came upon the exhaled air. “I have no choice but to wander. Whether I find a home again in this world is not up to me. One can wish for the impossible until the end of Time and never see it satisfied.”
Elfswith moved her hand again, this time to hook the younger woman’s elbow and draw her gently along the edge of the street in a lazy stroll. “What about the man who spoke to your father some time ago? Surely his intention was to marry you one day?”
“...it is hard to say anything about that, Elfswith,” Brynleigh answered lowly, with her eyes still cast down to the ground before their feet.
“Do you love him?”
“...Yes. In a way. But it is not so simple. He has a child. And…”
Elfswith remained silent, glancing expectantly at Brynleigh every few steps.
“...there is something missing." The rest of it came after another moment. Brynleigh was glowering down at her shoes, as if the answers lay beneath her soles. “I do not know how to explain it. There is a part of me that is still...locked away. And even he has not been able to touch it.” She sighed sharply, vexed at her own feelings. “It is not his fault. Does that mean it is mine?”
Elfswith patted her arm tenderly. “No, my dear. You suffered a loss that has broken many a woman before you. Do you wonder that your heart fears to love again, as you did before?”
A few minutes passed in a companionable silence between the two women. The street scrolled by, building by building, face by face. “Some folk I know are settling closer to Edoras,” Brynleigh spoke at length.
A smile spread across the older woman’s lips. “I am relieved to hear this. The Mark is a vast place, and there are many towns you might have mentioned, much further away. It does my heart good to know you would not be hundreds of leagues from me.”
“You would not resent me then, if I went?”
“Brynleigh!” Elfswith exclaimed with a laugh. “Resent you? For following your own path in life, even if it takes you away from Snowbourn? I would never.” She gave the embraced arm an affectionate press.
A glance was thrown over Brynleigh’s shoulder. “And you have Peada. He will see to everything you need.” Her voice rose slightly at the end of her words. Not quite a question.
Elfswith took up the cue, and nodded. “Aye, he will. Though he doesn’t know half as much as you do. Your knowledge wasn’t being put to proper use here, as it was.” She gazed towards the settling sun, and for a moment the lines of her wizened face seemed washed away in the glow. “You don’t belong behind a wheelbarrow full of soiled straw, Brynleigh. There are horses of the King that need your hand and your wisdom.”
It was Brynleigh’s turn to chuckle now, and she finally drew up her head to look away to the west. “You speak too highly, dear Elfswith. I do not mind mucking stalls. All the work has an equal need to be done, from the raking of straw to the breaking of stallions.”
Elfswith drew to a halt. They had come to the end of the street. “Humility is a good character to keep, Brynleigh,” she said, turning to face her young apprentice, meeting her eyes steadily. “But in excess, it will hold you back from what you are meant to be.”
Brynleigh gazed back, unwavering. The woman’s words stung, but the prick was soft and inoffensive.
Several minutes ticked past, while the summer evening carried on around them with the squawking of chickens and the shouts of mothers seeking children for supper. Finally, Elfswith took her free hand and laid it lightly against Brynleigh’s cheek. “I will miss you, my dear.”
“And I, you,” said Brynleigh, offering a wobbly smile while her blue eyes grew misty. She reached up to touch the weathered knuckles, then took Elfswith’s hand in her own. “Come. I will talk with Peada, and tell him what he needs to know.”
