The long waiting of incoming wagons full of supplies was often not an issue. There was a full understanding that it took time for supplies to come from the Wold. Except, this time the Quartermaster was waiting with a nasty cough that started a few days after the last feast. Céolswith tried to avoid others working around the sick since the illness came to Stangard. Between the stress of supplies and her distrust of the woman, Wulfgyd, she too fell to the sickness. Céolswith was stubborn though, and refused to rest until the wagons came from Harwick.
Another coughing fit filled the hall. She glanced at her hand when it felt wet, stained red. The symptoms were finally showing as the door barged open. It was Æthelweard and another young folawigend, Wilmund, shouting about one of the wagon guards stumbling into the gate, wounded from an ambush.
“Quartermaster, the wagon was,” The man stopped, noticing her pale appearance. They both backed up, “You have it too.”
She looked at them, dark circles highlighted her eyes, and spoke, “Nevermind me. Just keep the door open. What happened?”
“The man said bandits attacked them in the ruins by the border of the Wold last night. We had to find another place for him to be attended to.”
Céolswith nodded slowly, “Go inform the Æthelwigend. I wi…”
Her words stopped from another coughing fit until she fell out of her seat.
When she woke again, she found herself in a bed. The room was filled with others, giving her the realization that she was in the healer’s home. She would have to wait for someone to explain to her what happened. Until then, she was going to rest.
