“Now again, through the next hole…like that…now pick up a loop- No, the other way. Pull through the first two…you’re getting it, now the sec- good!” The small fingers moved as Sareva had directed, the young girl working slowly as she practiced. “Your treble crocheting is starting to look more uniform.”
The girl beamed up at her proudly. “Can I learn the next one then?”
Sareva chuckled. “Not yet. Keep practicing that one along with the double until you can get the right tension, then we’ll try the next one.”
“When’ll I learn to make squares like that?” she asked, nodding to the patch of sky blue yarn in Sareva’s hands.
Sareva offered the girl an encouraging smile. She leaned an elbow on the birdbath between them and pointed with her own hook at the girl’s work, swirling it around. “All that? That is all you need to know to make one of these. You just have to give it some practice, get to know those two, then I can show you how to make a square.”
“Ellie?” came a call from the street, “Time to get going, dear.”
“Coming!” she called back. She hoped up from her seat curtseying. “Bye, miss Sareva.”
Sareva bowed her head in return. “Take care, Ellie. Keep up the good work.”
Ellie trotted out of view toward the south side of Bree and to her mother, throwing a wave back at Sareva who sent a cheerful wave back before returning her attention to her crochet work. She worked at a leisurely pace for her, but the rows quickly formed one after another until the square, several inches across, was done. Cutting the yarn from the ball, she tied off the end and was on to the next square and the next color, the deeper green of summer leaves, chaining a loop and building from there. Through and back her hook carried the yarn as her mind mused over events…
When she had seen Brynleigh upon entering the inn, she was stunned, though not surprised, at the still evident marks of grief. Her dress hung more loosely on her shoulders, the bones of her clavicle and wrists more prominent with the loss of weight she was evidently recovering from. She was not sorrowful in the moment; possibly her trip had done her some good. She did smile at the tailor, though it was strained, not wholly cheerful, but friendly, almost placating. She had a friend with her, another from Rohan. Perhaps she had returned with this Firithain, perhaps they were related? The watchful elf was also there, typically quiet, an observer and comfort to Brynleigh.
It wasn’t long before Aallan surprised them, hopping over the table to join Brynleigh’s side, his arrival followed shortly by that of Aeglorond. It was a typically merry gathering, and it seemed to her to lift the Rohir woman’s spirits. There was talk of Aallan’s various misadventures and travels abroad before he had to leave their group, the joining of another woman named Ashwyneth, or Ash as she preferred. It was too long since she had seen Aallan, though the fact that he looked well and was in good spirits greatly encouraged her. It seemed that not all his choices, not all the causes he took up, agreed with Brynleigh, but she was always protective.
Sareva couldn’t help but grin to herself when Bryneigh and then Aeglorond both praised her work; that was exactly the kind of publicity she needed. Word of mouth was always the best kind of promotion, since there was an inherent honesty in it that one might not feel to ones self-promotion. Aeglorond mentioned how thanks to her, he wouldn’t be needing to see a tailor for a while. She couldn’t pass up the jest, smirking at him.
“I’ve only made you a cloak. If that’s all you’ll ever need from a tailor, remind me to warn the poor women of Bree and their sweethearts to beware.” That got some laughs around the table from Ash and Firithain. Aeglorond, merely sighed and shook his head, presumably amused. “That’s just cheeky.”
“That’s not the only cheek that’d show.” She said, hiding her expression behind her drink and sipping it smugly. The bawdy joke was well worth it as Aeglorond erupted with laughter, and Brynleigh nearly choked on her tea, sputtering in surprise and shock. However, her light spirits afterward were rewarding. Sareva apologized, for decency’s sake, but couldn’t restrain the wicked, unrepentant grin. She could allow herself, with some, close, individuals, to let herself drop some propriety. And it had caused Brynleigh to genuinely smile, her skin aglow again almost as it had been before as the pallor gave way to a mild blush.
The night continued in pleasant conversation until it came time for each to disperse. Brynleigh went escorted by Firithain (whom she had inferred through the course of the evening was not related to Brynleigh), Ashwyneth departed on her own, and she and Aeglorond parted outside the inn. He had his own matters to see, and she her work and a project to finish.
“Ello again.”
The voice made Sareva jump in her seat. Instinctively, she reached into the folds of her skirt, stiffening in alarm until she recognized the speaker. “Aallan, now that was a surprise.”
He let out a chuckle, his signature half-grin smug on his face as he sent her a wink. “Not every day y’ see a charmin’ lady gasp like tha’. So, how’ve y’ been lately?”
Sareva set the hook and yarn down on her lap, turning to look up at him. “Managing, finishing up a few projects, and getting ready for spring. What of you? How have you fared?”
Aallan nodded back to her, lifting up his hood with a finger. “So far so good’s what I’d say. Y’ can smell it’s practically here,” he said after briefly sniffing the air.
Sareva settled back into her chair and rest her head against the back while she gazed up at the leaves. She sighed softly, finally relaxing again after the fright and marking the slow shift of season with him. “Indeed. And the birds are coming back too. It’s been too long since I heard them in the mornings. It’s almost time for blooming trees, garden planting, and new colors for me to work with.” She turned her head slightly toward him, a slight grin on her face. "Though, I wonder if your colors will ever change. They become you."
He chuckled. “Aye, that’s prolly true. I don’t think I’ve found a different colour o’er than green.”
He was unfailingly charming. When he learned the purpose of her project, he seemed to have a similar thought on his mind. He, of course, had a course of action that suited him best, something he could do by some secret he held, but it gave Sareva an idea, something she could add to her work in progress. She wondered if she had some left over white yarn at home.
