Bancross

(Continued directly from Silvered in the Moonlight)

Turning back to the warmth of the bed, my body sought rest, even if my mind continued to twist possibilities into endless knots.

I envied Waelden for his ability to sleep. My mind was still more active than I wished as the small hours approached, but he slept as if he hadn’t a care. That was not true. After speaking with him of Isa, he had much to ponder.

Hild was thinking hard.

It was not as if she didn’t have enough to do with trying to make her supplies last out. Or with talking to folk in the village about dropping in for a drink and some of her ‘special’ onion and bean pottage. It was never as popular as her mutton stew for some reason, but she had to make the meat last.

It had been another rainy day. Not cold exactly, but the sort of day it was good to be helping out in the kitchen rather than the fields. And that is what both Bronaa and Ethel had been doing until recently. 

Under Yllfa’s careful watch, Bronaa had been making a syrup to ease winter ailments. The autumn was slowly progressing, and the chill months ahead often saw more of the older folk in particular laid low with chest and head pains, and with stubborn coughs. It could lead to the death of weaker folk, both old and young. 

Hild climbed the stairs at the back of the ‘Roaring Dragon’ and headed to the door of Bronaa’s room.

“Ethel is here” she stated, as she knocked on the wood and entered.

I am tired. I grow frailer by the day.

Not devastatingly so. Nay, the weakening moves in small steps. But something I find normal one day, may be more exhausting the next; may be undoable the following week. 

The girl, Bronaa, stands by the table before me, and recites the tale I have told her. The hearth fire is lit, because although the days are still mostly bright, the Harvest Season is upon us, and the evenings can be touched by a chill finger at times.