Ymma

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. 

.

I saw two red eyes, with very narrowed pupils. The air was misted by rage fueled breath. Then the head went down. Horns to the fore.
 

Heartha rode back into the village with a cursory wave and a nod to the guards on the gate. Her white horse looked almost fresh. No long, hard ride from Helm’s Deep then, one could easily suppose. Neither did the smith herself look overly drawn or travel weary. 

The guards nodded back at the well recognised face, and waved her on.

I brush away the heavy lock of hair that has fallen across the sleeping boy’s face. He blows against my touch, but does not wake. Thick, straw blonde hair it is, so typical of many of our folk. His eyes are greenish, and his nose seems overly large. He is young, no more than a year or so older than Ethel, I suspect. But then often girls take on the appearance of women at a younger age than boys take on the look of men?

Now Hild had not intended to be at all nosy about Thane Averel’s coming and going. She had thought in the past few weeks that surely he would return to Bancross soon, as he did every year at around this time. The village had prepared well for the leaner months, but she was finding herself eyeing some of her supplies in the Roaring Dragon a touch wistfully.

“Hertha, can you help me? I need to make a gift for my mama?”

The smith looked round a touch sternly, as she was just about to discuss the main tasks of the day with her assistant, Heard. 

It was late in the afternoon when I tidied my hair, dusted off my dress, and walked over to pay Northgyth a visit. Ymma opened the door to me, and ushered me in as a welcome visitor. 

“Have you come for something, Yllfa, or do you want…”

The following morning saw us all still in something of a shock. Ethel laid in bed for some hours, until Ymma brought a midday meal to the bottom of the stairs to tempt all of our empty stomachs. Even then, Ethel was not her usually hungry self. She picked at the bacon, eggs and mushrooms without her usual passion. But she spoke with us. She was ‘alright’ she said, and just glad we and the animals were safe.