[Bêthberry]

Bethberry had allowed herself the luxury of sleeping in, but by now the sunlight streamed so strongly into her room that all the dust mites were dancing like sparklers from one of Gandalf's fireworks.

Returning late and sodden from the rain, Bethberry's work had not yet been done. Working by the light of two large tallow candles, for several hours she prepared herbs for safe keeping. Some she tied into sprigs, to hang and dry by the radiated heat from the chimney; others she washed and laid out to dry on the table; still others she ground or chopped and mixed with oils for tinctures. It was lonely work, but nevertheless peaceful and serene and she soon found herself singing under her breathe, perhaps because she could sense the athelas in the small leather pouch which Strider had given her. That was a remarkable and generous gift and she would store it carefully, as carefully as she packed away the medallion under her clean clothes. She would wear the pendant now, everyday, tucked under her tunic.

Finally freed of her labours, Bethberry had cleaned her boots and then bathed herself in the tepid water left by the maid. She had been half asleep even before her head touched the pillow as dawn streaked the night sky.

Now she rose hungrily, smelling the aroma of roasting meat and savory stews from the kitchen. Dressing quickly and then pulling over her head for the first time Strider's penant, she skipped downstairs and hoped she had not overslept, for she was not sure when Gandalf intended to continue on to Tharbad.

[ August 24, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]