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Old 07-02-2003, 02:53 PM   #33
Bęthberry
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Bęthberry is wading through snowdrifts on Redhorn.Bęthberry is wading through snowdrifts on Redhorn.Bęthberry is wading through snowdrifts on Redhorn.Bęthberry is wading through snowdrifts on Redhorn.
Boots

The soft, sweet rain had at first been welcomed after the days of hot, parched air. But a chill wind came up with the darker clouds and turned the rain into sharp shards which knifed through their cloaks, soaking them, until, with every pace of the horses, water was squished out of their saddles and boots and clothes. Saddle bags hung heavily and knocked against them as they tried to keep up the pace. The horses' hooves were beginning to slip and mud was flying up into their faces. Cursing, Kiatus called a halt, pulling them under a grove of fir trees in the hopes they could wait out the storm.

Catrina's lips trembled with the chill and her numb fingers could hardly hold the reins. She was dizzy from hunger and yet her stomach was roiling, as it often did these days of long riding. She would have vomited had there been any food in her stomach other than dried bread. Not even on the hardest days of summer labour back at the homestead had she known such harsh physical discomfort. At least there she had always had the solace of her stuff mattress, her mother's spicey stews and sweet pies. Even her father's gruff words now seemed to her to hold a hidden care for her, for all his family. Perhaps that was merely in contrast with the mean and quick-tempered commands of Kiatus, she thought dully.

The sudden squall ended but a damp chill still hung over the air. Still the two riders sat there, numbly at first, as if weighted down by the torrent. Slowly, Catrina pulled off her cloak and wrung it out, then her blanket and the saddle bags. Kiatus sat staring at her and then, shivering, finally did the same with his wet clothes.

"We can't stop here forever.We'll have to make Nardol tonight," he said, more to the horses than to the dishevelled girl. Wearily, both climbed atop the horses and made their way again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Stonecutter's Edge was not one of the finer establishments of Nardol. Had it been, it likely would not have accepted travellers as sorry and beggarly looking as Kiatus and Catrina. Their clothes still sodden, their every step left small puddles of water over the plank flooring, which was bereft of rugs and stained and spotted by grease, ale, and likely all manner of bodily fluids. It was a threadbare, even decrepit inn, hardly deserving of the name. Tables and benches were serviceable at best, many showing the carvings and gouges of long years' wear. Yet the fire was brisk and tallow candles lit the great hall. Catrina longed to sit at the table and be served a meal; she fell forelornly into a chair, hardly aware of her surroundings. But Kiatus sought the Innkeeper and made arrangements for their room, where food would be cheaper. He called to Catrina and she barely heard. He raised his voice. She turned her head but made no effort to rise.

"Come," he said, this time louder. She sat still as if she had not heard at all. He strode to her, pulling her up, dragging her, a wet rag doll, by her elbow to their room. Yet he, too, walked with a slouch and weary trudge of foot.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dry clothes on, they hardly spoke to each other over the meal, a tasteless and watery pottage of root vegetables and bitter herbs. Old mutton would have been eaten more eagerly, but Kiatus was hoarding his pennies. Catrina sat numbly, not even answering Kiatus' questions.

"You're a miserable answer for a companion," he said.

Catrina looked up at him with hollow eyes, but only shook her head.

"I am not well. I need rest."

"I need to relax. I'm tired too."

She looked away from him, unmoved and unmoving. He rose from the table.

"I'll find better companions downstairs then. Or at least good ale."

Catrina watched him leave. She looked back at the table and picked up her knife, toying with it dispassionately. She ran its dull edge along her arm, two, three, four times, perhaps she lost count. It left no mark; she had no energy to press it harder; it clattered to the floor, unheeded. She stumbled to the window, pushing the shutter open and looked down. It was drop of but one story, hardly a dangerous fall. Swaying, she thought for awhile and then collapsed, falling hard with her head to the floor and then not moving.

After some time, two rats crawled out of the baseboard, snifted around her still body, and then scurried over to the small table, drawn by the scent of the remains of dinner.

[ July 07, 2003: Message edited by: Bęthberry ]
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