|
Saeryn smiled again, relieved to be back in Bethberry's good graces. She politely excused herself back into her room to clean herself up a bit. Splashing her face with water, she washed away the tear stains. Inspecting herself in a small mirror, she noted that her damp hair would be a dead give-away to an impromptu washing and pulled her tresses into a braid. A few stubborn pieces fell away into her face, but she had learned to live with such inconveniences. Her blouse wet, she exchanges that and her now horse-scented breeches for a clean gown. The dark grey fabric paled her cheeks, making her look remarkably more delicate than she had in mine. She pulled the damp shirt and the breeches back on and reappeared in the hall.
"Excuse me one more moment." she muttered, making her way to the next door. She would simply borrow another of Degas' shirts. Upon opening the door, she noted that he was not in the room. Where in the world was he? He tended to rise earlier than she, but she had not seen hide nor hair of him since last night. Disregarding the thought, she raided his bags, pulling a crimson blouse from the depths. She laced it swiftly and left the previously borrowed white one on his bed. It would dry before he knew it.
Slipping back into the hall way, Saeryn looked as refreshed as though she'd never lost control of her emotions. "Shall we eat?" she asked with a mischievous glint in her eye. "All of this activity has made me rather hungry."
|