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Bregoware
Meghan
Meghan could feel the color rising from her neck, burning upward until it flamed along her cheeks. She could not help but catch the sarcastic cynicism which mocked her earlier words as Eostre spoke the last of her answer to Osmod . . .
‘ . . . what with us being mere farmers.’
She heard not a word more as her blood pounded in her ears. For a moment, Meghan considered simply turning her horse about and heading back to the village. But what would that serve? The entire village would think her a selfish coward no doubt and she wanted no repercussions falling on her family.
So she had no choice but to continue on. She would however minimize her involvement with the others. It would be easier that way, she reasoned. Speak when spoken to; do as told; try not to offend. Though she thought that last might be difficult, since her very presence seemed to be an irritant. How she longed for the genial company of her goats and her dog; the open places in which she pastured them, without a single other human nearby.
Pull it together she chided herself. With the King’s aid, your little herd and your family will be kept safe from the Orcs and the Eastern-men. She took a deep breath willing the heated color to leave her face. Finish the task given you. You’re not here to make friends, Meghan . . . you’re here only to ride and see the village’s message delivered to the King.
She stepped back quietly, letting Eostre and Osmod make their decisions.
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