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At the insistence, the cajoling, of Mori and Stamo, Goody said she would eat a little soup with them and perhaps some of the cook’s soft bread to dip in it. She wasn’t hungry, really; she rarely was these days. And when she did manage to get something down, it made her nauseous. She managed a few spoonfuls of broth, pushing the vegetables and meat about with her spoon.
‘They should be back by now,’ she said, as Stamo finished his soup and sat back in his chair, his gaze on her. Goody picked at her piece of bread, dropping the bits into her bowl. ‘Birger. And the woman. They were going to collect some holly and rowan, too. For the fire. I shouldn’t have sent him for yew, too. Too far on these short days. Too far.’ She shivered, pushing her bowl away from her.
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