Water sloshed around in the bucket, continuingly splashing the hem of my
skirt. My dress was made of coarse brown wool, useful for working and
almost impossible to tear. So of course, I was mending it every other day.
I shifted my hands uncomfortably on the icy metal handle, clenching my
teeth tightly together to stop from shivering. The ground, still frozen as
it was before daybreak, was a solid, brutal torment against my unshod feet.
Brushing sleep-mussed black hair out of my face, I glanced around me at the
familiar scenery.
The smell of pine was strong, mixed with the oppressing smell of coming rain. The trees looked unnaturally green against the pearl gray sky, and the dandelions and thistledown stood out like artist's paints on a canvas. A few mourning doves had started cooing as they felt the sun soon to rise, but the rest of the woodland creatures were snug and safe in their dens or burrows, presumably fast asleep. I myself ached to be at home in bed, my ancient goose feather quilt pulled up past her ears to muffle the stirrings of inn guests in the lower rooms.
My eyelids had started to droop as I thought about bed, but flew open again as I heard my godfather's distinctly angry voice calling her. I hadn't realized I had dallied, nor did I realize I was so close to the inn. Balancing the bucket best I could, I ran, wincing each time my feet hit the ground.
"Sidhe! Of all the ." my godfather's voice was becoming louder, and I knew that the end of the sentence was muffled because of 'inappropriate language for young ladies'. He hadn't done a very good job of disguising of his rogue-speech; I didn't hear because of the thunder that had shook the ground like giants racing to get to the dinner table. I yearned to cover my ears, but the heavy weight of the bucket in my hands brought me back to my senses. Stumbling through the rosebushes at the forest boundaries, I used one hand to push aside the worst of the thorns. The tiny spikes strained and reached, grabbing at my face and hair. My temper, which I had been sidestepping all through the aggravating walk, caught up with me. Seconds away from shouting some very "unsuitable words" for any other "proper young people" listening, my godfather's limping form, which I'm sure would have been dancing with anger had he not been running, appearing from behind the ancient barn, cutting through the horse fields and gaining speed as he reached the hill leading to the woods. I suddenly wished I had a butter knife- not to cut through the vines, but to slice open the deafening silence between each clap of thunder.
With a final tug on the stubborn thorns, the sickening sound of fabric tearing, and a splash of icy water on my feet, I was free. As I stumbled forward, I felt strong, work-callused hands grab my shoulders. "Sidhe, do you realize that you are without shoes or are you numb, as well as stupid! If you.." The rest of our one-sided conversation was not something you repeat to small children. At least, what I remember of it. My thoughts were focused on the upcoming storm, and the strange silence of the animals. Usually, at least the ever-busy squirrels were awake by then, chattering impudently at her about this and that and the other something. ".You, of all beings, 'ave 'eard the rumors." My godfather ended, defeat lacing his words. I studied him, noticing the lines of worry etched on his ruddy, work-roughened face. His hair, a brown so dark it was almost as black as mine, was tousled, seemingly by nervous fingers. He was without a cloak, and his boots were far from laced. I reached out with my left hand, and touched his shoulder. I really did hate to cause him so much grief. I was forever angering him, tiring him, nudging him to the end of his rope. The first few drops of rain fell on my forehead, heavy and large. Wiping them from my brow with the back of my hand, I steeled myself against telling my godfather why I constantly ran to the wooded area behind our inn; why I insisted on spending hours upon hours in the barn. He had so many problems resting on his shoulders, weighing him down like boulders. One of the boulders being myself. I could handle one burden if my uncle could handle that many, I thought to myself. The Secret is still only mine.
"Forgive me godfather. I had been- unavoidably detained yesterday, therefore-"
"Save me your lies and cheek, Sidhe. Did you get the water?" I rolled my eyes at my godfather, hefting the bucket towards him.
"No, I walked all the way to the creek and back, carry an already full bucket of water in my bare feet so I could have an intellectual conversation with the chipmunks." My godfather looked at me sharply. I avoided his eyes, instead looking at the water dripping off the bucket handle. My godfather, as everyone else in this close-minded town, hated it when someone mentioned anything even remotely elfish. Speaking to animals, something I've been doing since infancy, reeks of elfish magic. One of many obvious traits. I have ever changing green eyes, sometimes a hair's breadth away from black, other times an inch from white. I'm not tall, but have long, slender hands, no-where near resembling my godfather's thick, work roughened fingers. My hands never bleed, though. When we lived in Bast, the housewives used to gossip about me when they thought I wasn't listening. The only thing that saved me from the witch trials was my hair. Crow-black, with not a hint of green. And even then, there were whispers of arresting me still.
"Well..Whatever you did, I thank you for it." My godfather's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled slightly at me. "We're set for this week and the next." (Water from Ericard Creek fills a bucket from 2- to 3 weeks, no matter how many times you use it. I sometimes wonder if we should really drink the water...I never complain, however. It saves me from well duty six times a day. And has had no side effects so far- )
Rain began to soak my hair and dress, sending shivers down my spine. We were a few steps short of the back door. A carriage stood outside it, fine livery in the royal colors of hunter green and royal purple decorating the doors. An elaborate crest gleamed with a faint sheen of rain. My godfather began whispering under his breath. Suspicious words..
"Sidhe, get yourself to work. And put on your boots!"
The smell of pine was strong, mixed with the oppressing smell of coming rain. The trees looked unnaturally green against the pearl gray sky, and the dandelions and thistledown stood out like artist's paints on a canvas. A few mourning doves had started cooing as they felt the sun soon to rise, but the rest of the woodland creatures were snug and safe in their dens or burrows, presumably fast asleep. I myself ached to be at home in bed, my ancient goose feather quilt pulled up past her ears to muffle the stirrings of inn guests in the lower rooms.
My eyelids had started to droop as I thought about bed, but flew open again as I heard my godfather's distinctly angry voice calling her. I hadn't realized I had dallied, nor did I realize I was so close to the inn. Balancing the bucket best I could, I ran, wincing each time my feet hit the ground.
"Sidhe! Of all the ." my godfather's voice was becoming louder, and I knew that the end of the sentence was muffled because of 'inappropriate language for young ladies'. He hadn't done a very good job of disguising of his rogue-speech; I didn't hear because of the thunder that had shook the ground like giants racing to get to the dinner table. I yearned to cover my ears, but the heavy weight of the bucket in my hands brought me back to my senses. Stumbling through the rosebushes at the forest boundaries, I used one hand to push aside the worst of the thorns. The tiny spikes strained and reached, grabbing at my face and hair. My temper, which I had been sidestepping all through the aggravating walk, caught up with me. Seconds away from shouting some very "unsuitable words" for any other "proper young people" listening, my godfather's limping form, which I'm sure would have been dancing with anger had he not been running, appearing from behind the ancient barn, cutting through the horse fields and gaining speed as he reached the hill leading to the woods. I suddenly wished I had a butter knife- not to cut through the vines, but to slice open the deafening silence between each clap of thunder.
With a final tug on the stubborn thorns, the sickening sound of fabric tearing, and a splash of icy water on my feet, I was free. As I stumbled forward, I felt strong, work-callused hands grab my shoulders. "Sidhe, do you realize that you are without shoes or are you numb, as well as stupid! If you.." The rest of our one-sided conversation was not something you repeat to small children. At least, what I remember of it. My thoughts were focused on the upcoming storm, and the strange silence of the animals. Usually, at least the ever-busy squirrels were awake by then, chattering impudently at her about this and that and the other something. ".You, of all beings, 'ave 'eard the rumors." My godfather ended, defeat lacing his words. I studied him, noticing the lines of worry etched on his ruddy, work-roughened face. His hair, a brown so dark it was almost as black as mine, was tousled, seemingly by nervous fingers. He was without a cloak, and his boots were far from laced. I reached out with my left hand, and touched his shoulder. I really did hate to cause him so much grief. I was forever angering him, tiring him, nudging him to the end of his rope. The first few drops of rain fell on my forehead, heavy and large. Wiping them from my brow with the back of my hand, I steeled myself against telling my godfather why I constantly ran to the wooded area behind our inn; why I insisted on spending hours upon hours in the barn. He had so many problems resting on his shoulders, weighing him down like boulders. One of the boulders being myself. I could handle one burden if my uncle could handle that many, I thought to myself. The Secret is still only mine.
"Forgive me godfather. I had been- unavoidably detained yesterday, therefore-"
"Save me your lies and cheek, Sidhe. Did you get the water?" I rolled my eyes at my godfather, hefting the bucket towards him.
"No, I walked all the way to the creek and back, carry an already full bucket of water in my bare feet so I could have an intellectual conversation with the chipmunks." My godfather looked at me sharply. I avoided his eyes, instead looking at the water dripping off the bucket handle. My godfather, as everyone else in this close-minded town, hated it when someone mentioned anything even remotely elfish. Speaking to animals, something I've been doing since infancy, reeks of elfish magic. One of many obvious traits. I have ever changing green eyes, sometimes a hair's breadth away from black, other times an inch from white. I'm not tall, but have long, slender hands, no-where near resembling my godfather's thick, work roughened fingers. My hands never bleed, though. When we lived in Bast, the housewives used to gossip about me when they thought I wasn't listening. The only thing that saved me from the witch trials was my hair. Crow-black, with not a hint of green. And even then, there were whispers of arresting me still.
"Well..Whatever you did, I thank you for it." My godfather's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled slightly at me. "We're set for this week and the next." (Water from Ericard Creek fills a bucket from 2- to 3 weeks, no matter how many times you use it. I sometimes wonder if we should really drink the water...I never complain, however. It saves me from well duty six times a day. And has had no side effects so far- )
Rain began to soak my hair and dress, sending shivers down my spine. We were a few steps short of the back door. A carriage stood outside it, fine livery in the royal colors of hunter green and royal purple decorating the doors. An elaborate crest gleamed with a faint sheen of rain. My godfather began whispering under his breath. Suspicious words..
"Sidhe, get yourself to work. And put on your boots!"