First off I would like to apologize to anyone who has actually been
following this for the long break. I assure you it was not intended. There
are several computers I would like to kill but can't for insurance reasons.
I would also like to say that I'm sorry for the shortness and dullness of
this chapter. It does tell you a little more about Old Heather though and
more action is on the way. I'm going to try to get up and running regularly
now. If you're reading this then you know this already, but the setting and
many of the characters belong to Tamora Pierce.-
Thank you,
Raincloud
"Here, come in and take your cloak off," Heather urged her, "you can hang it on one of the branches." She had already removed her own cloak and was now bustling about her home preparing dinner. She threw some more herbs and a few extra dried carrots into the stew. Then she set some water to boiling. Next she hurried to the right corner and checked on the hen nestled in the corner, Stella blinked she hadn't even noticed it before.
It seemed only a moment after she had hung up her cloak and seated herself at the small table that Old Heather shoved a mug of fragrant tea into her hands. She blew on it to cool it and then tasted it; mint and honey and something else, something warm and soothing. She sighed, basking in the coziness and security of Old Heather's home, and stared at nothing in particular, feeling warm and stupefied.
Old Heather meanwhile set the table with butter, honey, bread, and cheese and served up two bowls of stew. Her movements were brisk and lively, as though she suffered none of the usual stiffness of limbs that preyed upon people her age. Despite her gray hair, she did not seem to be much older than Stella. And, at the same time, she was ancient, she had witnessed countless years, countless kings, countless wars, and countless joys-she remembered each one.
"Now," she said, as she joined Stella at the table, "I've welcomed many a wanderer into my house and I've learned to judge by looks which ones have interesting tales and which have boring." Heather took a spoonful of vegetable stew. "It's all in the eyes you know, all in the eyes," she said, not to Stella but to herself. "And you," she continued "look as if you have quite the story to tell. I want to hear the whole thing, don't leave anything out"
Stella blushed. "You don't want to here my story, Old Heather, I'm just a stupid runaway who's made a lot of stupid mistakes." She stared ashamedly down at her stew. "I mean really stupid mistakes." "Well, you had me fooled; I thought you were an intelligent runaway who had had a little bad luck." Heather paused. "Even if you are just a stupid runaway I still want to hear you're story. Do you have any idea how many stories I've heard over the years, each one different and yet all so similar. I've heard just about everything imaginable, so you have almost a guarantee that someone somewhere along the line has done something more stupid than you." Old Heather cut herself a slice of bread and buttered it. "Now begin," she commanded, and Stella did.
It actually didn't take long, though midway through she realized she was ravenously hungry and stopped storytelling as she concentrated on eating. Whatever else she was, Old Heather was an excellent cook-probably because she had had years and years of practice. After telling Old Heather she felt better, and she still felt stupid, but less so.
"I don't think you're stupid, young and thoughtless perhaps but not stupid. You've just acted on impulse, and somehow I don't think you actually regret it."
Stella thought a moment. "No, you're right," she said, "I don't regret it. I wish I had been a bit more careful, but even if I could just pick up where I left off at the stables tomorrow I wouldn't do it."
Old Heather narrowed her eyes and stared shrewdly at Stella for a few long minutes. "Your story," she told Stella matter-of-factly, "has only just begun. Still, I want to help you." She threw her eyes toward the ceiling and sighed with what seemed to be exasperation; Stella sensed that it was not directed towards her. "I know it against the rules for me to interfere that way, but rules were meant to be broken." She cackled gleefully, like a young child with her hand into a jar of sweets. Stella looked at her with a puzzled expression on her face, but Old Heather seemed to choose not to notice. "I like you," she said to Stella. "I want to help you, please stay with me a few days. I'll teach you some tricks to living in the woods, and you can keep me company. And then I can give you all the supplies you can carry when you leave." Stella smiled, there was something captivating about Old Heather, something joyful and mysterious that made her want to stay near her, even if only for a few days. Besides, Stella needed all the help she could get.
A few minutes later she yawned, and Old Heather forced her into bed and tucked her under the quilts as if she were very young, refusing all her offers of assistance with the dishes. Listening to the rain outside and Old Heather's movements, and the fires crackling inside made Stella feel very tired, very safe, and very sleepy. She fell asleep almost instantly.
Stella sleepy deeply and woke only once during the night. She wondered where Old Heather was and looked around the gloom of the hut but did not see her. She turned around and spotted a small crack the wood boards of the wall behind her. Peering through it she saw the figure of Old Heather, illuminated by both moonlight and lightning, dancing round and round the clearing.
Thank you,
Raincloud
"Here, come in and take your cloak off," Heather urged her, "you can hang it on one of the branches." She had already removed her own cloak and was now bustling about her home preparing dinner. She threw some more herbs and a few extra dried carrots into the stew. Then she set some water to boiling. Next she hurried to the right corner and checked on the hen nestled in the corner, Stella blinked she hadn't even noticed it before.
It seemed only a moment after she had hung up her cloak and seated herself at the small table that Old Heather shoved a mug of fragrant tea into her hands. She blew on it to cool it and then tasted it; mint and honey and something else, something warm and soothing. She sighed, basking in the coziness and security of Old Heather's home, and stared at nothing in particular, feeling warm and stupefied.
Old Heather meanwhile set the table with butter, honey, bread, and cheese and served up two bowls of stew. Her movements were brisk and lively, as though she suffered none of the usual stiffness of limbs that preyed upon people her age. Despite her gray hair, she did not seem to be much older than Stella. And, at the same time, she was ancient, she had witnessed countless years, countless kings, countless wars, and countless joys-she remembered each one.
"Now," she said, as she joined Stella at the table, "I've welcomed many a wanderer into my house and I've learned to judge by looks which ones have interesting tales and which have boring." Heather took a spoonful of vegetable stew. "It's all in the eyes you know, all in the eyes," she said, not to Stella but to herself. "And you," she continued "look as if you have quite the story to tell. I want to hear the whole thing, don't leave anything out"
Stella blushed. "You don't want to here my story, Old Heather, I'm just a stupid runaway who's made a lot of stupid mistakes." She stared ashamedly down at her stew. "I mean really stupid mistakes." "Well, you had me fooled; I thought you were an intelligent runaway who had had a little bad luck." Heather paused. "Even if you are just a stupid runaway I still want to hear you're story. Do you have any idea how many stories I've heard over the years, each one different and yet all so similar. I've heard just about everything imaginable, so you have almost a guarantee that someone somewhere along the line has done something more stupid than you." Old Heather cut herself a slice of bread and buttered it. "Now begin," she commanded, and Stella did.
It actually didn't take long, though midway through she realized she was ravenously hungry and stopped storytelling as she concentrated on eating. Whatever else she was, Old Heather was an excellent cook-probably because she had had years and years of practice. After telling Old Heather she felt better, and she still felt stupid, but less so.
"I don't think you're stupid, young and thoughtless perhaps but not stupid. You've just acted on impulse, and somehow I don't think you actually regret it."
Stella thought a moment. "No, you're right," she said, "I don't regret it. I wish I had been a bit more careful, but even if I could just pick up where I left off at the stables tomorrow I wouldn't do it."
Old Heather narrowed her eyes and stared shrewdly at Stella for a few long minutes. "Your story," she told Stella matter-of-factly, "has only just begun. Still, I want to help you." She threw her eyes toward the ceiling and sighed with what seemed to be exasperation; Stella sensed that it was not directed towards her. "I know it against the rules for me to interfere that way, but rules were meant to be broken." She cackled gleefully, like a young child with her hand into a jar of sweets. Stella looked at her with a puzzled expression on her face, but Old Heather seemed to choose not to notice. "I like you," she said to Stella. "I want to help you, please stay with me a few days. I'll teach you some tricks to living in the woods, and you can keep me company. And then I can give you all the supplies you can carry when you leave." Stella smiled, there was something captivating about Old Heather, something joyful and mysterious that made her want to stay near her, even if only for a few days. Besides, Stella needed all the help she could get.
A few minutes later she yawned, and Old Heather forced her into bed and tucked her under the quilts as if she were very young, refusing all her offers of assistance with the dishes. Listening to the rain outside and Old Heather's movements, and the fires crackling inside made Stella feel very tired, very safe, and very sleepy. She fell asleep almost instantly.
Stella sleepy deeply and woke only once during the night. She wondered where Old Heather was and looked around the gloom of the hut but did not see her. She turned around and spotted a small crack the wood boards of the wall behind her. Peering through it she saw the figure of Old Heather, illuminated by both moonlight and lightning, dancing round and round the clearing.