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The wind was growing colder every day, with each breath making Nahash more grateful for the robes and scarf over his head that completed his disguise. He'd taken up a post as watcher, keeping an eye on the shops in this particular square, sizing up targets that could be hit and those that could be passed over. It was from sitting here that he had discovered which necklace he wished for Somra to steal, and a slight smirk hit his lips before he shivered once more. Most of his act was for effect, the walking stick at his side and hunched pose giving off the idea that he was a far older man, one incapable of much more than feebly begging along the side of the street.
His back was against a particular building, one that he'd found friendly enough for him to lean against, and the woman who lived there with her children often found a spare bit of food to hand him. In fact he'd caught her peeking out at him every now and then, as if checking to make sure he was still there. There was no menace in her gaze, only smiles and nods, and he wondered how someone like her had gotten stuck with so many young children and an older grouch of a husband. Or at least, he assumed that was what the dynamic was within. He'd never bothered to ask.
A coin clattered onto the ground before him, and he sprang into action as quickly as his aged persona could manage, putting on a show of gratitude before settling back against his wall. Lifting a hand do adjust the band of cloth wrapped about his head, he ensured that it coverd not only his left eye and scar, but a good portion of his face, grimacing as if it covered a burn or worse scar than it did. The closer anyone looked at him, the worse off his disguise. He'd managed so far by wrapping his dark hair back and keeping his plain brown robes and himation securely swaddled close, and when he leaned against his cane and wobbled, few dared question who he was or why he was there.
Familiar footsteps alerted him to company, though as he had lately been acting as if he was perhaps also going deaf, he feigned ignorance until the shadow came across his view, turning and looking up at the woman who lived in the house with a slight quirk of a smile.
"Mistress."
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The wind was growing colder every day, with each breath making Nahash more grateful for the robes and scarf over his head that completed his disguise. He'd taken up a post as watcher, keeping an eye on the shops in this particular square, sizing up targets that could be hit and those that could be passed over. It was from sitting here that he had discovered which necklace he wished for Somra to steal, and a slight smirk hit his lips before he shivered once more. Most of his act was for effect, the walking stick at his side and hunched pose giving off the idea that he was a far older man, one incapable of much more than feebly begging along the side of the street.
His back was against a particular building, one that he'd found friendly enough for him to lean against, and the woman who lived there with her children often found a spare bit of food to hand him. In fact he'd caught her peeking out at him every now and then, as if checking to make sure he was still there. There was no menace in her gaze, only smiles and nods, and he wondered how someone like her had gotten stuck with so many young children and an older grouch of a husband. Or at least, he assumed that was what the dynamic was within. He'd never bothered to ask.
A coin clattered onto the ground before him, and he sprang into action as quickly as his aged persona could manage, putting on a show of gratitude before settling back against his wall. Lifting a hand do adjust the band of cloth wrapped about his head, he ensured that it coverd not only his left eye and scar, but a good portion of his face, grimacing as if it covered a burn or worse scar than it did. The closer anyone looked at him, the worse off his disguise. He'd managed so far by wrapping his dark hair back and keeping his plain brown robes and himation securely swaddled close, and when he leaned against his cane and wobbled, few dared question who he was or why he was there.
Familiar footsteps alerted him to company, though as he had lately been acting as if he was perhaps also going deaf, he feigned ignorance until the shadow came across his view, turning and looking up at the woman who lived in the house with a slight quirk of a smile.
"Mistress."
The wind was growing colder every day, with each breath making Nahash more grateful for the robes and scarf over his head that completed his disguise. He'd taken up a post as watcher, keeping an eye on the shops in this particular square, sizing up targets that could be hit and those that could be passed over. It was from sitting here that he had discovered which necklace he wished for Somra to steal, and a slight smirk hit his lips before he shivered once more. Most of his act was for effect, the walking stick at his side and hunched pose giving off the idea that he was a far older man, one incapable of much more than feebly begging along the side of the street.
His back was against a particular building, one that he'd found friendly enough for him to lean against, and the woman who lived there with her children often found a spare bit of food to hand him. In fact he'd caught her peeking out at him every now and then, as if checking to make sure he was still there. There was no menace in her gaze, only smiles and nods, and he wondered how someone like her had gotten stuck with so many young children and an older grouch of a husband. Or at least, he assumed that was what the dynamic was within. He'd never bothered to ask.
A coin clattered onto the ground before him, and he sprang into action as quickly as his aged persona could manage, putting on a show of gratitude before settling back against his wall. Lifting a hand do adjust the band of cloth wrapped about his head, he ensured that it coverd not only his left eye and scar, but a good portion of his face, grimacing as if it covered a burn or worse scar than it did. The closer anyone looked at him, the worse off his disguise. He'd managed so far by wrapping his dark hair back and keeping his plain brown robes and himation securely swaddled close, and when he leaned against his cane and wobbled, few dared question who he was or why he was there.
Familiar footsteps alerted him to company, though as he had lately been acting as if he was perhaps also going deaf, he feigned ignorance until the shadow came across his view, turning and looking up at the woman who lived in the house with a slight quirk of a smile.
"Mistress."
Myrrine caught herself glancing out the window for what had to be at least the tenth time that day alone, trying to catch a peak at the familiar beggar who sat outside her house. She shook her head, silently chastising herself. She had taken to doting upon him, offering him bits of food here and there. It seems she had already grown rather attached to the familiar face though she knew next to nothing about the man. They had only ever exchanged vague pleasantries, and even those instances were rather one-sided.
Still, she wasn’t about to let anyone go hungry - not when she had plenty. Even with as large a family as hers, they didn’t struggle to get by. Perhaps it was because her siblings were growing older, more independent. They needed less of her attention and truth be told, if she wasn’t caring for someone else, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Today she had occupied herself with some baking, the result of which she was carefully piling into a small basket.
Taking her basket in hand, she quickly wrapped a himaton of wool around her as a shawl to fight off the bite of the wind’s chill. Her layered chiton and peplos were simple shades of brown - garments intended for hard work rather than aesthetic. She stepped outside, inhaling sharply as the first gust of wind hit her. She quickly turned her gaze to the beggar, approaching him slowly so as not to startle him. She had begun to suspect his hearing was beginning to fade. He seemed to catch sight of her shadow, turning to look up at her with a hint of a smile.
“Greetings,” she offered, her voice gentle. “I have some fresh pastries I thought you might enjoy.” She offered the basket towards him, pulling back the cloth that covered the baked goods. Her brown hair was tied back in a simple braid, though much had already slid loose to whip around her face in the wind. She bit her lip nervously as she gazed down at him, suddenly feeling almost shy.
“Would it perhaps be alright if I joined you for a moment? I fear if I take these back inside, I’ll be swarmed by children before I ever get to have a bite myself.”
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Myrrine caught herself glancing out the window for what had to be at least the tenth time that day alone, trying to catch a peak at the familiar beggar who sat outside her house. She shook her head, silently chastising herself. She had taken to doting upon him, offering him bits of food here and there. It seems she had already grown rather attached to the familiar face though she knew next to nothing about the man. They had only ever exchanged vague pleasantries, and even those instances were rather one-sided.
Still, she wasn’t about to let anyone go hungry - not when she had plenty. Even with as large a family as hers, they didn’t struggle to get by. Perhaps it was because her siblings were growing older, more independent. They needed less of her attention and truth be told, if she wasn’t caring for someone else, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Today she had occupied herself with some baking, the result of which she was carefully piling into a small basket.
Taking her basket in hand, she quickly wrapped a himaton of wool around her as a shawl to fight off the bite of the wind’s chill. Her layered chiton and peplos were simple shades of brown - garments intended for hard work rather than aesthetic. She stepped outside, inhaling sharply as the first gust of wind hit her. She quickly turned her gaze to the beggar, approaching him slowly so as not to startle him. She had begun to suspect his hearing was beginning to fade. He seemed to catch sight of her shadow, turning to look up at her with a hint of a smile.
“Greetings,” she offered, her voice gentle. “I have some fresh pastries I thought you might enjoy.” She offered the basket towards him, pulling back the cloth that covered the baked goods. Her brown hair was tied back in a simple braid, though much had already slid loose to whip around her face in the wind. She bit her lip nervously as she gazed down at him, suddenly feeling almost shy.
“Would it perhaps be alright if I joined you for a moment? I fear if I take these back inside, I’ll be swarmed by children before I ever get to have a bite myself.”
Myrrine caught herself glancing out the window for what had to be at least the tenth time that day alone, trying to catch a peak at the familiar beggar who sat outside her house. She shook her head, silently chastising herself. She had taken to doting upon him, offering him bits of food here and there. It seems she had already grown rather attached to the familiar face though she knew next to nothing about the man. They had only ever exchanged vague pleasantries, and even those instances were rather one-sided.
Still, she wasn’t about to let anyone go hungry - not when she had plenty. Even with as large a family as hers, they didn’t struggle to get by. Perhaps it was because her siblings were growing older, more independent. They needed less of her attention and truth be told, if she wasn’t caring for someone else, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Today she had occupied herself with some baking, the result of which she was carefully piling into a small basket.
Taking her basket in hand, she quickly wrapped a himaton of wool around her as a shawl to fight off the bite of the wind’s chill. Her layered chiton and peplos were simple shades of brown - garments intended for hard work rather than aesthetic. She stepped outside, inhaling sharply as the first gust of wind hit her. She quickly turned her gaze to the beggar, approaching him slowly so as not to startle him. She had begun to suspect his hearing was beginning to fade. He seemed to catch sight of her shadow, turning to look up at her with a hint of a smile.
“Greetings,” she offered, her voice gentle. “I have some fresh pastries I thought you might enjoy.” She offered the basket towards him, pulling back the cloth that covered the baked goods. Her brown hair was tied back in a simple braid, though much had already slid loose to whip around her face in the wind. She bit her lip nervously as she gazed down at him, suddenly feeling almost shy.
“Would it perhaps be alright if I joined you for a moment? I fear if I take these back inside, I’ll be swarmed by children before I ever get to have a bite myself.”
She was very aware of him for someone who shouldn't care anything for a beggar outside of her shop, the way she approached with cautious determination and the smile on her lips already when he turned her way. Most Greeks he'd come across didn't bother with beggars, especially those who appeared to be of obvious foreign extraction. The most care they got was a few drachmae tossed in their cups at best, kicked and beaten at worst. All reminding him of what his eventual goal was. His half-brother would rue the day he threw Nahash and is family onto the streets. Perhaps that was what it was, why he bothered to smile. Her eyes were kind and dark, reminding him of his own mother. Especially when he watched her handling her children.
The offer of fresh pastries made his mouth water, but he didn't like feeling in any debt, and while table scraps were one thing, a fresh pastry untouched was something above. Shaking his head slowly and reaching for his one coin as if to hand it to her, he paused when she asked if she could join him. That was not at all what he had expected, and he was lost for any kind of response for a moment, eyes narrowing sharply as if looking for the reason why. Had someone discovered his identity? Was she being used to try to get close to him and lull him into complacency?
Glancing about the square he could find no one showing signs of observing them, most eyes slid over him as a beggar as it was, and even in the upper levels of houses no one seemed to be giving them any notice. Perhaps she was just kind, or she would report back to those she worked for. In any case, the smell of the pastries was wearing him down, and given the racket her children made he could understand the desire to take a moment's rest, even if it was out in the cold with a beggar man.
"It is your house to sit beside, mistress." Nahash took the offered food, bringing it to his lips and taking a bite before glancing over at her again. "Your children would not allow their mother a taste?"
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She was very aware of him for someone who shouldn't care anything for a beggar outside of her shop, the way she approached with cautious determination and the smile on her lips already when he turned her way. Most Greeks he'd come across didn't bother with beggars, especially those who appeared to be of obvious foreign extraction. The most care they got was a few drachmae tossed in their cups at best, kicked and beaten at worst. All reminding him of what his eventual goal was. His half-brother would rue the day he threw Nahash and is family onto the streets. Perhaps that was what it was, why he bothered to smile. Her eyes were kind and dark, reminding him of his own mother. Especially when he watched her handling her children.
The offer of fresh pastries made his mouth water, but he didn't like feeling in any debt, and while table scraps were one thing, a fresh pastry untouched was something above. Shaking his head slowly and reaching for his one coin as if to hand it to her, he paused when she asked if she could join him. That was not at all what he had expected, and he was lost for any kind of response for a moment, eyes narrowing sharply as if looking for the reason why. Had someone discovered his identity? Was she being used to try to get close to him and lull him into complacency?
Glancing about the square he could find no one showing signs of observing them, most eyes slid over him as a beggar as it was, and even in the upper levels of houses no one seemed to be giving them any notice. Perhaps she was just kind, or she would report back to those she worked for. In any case, the smell of the pastries was wearing him down, and given the racket her children made he could understand the desire to take a moment's rest, even if it was out in the cold with a beggar man.
"It is your house to sit beside, mistress." Nahash took the offered food, bringing it to his lips and taking a bite before glancing over at her again. "Your children would not allow their mother a taste?"
She was very aware of him for someone who shouldn't care anything for a beggar outside of her shop, the way she approached with cautious determination and the smile on her lips already when he turned her way. Most Greeks he'd come across didn't bother with beggars, especially those who appeared to be of obvious foreign extraction. The most care they got was a few drachmae tossed in their cups at best, kicked and beaten at worst. All reminding him of what his eventual goal was. His half-brother would rue the day he threw Nahash and is family onto the streets. Perhaps that was what it was, why he bothered to smile. Her eyes were kind and dark, reminding him of his own mother. Especially when he watched her handling her children.
The offer of fresh pastries made his mouth water, but he didn't like feeling in any debt, and while table scraps were one thing, a fresh pastry untouched was something above. Shaking his head slowly and reaching for his one coin as if to hand it to her, he paused when she asked if she could join him. That was not at all what he had expected, and he was lost for any kind of response for a moment, eyes narrowing sharply as if looking for the reason why. Had someone discovered his identity? Was she being used to try to get close to him and lull him into complacency?
Glancing about the square he could find no one showing signs of observing them, most eyes slid over him as a beggar as it was, and even in the upper levels of houses no one seemed to be giving them any notice. Perhaps she was just kind, or she would report back to those she worked for. In any case, the smell of the pastries was wearing him down, and given the racket her children made he could understand the desire to take a moment's rest, even if it was out in the cold with a beggar man.
"It is your house to sit beside, mistress." Nahash took the offered food, bringing it to his lips and taking a bite before glancing over at her again. "Your children would not allow their mother a taste?"
He seemed reluctant to accept her offering - both of pastry and company. She found herself wondering what this man had been through to beat him down so thoroughly that he treated even simple kindness with suspicion. Just looking at him told her that he hadn’t lived an easy life. He kept himself covered, always. But it was clear in the way he moved and carried himself that he hadn’t been well for some time. She found herself often wondering what path had led him here. Yet she could never find the courage to pry in such a fashion.
It had become almost a game to her though, imagining the life he might have led. Had he been a soldier, injured in battle? Had he been maimed by a jealous husband? Had he been forced to flee his faraway home and been cursed to wander endlessly, never belonging anywhere again? Whatever the case, she knew there was tragedy in his past. It was written clear as day in his every motion. Yet she couldn’t bear to pity him, no matter his current circumstances. His life had been hard - and continued to be obviously - and while her heart ached for him, it was true compassion that filled her. No matter how he looked or lived, he was still a person and deserved to be treated with the proper dignity and respect she'd offer to any soul.
She waited anxiously, finding that she was holding her breath all the while, as though she might spook him with the slightest movement. At last he accepted a pastry and her presence and only then could she exhale in relief. She turned so her back was to the wall, slowly sliding down it to sit beside him, careful to leave a polite amount of space between them.
“It is true that it may be my house, but nonetheless, I wouldn’t wish to intrude. That last thing I’d want is to cause you discomfort,” she explained softly, glancing towards him once more. She was about to lift her own pastry to her lips when his words caught her by surprise. Rude as it was, she couldn’t stop the laughter that fell from her lips.
"You truly believe I am old enough to have children aged twelve and older?” she asked incredulously, eyes wide. Her voice was thick with surprise, but no offense. Clearly she was humored by the misunderstanding rather than upset. She shook her head slightly before smiling at him. “They’re my siblings, not my children. Though, I suppose I am the closest they’ve had to a mother in many years.” A long pause as the joy faded from her expression, turning pensive instead. “The only mother the youngest has ever known.”
Myrrine quickly banished those melancholy thoughts. her smile and good humor returning once more. He didn't need to hear about her own petty sorrows. “No, for all that they are my responsibility, they are an unruly bunch, and I’m afraid they quite outnumber me. Plus they’re all old enough now that any height advantage I once had for keeping things out of reach is long gone.”
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He seemed reluctant to accept her offering - both of pastry and company. She found herself wondering what this man had been through to beat him down so thoroughly that he treated even simple kindness with suspicion. Just looking at him told her that he hadn’t lived an easy life. He kept himself covered, always. But it was clear in the way he moved and carried himself that he hadn’t been well for some time. She found herself often wondering what path had led him here. Yet she could never find the courage to pry in such a fashion.
It had become almost a game to her though, imagining the life he might have led. Had he been a soldier, injured in battle? Had he been maimed by a jealous husband? Had he been forced to flee his faraway home and been cursed to wander endlessly, never belonging anywhere again? Whatever the case, she knew there was tragedy in his past. It was written clear as day in his every motion. Yet she couldn’t bear to pity him, no matter his current circumstances. His life had been hard - and continued to be obviously - and while her heart ached for him, it was true compassion that filled her. No matter how he looked or lived, he was still a person and deserved to be treated with the proper dignity and respect she'd offer to any soul.
She waited anxiously, finding that she was holding her breath all the while, as though she might spook him with the slightest movement. At last he accepted a pastry and her presence and only then could she exhale in relief. She turned so her back was to the wall, slowly sliding down it to sit beside him, careful to leave a polite amount of space between them.
“It is true that it may be my house, but nonetheless, I wouldn’t wish to intrude. That last thing I’d want is to cause you discomfort,” she explained softly, glancing towards him once more. She was about to lift her own pastry to her lips when his words caught her by surprise. Rude as it was, she couldn’t stop the laughter that fell from her lips.
"You truly believe I am old enough to have children aged twelve and older?” she asked incredulously, eyes wide. Her voice was thick with surprise, but no offense. Clearly she was humored by the misunderstanding rather than upset. She shook her head slightly before smiling at him. “They’re my siblings, not my children. Though, I suppose I am the closest they’ve had to a mother in many years.” A long pause as the joy faded from her expression, turning pensive instead. “The only mother the youngest has ever known.”
Myrrine quickly banished those melancholy thoughts. her smile and good humor returning once more. He didn't need to hear about her own petty sorrows. “No, for all that they are my responsibility, they are an unruly bunch, and I’m afraid they quite outnumber me. Plus they’re all old enough now that any height advantage I once had for keeping things out of reach is long gone.”
He seemed reluctant to accept her offering - both of pastry and company. She found herself wondering what this man had been through to beat him down so thoroughly that he treated even simple kindness with suspicion. Just looking at him told her that he hadn’t lived an easy life. He kept himself covered, always. But it was clear in the way he moved and carried himself that he hadn’t been well for some time. She found herself often wondering what path had led him here. Yet she could never find the courage to pry in such a fashion.
It had become almost a game to her though, imagining the life he might have led. Had he been a soldier, injured in battle? Had he been maimed by a jealous husband? Had he been forced to flee his faraway home and been cursed to wander endlessly, never belonging anywhere again? Whatever the case, she knew there was tragedy in his past. It was written clear as day in his every motion. Yet she couldn’t bear to pity him, no matter his current circumstances. His life had been hard - and continued to be obviously - and while her heart ached for him, it was true compassion that filled her. No matter how he looked or lived, he was still a person and deserved to be treated with the proper dignity and respect she'd offer to any soul.
She waited anxiously, finding that she was holding her breath all the while, as though she might spook him with the slightest movement. At last he accepted a pastry and her presence and only then could she exhale in relief. She turned so her back was to the wall, slowly sliding down it to sit beside him, careful to leave a polite amount of space between them.
“It is true that it may be my house, but nonetheless, I wouldn’t wish to intrude. That last thing I’d want is to cause you discomfort,” she explained softly, glancing towards him once more. She was about to lift her own pastry to her lips when his words caught her by surprise. Rude as it was, she couldn’t stop the laughter that fell from her lips.
"You truly believe I am old enough to have children aged twelve and older?” she asked incredulously, eyes wide. Her voice was thick with surprise, but no offense. Clearly she was humored by the misunderstanding rather than upset. She shook her head slightly before smiling at him. “They’re my siblings, not my children. Though, I suppose I am the closest they’ve had to a mother in many years.” A long pause as the joy faded from her expression, turning pensive instead. “The only mother the youngest has ever known.”
Myrrine quickly banished those melancholy thoughts. her smile and good humor returning once more. He didn't need to hear about her own petty sorrows. “No, for all that they are my responsibility, they are an unruly bunch, and I’m afraid they quite outnumber me. Plus they’re all old enough now that any height advantage I once had for keeping things out of reach is long gone.”
Nahash gave a shrug as she spoke, still uncertain as to why a woman who lived in a place like this would want to spend any time with him. It was odd enough she allowed him to sit here and handed him food, but to want to stay in his company was curious. He wanted to ask her questions about it, but found his own stubbornness in his way as he instead continued to devour the pastry. The generosity was well timed, he hadn't eaten since he'd left the house the Sariqas had taken for their own in the burned out section of the city.
Trying not to let her laugh sting, he turned and fixed his good eye on her with a solemness, his voice heavy as he spoke with the rasp he'd allowed to settle for the character, showing an exhaustion that was not necessarily an act. When he had been on the streets with Zai and his mother, he had seen women far younger become mothers through the trade of prostitution. He'd seen them all suffer on the streets like his own mother, and there was an anger simmering that he could not allow to get out of control.
"I have seen younger with older, mistress."
He allowed the simple answer to settle, tucking his bare feet beneath the hem of his robes and adjusting the bandage over his scars. The rough material rubbed his old injuries raw, but it was better to suffer a little annoyance than be recognized, and one didn't easily forget a face marked like his. As the wind blew cold again, he shivered and cursed himself for leaving the heat of Egypt. He was a creature born of the desert sands, not comfortable on this place of rock and water.
"You are kind. To care for so many." It was as close to thanks as he could manage without sounding too soft. He wondered why even more she bothered with him, with so many young children to look after.
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Nahash gave a shrug as she spoke, still uncertain as to why a woman who lived in a place like this would want to spend any time with him. It was odd enough she allowed him to sit here and handed him food, but to want to stay in his company was curious. He wanted to ask her questions about it, but found his own stubbornness in his way as he instead continued to devour the pastry. The generosity was well timed, he hadn't eaten since he'd left the house the Sariqas had taken for their own in the burned out section of the city.
Trying not to let her laugh sting, he turned and fixed his good eye on her with a solemness, his voice heavy as he spoke with the rasp he'd allowed to settle for the character, showing an exhaustion that was not necessarily an act. When he had been on the streets with Zai and his mother, he had seen women far younger become mothers through the trade of prostitution. He'd seen them all suffer on the streets like his own mother, and there was an anger simmering that he could not allow to get out of control.
"I have seen younger with older, mistress."
He allowed the simple answer to settle, tucking his bare feet beneath the hem of his robes and adjusting the bandage over his scars. The rough material rubbed his old injuries raw, but it was better to suffer a little annoyance than be recognized, and one didn't easily forget a face marked like his. As the wind blew cold again, he shivered and cursed himself for leaving the heat of Egypt. He was a creature born of the desert sands, not comfortable on this place of rock and water.
"You are kind. To care for so many." It was as close to thanks as he could manage without sounding too soft. He wondered why even more she bothered with him, with so many young children to look after.
Nahash gave a shrug as she spoke, still uncertain as to why a woman who lived in a place like this would want to spend any time with him. It was odd enough she allowed him to sit here and handed him food, but to want to stay in his company was curious. He wanted to ask her questions about it, but found his own stubbornness in his way as he instead continued to devour the pastry. The generosity was well timed, he hadn't eaten since he'd left the house the Sariqas had taken for their own in the burned out section of the city.
Trying not to let her laugh sting, he turned and fixed his good eye on her with a solemness, his voice heavy as he spoke with the rasp he'd allowed to settle for the character, showing an exhaustion that was not necessarily an act. When he had been on the streets with Zai and his mother, he had seen women far younger become mothers through the trade of prostitution. He'd seen them all suffer on the streets like his own mother, and there was an anger simmering that he could not allow to get out of control.
"I have seen younger with older, mistress."
He allowed the simple answer to settle, tucking his bare feet beneath the hem of his robes and adjusting the bandage over his scars. The rough material rubbed his old injuries raw, but it was better to suffer a little annoyance than be recognized, and one didn't easily forget a face marked like his. As the wind blew cold again, he shivered and cursed himself for leaving the heat of Egypt. He was a creature born of the desert sands, not comfortable on this place of rock and water.
"You are kind. To care for so many." It was as close to thanks as he could manage without sounding too soft. He wondered why even more she bothered with him, with so many young children to look after.
Something within her stirred as his only answer was a shrug filled with uncertainty. Who had harmed this man so deeply that simple courtesy seemed unfathomable to him? She could think of no other explanation for his reaction. Nor could she stop herself from hoping whoever did wound him so deeply would suffer the same pain tenfold. It was a raw, instinctual response she couldn’t fully explain, but felt nonetheless.
When he spoke next though, Myrrine visibly flinched from his words. He didn’t need to elaborate further. She quickly looked away from him, staring instead at the ground as her face burned crimson in shame. How could she have been so insensitive? She couldn’t understand it but she had seen the glint of leashed rage within his eyes as he spoke, though his voice betrayed nothing more than exhaustion.
She knew she was blessed and her complaints were minor. Yet she had allowed her privileged life to bias her, speaking cavalierly about grave matters far beyond her depth. Idiot.
“You’re right, of course,” she answered, her voice solemn and just a hint hoarse. “I'm sorry. There is no excuse for my thoughtlessness. I can only pray that you might be so kind as to forgive me for speaking with such ignorance.” She closed her eyes tightly, hearing the trembling of her voice and loathing it all the while. It took all her courage to glance up at his face a moment later, fearing she’d see that same anger within him staring back at her. Truthfully, she didn’t know if she could bear that. He had seen so much more of life and the world compared to her. Enough that his opinion mattered to her more than she'd ever care to admit.
She noticed his shiver, silently making note to look for a spare blanket or himation to perhaps give him. She hated to think of him sitting in the cold wind shivering all day. Perhaps she would simply have to leave it there for him to find in the morning. He had been reluctant to accept fresh food from her - perhaps his pride would be soothed if she wasn’t there to witness him accepting the aid.
His next words surprised her after the tense exchange they followed. She simply stared at him in shocked confusion as she tried to process the sentiment. In the end she had to adamantly shake her head in disagreement. “No, there is no kindness in that. Kindness is a choice made for the benefit of others. Taking care of my family was never a choice. There was never an alternative. They’re my family. My everything. What else could I do?”
From another, such words might have been fishing for more compliments or an act of selflessness, wanting to hear how they made the noble choice. For Myrrine, she genuinely was asking what else she could have done for she didn’t understand any other option. If anything, his praise had her squirming, uncomfortable with the sudden attention on her actions. She bit her lower lip, looking towards the ground once more before she spoke once more, her voice so soft, she wasn’t certain if he’d hear - or even if she meant him to.
“I just simply do what needs to be done. There’s nothing special about that.”
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Something within her stirred as his only answer was a shrug filled with uncertainty. Who had harmed this man so deeply that simple courtesy seemed unfathomable to him? She could think of no other explanation for his reaction. Nor could she stop herself from hoping whoever did wound him so deeply would suffer the same pain tenfold. It was a raw, instinctual response she couldn’t fully explain, but felt nonetheless.
When he spoke next though, Myrrine visibly flinched from his words. He didn’t need to elaborate further. She quickly looked away from him, staring instead at the ground as her face burned crimson in shame. How could she have been so insensitive? She couldn’t understand it but she had seen the glint of leashed rage within his eyes as he spoke, though his voice betrayed nothing more than exhaustion.
She knew she was blessed and her complaints were minor. Yet she had allowed her privileged life to bias her, speaking cavalierly about grave matters far beyond her depth. Idiot.
“You’re right, of course,” she answered, her voice solemn and just a hint hoarse. “I'm sorry. There is no excuse for my thoughtlessness. I can only pray that you might be so kind as to forgive me for speaking with such ignorance.” She closed her eyes tightly, hearing the trembling of her voice and loathing it all the while. It took all her courage to glance up at his face a moment later, fearing she’d see that same anger within him staring back at her. Truthfully, she didn’t know if she could bear that. He had seen so much more of life and the world compared to her. Enough that his opinion mattered to her more than she'd ever care to admit.
She noticed his shiver, silently making note to look for a spare blanket or himation to perhaps give him. She hated to think of him sitting in the cold wind shivering all day. Perhaps she would simply have to leave it there for him to find in the morning. He had been reluctant to accept fresh food from her - perhaps his pride would be soothed if she wasn’t there to witness him accepting the aid.
His next words surprised her after the tense exchange they followed. She simply stared at him in shocked confusion as she tried to process the sentiment. In the end she had to adamantly shake her head in disagreement. “No, there is no kindness in that. Kindness is a choice made for the benefit of others. Taking care of my family was never a choice. There was never an alternative. They’re my family. My everything. What else could I do?”
From another, such words might have been fishing for more compliments or an act of selflessness, wanting to hear how they made the noble choice. For Myrrine, she genuinely was asking what else she could have done for she didn’t understand any other option. If anything, his praise had her squirming, uncomfortable with the sudden attention on her actions. She bit her lower lip, looking towards the ground once more before she spoke once more, her voice so soft, she wasn’t certain if he’d hear - or even if she meant him to.
“I just simply do what needs to be done. There’s nothing special about that.”
Something within her stirred as his only answer was a shrug filled with uncertainty. Who had harmed this man so deeply that simple courtesy seemed unfathomable to him? She could think of no other explanation for his reaction. Nor could she stop herself from hoping whoever did wound him so deeply would suffer the same pain tenfold. It was a raw, instinctual response she couldn’t fully explain, but felt nonetheless.
When he spoke next though, Myrrine visibly flinched from his words. He didn’t need to elaborate further. She quickly looked away from him, staring instead at the ground as her face burned crimson in shame. How could she have been so insensitive? She couldn’t understand it but she had seen the glint of leashed rage within his eyes as he spoke, though his voice betrayed nothing more than exhaustion.
She knew she was blessed and her complaints were minor. Yet she had allowed her privileged life to bias her, speaking cavalierly about grave matters far beyond her depth. Idiot.
“You’re right, of course,” she answered, her voice solemn and just a hint hoarse. “I'm sorry. There is no excuse for my thoughtlessness. I can only pray that you might be so kind as to forgive me for speaking with such ignorance.” She closed her eyes tightly, hearing the trembling of her voice and loathing it all the while. It took all her courage to glance up at his face a moment later, fearing she’d see that same anger within him staring back at her. Truthfully, she didn’t know if she could bear that. He had seen so much more of life and the world compared to her. Enough that his opinion mattered to her more than she'd ever care to admit.
She noticed his shiver, silently making note to look for a spare blanket or himation to perhaps give him. She hated to think of him sitting in the cold wind shivering all day. Perhaps she would simply have to leave it there for him to find in the morning. He had been reluctant to accept fresh food from her - perhaps his pride would be soothed if she wasn’t there to witness him accepting the aid.
His next words surprised her after the tense exchange they followed. She simply stared at him in shocked confusion as she tried to process the sentiment. In the end she had to adamantly shake her head in disagreement. “No, there is no kindness in that. Kindness is a choice made for the benefit of others. Taking care of my family was never a choice. There was never an alternative. They’re my family. My everything. What else could I do?”
From another, such words might have been fishing for more compliments or an act of selflessness, wanting to hear how they made the noble choice. For Myrrine, she genuinely was asking what else she could have done for she didn’t understand any other option. If anything, his praise had her squirming, uncomfortable with the sudden attention on her actions. She bit her lower lip, looking towards the ground once more before she spoke once more, her voice so soft, she wasn’t certain if he’d hear - or even if she meant him to.
“I just simply do what needs to be done. There’s nothing special about that.”
She flinched from him, good. That was best for her in the long run, to fear and shrink from him. As much as he enjoyed the food she brought him it was dangerous for her to get too close, not just because of who and what he was but because he was not the worst of them out there. There were others who could take up a post against this wall and do far more harm than he had, even with the trail of soldiers that had been coming in and out. War was on the horizon and the dangers that came from it would not be limited to the battlefield. He'd seen it all before.
It was the request for forgiveness that confused him, and he furrowed his brow as he looked back to her, wondering what kind of woman she was to be worried about what a beggar had to say. Why should she care about his past, present, or future when she had children and a shop to care for? Her thoughtlessness would have been defended by most people of her status, and here she was apologizing to him. He shook his head in disbelief, a hint of a smile on his lips though it may not have been obvious to an observer. He'd never really met anyone who could be considered too good for this world, but the way she spoke it felt as if he might have found the closest thing.
Her question caught him off guard, and he had no correct answer to it at all. He had done the same, but their circumstances had been wildly different. Had their mother died when they were young and still been in care of their father and his harem, he would have done nothing. Allowed instead to be a child, grown up the son of a sultan and perhaps one day taking his place. Instead when faced with the loss he had become the parent and guardian, and he'd done the best he could.
"A different choice is sometimes unclear until years after you have already taken what you thought was the only path." That was the most he'd ever spoken to her in one go, and it surprised him how willing he was to speak with her after being so thrilled when she had at first been afraid. He had to move, get her to leave somehow, the closer they got the more dangerous it became. Settling back against the wall even further, he pulled his himation further over his face to shield him even more.
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She flinched from him, good. That was best for her in the long run, to fear and shrink from him. As much as he enjoyed the food she brought him it was dangerous for her to get too close, not just because of who and what he was but because he was not the worst of them out there. There were others who could take up a post against this wall and do far more harm than he had, even with the trail of soldiers that had been coming in and out. War was on the horizon and the dangers that came from it would not be limited to the battlefield. He'd seen it all before.
It was the request for forgiveness that confused him, and he furrowed his brow as he looked back to her, wondering what kind of woman she was to be worried about what a beggar had to say. Why should she care about his past, present, or future when she had children and a shop to care for? Her thoughtlessness would have been defended by most people of her status, and here she was apologizing to him. He shook his head in disbelief, a hint of a smile on his lips though it may not have been obvious to an observer. He'd never really met anyone who could be considered too good for this world, but the way she spoke it felt as if he might have found the closest thing.
Her question caught him off guard, and he had no correct answer to it at all. He had done the same, but their circumstances had been wildly different. Had their mother died when they were young and still been in care of their father and his harem, he would have done nothing. Allowed instead to be a child, grown up the son of a sultan and perhaps one day taking his place. Instead when faced with the loss he had become the parent and guardian, and he'd done the best he could.
"A different choice is sometimes unclear until years after you have already taken what you thought was the only path." That was the most he'd ever spoken to her in one go, and it surprised him how willing he was to speak with her after being so thrilled when she had at first been afraid. He had to move, get her to leave somehow, the closer they got the more dangerous it became. Settling back against the wall even further, he pulled his himation further over his face to shield him even more.
She flinched from him, good. That was best for her in the long run, to fear and shrink from him. As much as he enjoyed the food she brought him it was dangerous for her to get too close, not just because of who and what he was but because he was not the worst of them out there. There were others who could take up a post against this wall and do far more harm than he had, even with the trail of soldiers that had been coming in and out. War was on the horizon and the dangers that came from it would not be limited to the battlefield. He'd seen it all before.
It was the request for forgiveness that confused him, and he furrowed his brow as he looked back to her, wondering what kind of woman she was to be worried about what a beggar had to say. Why should she care about his past, present, or future when she had children and a shop to care for? Her thoughtlessness would have been defended by most people of her status, and here she was apologizing to him. He shook his head in disbelief, a hint of a smile on his lips though it may not have been obvious to an observer. He'd never really met anyone who could be considered too good for this world, but the way she spoke it felt as if he might have found the closest thing.
Her question caught him off guard, and he had no correct answer to it at all. He had done the same, but their circumstances had been wildly different. Had their mother died when they were young and still been in care of their father and his harem, he would have done nothing. Allowed instead to be a child, grown up the son of a sultan and perhaps one day taking his place. Instead when faced with the loss he had become the parent and guardian, and he'd done the best he could.
"A different choice is sometimes unclear until years after you have already taken what you thought was the only path." That was the most he'd ever spoken to her in one go, and it surprised him how willing he was to speak with her after being so thrilled when she had at first been afraid. He had to move, get her to leave somehow, the closer they got the more dangerous it became. Settling back against the wall even further, he pulled his himation further over his face to shield him even more.
As she dared to meet his gaze, she didn’t know how to describe what she saw there. The weight that had seemed to intensity only moments before had dissipated, which was a relief in and of itself. Instead, she noted the furrowed brow. For an instant she worried she had worsened things still, and had perhaps reached the end of his patience, but that worry faded too. It was almost as though he seemed puzzled by her.
Not that that thought made any sense at all. At least not to her. Surely there had to be something she was missing in all this. She only wish she knew so she could make things right. It nagged her still that her words had upset him. While she couldn’t force him to forgive her, surely there had to be something she could think of to right the scales.
When at last he finally spoke, it carried the wisdom of experience. It only made her more curious about him, about what paths he had felt were inevitable in his life. Had they led him here? Did he regret it? She dare not voice any such thoughts though, especially after having offended him once already. The way he pulled his himation more tightly around him, as though trying to hide in plain sight told her blatantly enough that he wasn’t ready to reveal himself to anyone - or at least not to her.
“Perhaps, but even twelve years later, I cannot imagine any such choice. Nor do I regret any of it. It’s been a gift to raise them into the men and women they’re becoming... no matter the cost. Some things are worth more than childish dreams.”
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As she dared to meet his gaze, she didn’t know how to describe what she saw there. The weight that had seemed to intensity only moments before had dissipated, which was a relief in and of itself. Instead, she noted the furrowed brow. For an instant she worried she had worsened things still, and had perhaps reached the end of his patience, but that worry faded too. It was almost as though he seemed puzzled by her.
Not that that thought made any sense at all. At least not to her. Surely there had to be something she was missing in all this. She only wish she knew so she could make things right. It nagged her still that her words had upset him. While she couldn’t force him to forgive her, surely there had to be something she could think of to right the scales.
When at last he finally spoke, it carried the wisdom of experience. It only made her more curious about him, about what paths he had felt were inevitable in his life. Had they led him here? Did he regret it? She dare not voice any such thoughts though, especially after having offended him once already. The way he pulled his himation more tightly around him, as though trying to hide in plain sight told her blatantly enough that he wasn’t ready to reveal himself to anyone - or at least not to her.
“Perhaps, but even twelve years later, I cannot imagine any such choice. Nor do I regret any of it. It’s been a gift to raise them into the men and women they’re becoming... no matter the cost. Some things are worth more than childish dreams.”
As she dared to meet his gaze, she didn’t know how to describe what she saw there. The weight that had seemed to intensity only moments before had dissipated, which was a relief in and of itself. Instead, she noted the furrowed brow. For an instant she worried she had worsened things still, and had perhaps reached the end of his patience, but that worry faded too. It was almost as though he seemed puzzled by her.
Not that that thought made any sense at all. At least not to her. Surely there had to be something she was missing in all this. She only wish she knew so she could make things right. It nagged her still that her words had upset him. While she couldn’t force him to forgive her, surely there had to be something she could think of to right the scales.
When at last he finally spoke, it carried the wisdom of experience. It only made her more curious about him, about what paths he had felt were inevitable in his life. Had they led him here? Did he regret it? She dare not voice any such thoughts though, especially after having offended him once already. The way he pulled his himation more tightly around him, as though trying to hide in plain sight told her blatantly enough that he wasn’t ready to reveal himself to anyone - or at least not to her.
“Perhaps, but even twelve years later, I cannot imagine any such choice. Nor do I regret any of it. It’s been a gift to raise them into the men and women they’re becoming... no matter the cost. Some things are worth more than childish dreams.”
"Childish dreams are meant to die. It is how one moves into adulthood. Only time can determine when that occurs."
Settling deeper against the wall, he looked away from her and back out to the square before them. This had gotten to friendly and close, and would not do them any good to continue. If she wished to bring him scraps and bits and ends, he would continue to accept, but the way she was speaking, the amount she had managed to get from him, it was too much. He couldn't afford to let his guard down for a moment, not with the soldiers about and the guards patrolling getting too close to the Sariqas hiding place for comfort. Once they had the ruby, they would go. Perhaps to another province, perhaps back to Egypt to take advantage of the spoils of war. And she would not go with them.
Nahash had already resolved that as much as he had found himself enjoying her company, he might have to look for another place soon. If she got to know too much it would be more of a liability than he could afford to have about. Her shop didn't sell anything especially worthy of his gang taking, but she was still one of the merchant class and if any of them mentioned anything, the woman across the square whom Somra had relieved of the emerald earrings and necklace not so long ago for instance, it would have repercussions for them both.
"Good day, mistress." It was a blunt sort of dismissal, one he wasn't sure she would follow, but as he attempted to shrink back to be further unseen by others he made a point of keeping his himation drawn over his face on the side of him she sat, waiting until her footsteps receded before standing cautiously and limping away. Best to put distance between them for now, he could come back later to see if she got the hint or not.
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"Childish dreams are meant to die. It is how one moves into adulthood. Only time can determine when that occurs."
Settling deeper against the wall, he looked away from her and back out to the square before them. This had gotten to friendly and close, and would not do them any good to continue. If she wished to bring him scraps and bits and ends, he would continue to accept, but the way she was speaking, the amount she had managed to get from him, it was too much. He couldn't afford to let his guard down for a moment, not with the soldiers about and the guards patrolling getting too close to the Sariqas hiding place for comfort. Once they had the ruby, they would go. Perhaps to another province, perhaps back to Egypt to take advantage of the spoils of war. And she would not go with them.
Nahash had already resolved that as much as he had found himself enjoying her company, he might have to look for another place soon. If she got to know too much it would be more of a liability than he could afford to have about. Her shop didn't sell anything especially worthy of his gang taking, but she was still one of the merchant class and if any of them mentioned anything, the woman across the square whom Somra had relieved of the emerald earrings and necklace not so long ago for instance, it would have repercussions for them both.
"Good day, mistress." It was a blunt sort of dismissal, one he wasn't sure she would follow, but as he attempted to shrink back to be further unseen by others he made a point of keeping his himation drawn over his face on the side of him she sat, waiting until her footsteps receded before standing cautiously and limping away. Best to put distance between them for now, he could come back later to see if she got the hint or not.
"Childish dreams are meant to die. It is how one moves into adulthood. Only time can determine when that occurs."
Settling deeper against the wall, he looked away from her and back out to the square before them. This had gotten to friendly and close, and would not do them any good to continue. If she wished to bring him scraps and bits and ends, he would continue to accept, but the way she was speaking, the amount she had managed to get from him, it was too much. He couldn't afford to let his guard down for a moment, not with the soldiers about and the guards patrolling getting too close to the Sariqas hiding place for comfort. Once they had the ruby, they would go. Perhaps to another province, perhaps back to Egypt to take advantage of the spoils of war. And she would not go with them.
Nahash had already resolved that as much as he had found himself enjoying her company, he might have to look for another place soon. If she got to know too much it would be more of a liability than he could afford to have about. Her shop didn't sell anything especially worthy of his gang taking, but she was still one of the merchant class and if any of them mentioned anything, the woman across the square whom Somra had relieved of the emerald earrings and necklace not so long ago for instance, it would have repercussions for them both.
"Good day, mistress." It was a blunt sort of dismissal, one he wasn't sure she would follow, but as he attempted to shrink back to be further unseen by others he made a point of keeping his himation drawn over his face on the side of him she sat, waiting until her footsteps receded before standing cautiously and limping away. Best to put distance between them for now, he could come back later to see if she got the hint or not.
Myrrine nodded in agreement, though a part of her wondered if he would agree that her dreams were childish. They had only been simple dreams after all. Dreams of adventure and romance and love and her own family someday. Her dream had been nothing more than the life that had been intended for her before her mother’s tragic passing. A life that she felt certain had passed her by to become unattainable by now.
Though perhaps he would agree that there was nothing more childish than to believe the world would ever live up to any sort of expectations, no matter how ordinary they seemed.
She had taken her future for granted and so it had slipped away from her. Worse, she had taken for granted her mother’s very presence, believing she would simply be there forever, growing old with her father. The gods must have laughed at her ignorance in believing that.
Myrrine quickly blinked away the tears that had begun to prick at the corners of her eyes, not wanting him to see the moment of weakness that had snuck up on her. Somehow though she didn’t expect the sudden dismissal he offered. It stunned her for a moment as she slowly realized that she had pushed him too far today. She silently cursed herself even as she resigned herself to it. She took a moment to wrap several pastries in a napkin, gently placing them lightly on his knee.
“Please, take them, I made far too many.” With that she rose to her feet and walked away before he had an opportunity to refuse, pointedly not looking back at him as she did, even if she found she wanted to.
After an hour or two had passed filled with chores, she caught herself looking outside, only to be disappointed to find that he was gone. Yet she saw no evidence of the pastries, so she took some small comfort in knowing he hadn’t rejected that at least. It gave her a new resolve altogether.
The following morning, just before dawn, she left out a length heavy wool fabric for him, a small piece of parchment with a scrawled message pinned to it. But it remained untouched and the familiar face she had grown used to never showed. She found herself worrying, praying that his absence was a reflection of her actions rather than a sign he had come to harm.
Perhaps tomorrow....
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Myrrine nodded in agreement, though a part of her wondered if he would agree that her dreams were childish. They had only been simple dreams after all. Dreams of adventure and romance and love and her own family someday. Her dream had been nothing more than the life that had been intended for her before her mother’s tragic passing. A life that she felt certain had passed her by to become unattainable by now.
Though perhaps he would agree that there was nothing more childish than to believe the world would ever live up to any sort of expectations, no matter how ordinary they seemed.
She had taken her future for granted and so it had slipped away from her. Worse, she had taken for granted her mother’s very presence, believing she would simply be there forever, growing old with her father. The gods must have laughed at her ignorance in believing that.
Myrrine quickly blinked away the tears that had begun to prick at the corners of her eyes, not wanting him to see the moment of weakness that had snuck up on her. Somehow though she didn’t expect the sudden dismissal he offered. It stunned her for a moment as she slowly realized that she had pushed him too far today. She silently cursed herself even as she resigned herself to it. She took a moment to wrap several pastries in a napkin, gently placing them lightly on his knee.
“Please, take them, I made far too many.” With that she rose to her feet and walked away before he had an opportunity to refuse, pointedly not looking back at him as she did, even if she found she wanted to.
After an hour or two had passed filled with chores, she caught herself looking outside, only to be disappointed to find that he was gone. Yet she saw no evidence of the pastries, so she took some small comfort in knowing he hadn’t rejected that at least. It gave her a new resolve altogether.
The following morning, just before dawn, she left out a length heavy wool fabric for him, a small piece of parchment with a scrawled message pinned to it. But it remained untouched and the familiar face she had grown used to never showed. She found herself worrying, praying that his absence was a reflection of her actions rather than a sign he had come to harm.
Perhaps tomorrow....
Myrrine nodded in agreement, though a part of her wondered if he would agree that her dreams were childish. They had only been simple dreams after all. Dreams of adventure and romance and love and her own family someday. Her dream had been nothing more than the life that had been intended for her before her mother’s tragic passing. A life that she felt certain had passed her by to become unattainable by now.
Though perhaps he would agree that there was nothing more childish than to believe the world would ever live up to any sort of expectations, no matter how ordinary they seemed.
She had taken her future for granted and so it had slipped away from her. Worse, she had taken for granted her mother’s very presence, believing she would simply be there forever, growing old with her father. The gods must have laughed at her ignorance in believing that.
Myrrine quickly blinked away the tears that had begun to prick at the corners of her eyes, not wanting him to see the moment of weakness that had snuck up on her. Somehow though she didn’t expect the sudden dismissal he offered. It stunned her for a moment as she slowly realized that she had pushed him too far today. She silently cursed herself even as she resigned herself to it. She took a moment to wrap several pastries in a napkin, gently placing them lightly on his knee.
“Please, take them, I made far too many.” With that she rose to her feet and walked away before he had an opportunity to refuse, pointedly not looking back at him as she did, even if she found she wanted to.
After an hour or two had passed filled with chores, she caught herself looking outside, only to be disappointed to find that he was gone. Yet she saw no evidence of the pastries, so she took some small comfort in knowing he hadn’t rejected that at least. It gave her a new resolve altogether.
The following morning, just before dawn, she left out a length heavy wool fabric for him, a small piece of parchment with a scrawled message pinned to it. But it remained untouched and the familiar face she had grown used to never showed. She found herself worrying, praying that his absence was a reflection of her actions rather than a sign he had come to harm.