Aderyn clicks her tongue, guiding the old mare, Bess, back up the rutted track towards the Abbey. The heavy saddlebags behind are stuffed with dried madder, sticks of fine gum arabic, and a parcel of expensive vellum the merchant in the town of Warden was all too eager to sell to a "young brother of such discerning taste."
"A fortune," she mutters to Bess, keeping her voice low and gravelly, practicing the tone she uses when she must speak. "For roots and glue. God’s blood, the price of beauty is steep."
The horse grunts and groans as she trods along the dirt road, a conversation Aderyn relishes far more than the silence of the cloister these days. The midday sun is hidden behind them, the air thick with the smell of impending rain.
She's lost in thoughts of mixing a deeper shade of crimson for the initials of the Psalm she is currently illuminating when Bess sidesteps with a huff. Aderyn pulls them back onto the road, but the mare shakes her head, tossing her mane.
"What is it, girl?" She asks as she scans the muddy road ahead.
There, lying in a heap amidst the brambles at the edge of the treeline, is a figure.
A traveler? She thinks. Injured, perhaps? If they're still alive and moving, she could bring them to the Abbey for care.
"God's grace," she rasps as the figure moves, then calls out "Good day! Are you alright?"
"A fortune," she mutters to Bess, keeping her voice low and gravelly, practicing the tone she uses when she must speak. "For roots and glue. God’s blood, the price of beauty is steep."
The horse grunts and groans as she trods along the dirt road, a conversation Aderyn relishes far more than the silence of the cloister these days. The midday sun is hidden behind them, the air thick with the smell of impending rain.
She's lost in thoughts of mixing a deeper shade of crimson for the initials of the Psalm she is currently illuminating when Bess sidesteps with a huff. Aderyn pulls them back onto the road, but the mare shakes her head, tossing her mane.
"What is it, girl?" She asks as she scans the muddy road ahead.
There, lying in a heap amidst the brambles at the edge of the treeline, is a figure.
A traveler? She thinks. Injured, perhaps? If they're still alive and moving, she could bring them to the Abbey for care.
"God's grace," she rasps as the figure moves, then calls out "Good day! Are you alright?"