I regret naught. Not the many hours stolen from sleep, to sew and embroider my wedding dress anew; not the reddened and chapped hands, sore for the scrubbing of Ceorlgar's house, our future love nest. Not the constant, slight, hunger, because every copper I can spare will help me buying the special, beautiful, fabrics and threads I need for my trousseau; and every good morsel and worthy meal should be for my beloved. He is a man, he needs it more than me.
Harfed's Farm, Sutcrofts, two years ago.
Gleothain scolds her. She fainted while milking the cow, and so he found out she had eaten almost naught in the last two days.
«How can you work in this state, ha? Are you crazy, little stupid wench?»
«I need to buy more fabric for the nightwear; I don't want my future husband think I am cheap and do not care for him, for... what he will sleep with.»
Gleothain looks at her little face, reddened in modesty, and a sincere smile cracks the rugged face of the farmer. A callous hand caresses Ulcwyne's hair, gently.
«You will be a wonderful wife and mother, Ulcwyne. I am proud of you.»
The young girl smiles, content, at the praise.
I want it to be marvelous. The best day of my life, it can't be anything less.
I will wear green: Ceorlgar likes green.
And it will be heartwarming, to have my sister at my side, despite everything. My family...
Harfed's Farm, Sutcrofts, one year ago.
The new farmhand was handsome. Young, merry, with bright blue eyes and a charming smile. And gazes were exchanged, and he so often paused his work to tell jokes to Ulcwyne, and laugh together with her.
The little girl was becoming a woman, the cheeks turning red when his gaze was falling on her.
Until that day, when the handsome farmhand tried to rob her of her first kiss. So abruptly, so viciously, not wanting to accept a "no" for an answer, uncaring of her tears. She was lucky her brother heard the commotion and ran to see.
After the uppity lad was beaten and kicked out of the premises, Ulcwyne passed the rest of the evening in Gleothain's comforting hug, weeping, her heart broken. The rugged brother knew little of how to comfort, or even help, a young lass in need; his heart was bleeding for her suffering and his own inability to help. It worked, though: the bond between the two siblings reinforced, the suffering soothened.
What time is it? Already so late? Better put away the needles and rush, or the dinner will never be ready in time. I don't want Ceorlgar returning home and not finding dinner, and a warm bath ready for him. I better set the cauldron on the fire now, so the water will be warm enough for when he arrives home. And the towels, here, close to the heart. Then hurry again, for I have a double shift tonight in the Meadhall.
Harfed's Farm, Sutcrofts, less than one year ago.
Beautifully handcrafted: Gleothain always had a knack for engravings. A sewing metal box, small, yet perfect to hold everything Ulcwyne needs: needles, bundles of thread, her personal spindle - he has considered the size perfectly, while keeping it small enough to be carried in a pouch.
«Merry age-reckoning, Ulcwyne»
And she hugs her brother, moved, holding him tight.
