The world seemed very still, save for the soft, rhythmic crunch of worn leather shoes upon gravelly soil, and the gentle pulse of her breath. Now and then, a bird called in the distance, though the sound felt sleepy and dream-like in the cold stillness of the winter morning. Ahead, the white-grey walls of Snowbourn loomed, and to her left, the rolling horizon was brushed with streaks of pink as dawn approached.
Her feet continued to move steadily while she briskly shook out her cloak, and then draped it around her shoulders. One hand clasped the garment tightly beneath her throat, while the other dragged its fingers hastily through the tousled waves of her ashen hair.
His words continued to play in her mind, over and over; a repeating chorus that she could not seem to turn off. Certain phrases, the tone of his voice, the curious, fearful edge that had not seemed like the man she knew at all. Her pulse hammered in her chest, quaking her bones, and as she neared the gate, her cheeks felt oddly hot and flushed.
"All right there, my lady?" One of the guards called out as she drew close.
She could only wonder at her state, whether she looked presentable or not. A young woman hurrying along the road in the darkness was bound to raise concern. Don't be so paranoid, she scolded inwardly, while casting a quick, stiff smile at the guard. "Aye, I am well." The man gave a single nod and turned his attention back to the road.
Her head swam as she walked on, a solitary figure hurrying through the dim, misty streets while the townsfolk still slumbered. Had she slept at all? The thought of her bed beside the crackling fire was suddenly all too alluring. Surely, Elfswith would not begrudge her a few hours of rest before attending to the stable duties! She felt an urgent, overwhelming need to be alone, to rest, to think. To puzzle over the past several hours and try to make sense of them.
Where was he now? Where had he gone? What was he doing? Distracted, her foot splashed directly into a puddle, soaking her shoe and stocking. She recoiled with a soft yelp, followed by a low curse in her mother tongue, and then a dry chuckle.
As she swept on in a flurry of billowing cloak, passing in and out of the yellow pools of light from the lamps, she murmured and muttered to herself. Her fair, pale features alternated between wry smiles and dark frowns. And when she at last arrived at the door of her cottage, she paused to groan loudly and thump her skull against it, before yanking it open and vanishing inside.
