The womans' hands were not visible as she hurried along the village street. Both were tucked snugly beneath her woolen cloak, and the hood was cast over her head, which was bent downward beneath a pelting, icy rain.
Her boots sucked unpleasantly at the half-frozen mud beneath her, while each raindrop sparkled upon striking the earth. The light from the struggling street torches turned each one into a pale gold explosion, visible for a breath and then gone.
"Just a moment!" she cried out to the dim figure at the crossing ahead. A young man on horseback was turned into a shapeless pyramid beneath his own cloak. The sun was not yet risen, and the world seemed held in an ethereal, grey shadow. She could not make out his face.
"If you please," said the woman breathlessly, drawing near to the horse. A hand finally slipped into view, swiftly closing the gap between them. In her pale fingers was a small envelope, sealed with wax.
Silently, the young courier reached down and grasped the letter. He brought it to his face and squinted at the name and address written there. Before the rain could sodden it further, he quickly stashed it into the folds of his cloak. "Aye," is all he said.
Stepping back in haste, the woman bowed her head in a deep nod. "Thank you," she said, her voice muffled and distorted by the whispering patter of the storm.
The horse was turned about, and a shower of mud kicked into the air as he leapt forward towards the village gate. The woman stood still and gazed after the retreating shape, and for a long moment, she did not think of the cold rain that was seeping through her cloak and over the tops of her shoes.
