Colored Glass {May 3010} (Avila)
Dec 1, 2018 13:19:28 GMT -5
Post by Léoma on Dec 1, 2018 13:19:28 GMT -5
The thought of fresh vegetables to cook with supper seemed a pleasure. Lieknarr and Deoric were due to stop by her home, and even if she could rare convince her nephews to stay and sit with her, the woman wished to have the scent of stew cooking. She had questioned herself, as if it was in good conscious to tempt her nephews to stay with good cooked food, and decided there could not be much harm in it. They were hungry, growing boys afterall, they did her an enormous service in tending to her wood for her, and Léoma ached for the company. For family. Even if they only stopped to eat, the sound of her small house with chairs scraping, and plates clattering upon the table, and the boys bantering back and forth could fill an empty room to the brim.
Basket in one arm, cane in the other, it was a warm enough day for spring, and Léoma was cloaked though it hung back behind her shoulders now. She need not be inhibited so fully by the cloak which made her movements all the simpler, though without a cloak wrapped about her, more visible the toes of her boots as she walked with gaited step, her left foot scraping the earth as it curled inward; half dragging it, her shoe which had been patched many times for the wear she put on it would leave a slight trail behind her on the earth street. Léoma was careful that the basket of eggs she had sought to trade would not be scattered upon the street for the dogs to lap.
She made her business short, and gathered the items which were needed, and made her way from the grocer with greater ease. It was not that her footsteps came more sure, but if the carrots and turnips should fall to the street, it would not trouble the stew to contain bruised vegetables. She had left some dried venison to soak in the pot for her outing to try and liven the meal up. Baking bread would take most of the afternoon, and then the boys would be there while the smell of it came browning. She hoped it would tempt them.
Ah, she was grateful to simply have a good meal. It was thanks to Amalric that she ate at all. All her thanks were given to Béma for the man who had given her a job. Enough to keep her fed, and though it was only June, Léoma here and there would make purchases at the market to tuck away safe should the winter months fall harsh upon her again. To look in her cupboard now with various jars of beans and grains, it was a wonder she was not a squirrel. Her pantry stores may not have seemed much to an average family, but Léoma was just one person, and she was used to the barren look, and scraping to get by.
The day warm and airy, Léoma browsed for a short while at the markets, passing by most things which were not necessity, though she stalled a moment near the stall of a clothier, wondering that perhaps this year she would seek cloth for something warmer for winter. She could not deny her old cloak was drawing thin, worn, and she thought back upon the years she had used it. Not even a woman’s cloak, it had belonged to a man before her, and she had once been warm and comfortable beneath the heavy folds, yet now threadbare in places, thin, and torn along the bottom edge. Ah, it was perhaps time, though she knew she would never dispose of it. Some twenty years past it had been a gift most rare; given in warmth and understanding, in kinship, with a kiss she had never forgotten left upon her forehead.
Twenty years, and the thought of it could nearly make her flush. It was almost painful; the thought of replacing the worn green cloak after so long. Léoma had to turn from the busier street before her cheeks gave way to the tinge of pink, and she shifted her cane to the arm she carried her basket upon, leaning against the wall of a building for a moment as finger’s clutched the thin, green fabric.
It was at that moment that Léoma heard voices and glanced back upon the street. Her face drew flat for a moment as a trio of women were nearing, speaking in hushed tones to one another; two blondes, and one of firey red hair in the middle. The three of them, Léoma knew by name; she had seen them grow as children into the women they were, and on occasion they had spoken, but Léoma had hardly found the conversations wholesome. Somewhat condescending. They were the type of women she sought often to avoid, and this day was no different. Without looking upon which market shop she was entering, Léoma put herself through the doorway, walking askance for her cane was simply held in hand and not used.
There was a breath of relief from her as she felt she had avoided a situation she did not wish to enter, and she heard the women giving farewells outside the store. The store. Léoma looked at the displays and found herself looking upon glassworks and sculpted metal. It was Otmar, the shop of the jeweler and it had been some time since she had entered, for Léoma wore no bangles nor beads. Not even a cloak pin as she had stuck herself too many times with such and preferred one which she could lace.
How unfortunate for her, that footsteps sounded behind, and Léoma gave have a glance to the doorway where a woman of pale blonde hair had entered after.
Only one of the three, she thought to herself when she saw Avila. Avoidance may be allowed, if she would bide her time until the woman stepped from the door she could slip out again. Léoma took several steps to the side of the room, and decided to occupy herself by letting her fingers sift through a basket of beads. Colored beads, and clear glass. Her hand trembled as it did often and she wondered over the fact that some had hands which were steady, to make ornate braids within their hair and weave these small treasures within. Well, they were nothing Léoma had ever worn, nor would she. Frivolities she had no expense for, though they were beautiful. Wonderful creations made by human hands. Leoma admired the master craftsmen who could work such delicate bits of colored glass into something small and beautiful. She could admire them; and for a moment, she did.
Basket in one arm, cane in the other, it was a warm enough day for spring, and Léoma was cloaked though it hung back behind her shoulders now. She need not be inhibited so fully by the cloak which made her movements all the simpler, though without a cloak wrapped about her, more visible the toes of her boots as she walked with gaited step, her left foot scraping the earth as it curled inward; half dragging it, her shoe which had been patched many times for the wear she put on it would leave a slight trail behind her on the earth street. Léoma was careful that the basket of eggs she had sought to trade would not be scattered upon the street for the dogs to lap.
She made her business short, and gathered the items which were needed, and made her way from the grocer with greater ease. It was not that her footsteps came more sure, but if the carrots and turnips should fall to the street, it would not trouble the stew to contain bruised vegetables. She had left some dried venison to soak in the pot for her outing to try and liven the meal up. Baking bread would take most of the afternoon, and then the boys would be there while the smell of it came browning. She hoped it would tempt them.
Ah, she was grateful to simply have a good meal. It was thanks to Amalric that she ate at all. All her thanks were given to Béma for the man who had given her a job. Enough to keep her fed, and though it was only June, Léoma here and there would make purchases at the market to tuck away safe should the winter months fall harsh upon her again. To look in her cupboard now with various jars of beans and grains, it was a wonder she was not a squirrel. Her pantry stores may not have seemed much to an average family, but Léoma was just one person, and she was used to the barren look, and scraping to get by.
The day warm and airy, Léoma browsed for a short while at the markets, passing by most things which were not necessity, though she stalled a moment near the stall of a clothier, wondering that perhaps this year she would seek cloth for something warmer for winter. She could not deny her old cloak was drawing thin, worn, and she thought back upon the years she had used it. Not even a woman’s cloak, it had belonged to a man before her, and she had once been warm and comfortable beneath the heavy folds, yet now threadbare in places, thin, and torn along the bottom edge. Ah, it was perhaps time, though she knew she would never dispose of it. Some twenty years past it had been a gift most rare; given in warmth and understanding, in kinship, with a kiss she had never forgotten left upon her forehead.
Twenty years, and the thought of it could nearly make her flush. It was almost painful; the thought of replacing the worn green cloak after so long. Léoma had to turn from the busier street before her cheeks gave way to the tinge of pink, and she shifted her cane to the arm she carried her basket upon, leaning against the wall of a building for a moment as finger’s clutched the thin, green fabric.
It was at that moment that Léoma heard voices and glanced back upon the street. Her face drew flat for a moment as a trio of women were nearing, speaking in hushed tones to one another; two blondes, and one of firey red hair in the middle. The three of them, Léoma knew by name; she had seen them grow as children into the women they were, and on occasion they had spoken, but Léoma had hardly found the conversations wholesome. Somewhat condescending. They were the type of women she sought often to avoid, and this day was no different. Without looking upon which market shop she was entering, Léoma put herself through the doorway, walking askance for her cane was simply held in hand and not used.
There was a breath of relief from her as she felt she had avoided a situation she did not wish to enter, and she heard the women giving farewells outside the store. The store. Léoma looked at the displays and found herself looking upon glassworks and sculpted metal. It was Otmar, the shop of the jeweler and it had been some time since she had entered, for Léoma wore no bangles nor beads. Not even a cloak pin as she had stuck herself too many times with such and preferred one which she could lace.
How unfortunate for her, that footsteps sounded behind, and Léoma gave have a glance to the doorway where a woman of pale blonde hair had entered after.
Only one of the three, she thought to herself when she saw Avila. Avoidance may be allowed, if she would bide her time until the woman stepped from the door she could slip out again. Léoma took several steps to the side of the room, and decided to occupy herself by letting her fingers sift through a basket of beads. Colored beads, and clear glass. Her hand trembled as it did often and she wondered over the fact that some had hands which were steady, to make ornate braids within their hair and weave these small treasures within. Well, they were nothing Léoma had ever worn, nor would she. Frivolities she had no expense for, though they were beautiful. Wonderful creations made by human hands. Leoma admired the master craftsmen who could work such delicate bits of colored glass into something small and beautiful. She could admire them; and for a moment, she did.