Winter Chill (February 3010) [Runa]
Jan 6, 2018 20:20:50 GMT -5
Post by Léoma on Jan 6, 2018 20:20:50 GMT -5
With great pains in her hand and wrist from the winter chill, Léoma leaned down in her chair near the hearth, working the leather straps of the wooden brace on her leg. It had taken over an hour to get the fire lit and the heat to flow tolerably enough, near as she was, to even warm her hands enough to still their shaking. Now the spasms of at least her right hand were relaxing, enough for her to change her stockings and wiggle into the brace that would keep her foot straight enough to help propel her, and hopefully keep her from spasming and tripping over herself.
Working was not even worthwhile for the woman in winter. The daily tasks of keeping the house warm, caring for the chickens, and doing the menial household chores were enough to fill her days. Of course, it certainly did nothing to fill her stomach. She stored what she could during the easy months of summer, though winter weather was for naught but brown mash and water, and on occasion corn cakes; though she had run out of honey the month previous so they were most often dry. It all filled a stomach, and was more than some had, to be certain. Léoma was not homeless. She had a whole house to herself. She had wood for the fire, and if it came to it she could eat the hen's eggs, or at the worst, the hens themselves; though as income was in short supply in the winter it was better to sell the eggs at market.
Cenric, of course, would have been upset if he had known. Her twin brother had coddled her all the years of their life together before he had taken a wife and moved from the family home, and her parents had coddled her all the next ten years, rarely letting her out of their sight. She had barely cooked or kept house until they had passed on to Béma's halls in her early thirties, and though the last eight years had been a challenge; they had also been a freedom she had never been allowed to experience. Léoma had told her brother under no uncertain terms that she aimed to live independently. Still, he sent her teenage nephew, Leiknarr, by once a week to see that the wall of her home was stacked with enough wood to get by, for chopping was not something the woman could do on her own.
As the years went by, Cenric came by less often check on her as often than he once had done. Léoma was careful to let him see that she was doing well enough on her own; and she never wished her brother to think otherwise. The time would come when she would be too old to care for herself; but her health did not fail her now, and she needed the solitude and peace of her home; not the pity of whichever strangers might take her in should Cenric decide that she needed supervision. Nowhere else would she be able to take to her books and studies, to come and go as she willed, and she would be treated as but a child again. She had lived as a child in the eyes of most for thirty two years of her life, and was through with it. Winter was always difficult, yet spring would come and the ache of her muscles would relent and make life easier once more.
Léoma could hear the hens already cackling behind the house as they waited for their feed. With great effort, she managed the buckles on her braced foot, then moved forth to her boots. The right went on more easily, and she laced and tied it one handed as she had trained herself to do. Her fingers did not properly cooperate, and it took her several starts before the knot was finally secure. Then she moved onto the left, which was more of a challenge. This boot was slightly larger than the other to accommodate for the brace; and also more worn for the wood rubbing from the inside, and the drag her foot made on the outside. The boot was beginning to fall apart at the seams, yet, it needed to last until spring when she would be able to sell more eggs, and maybe find paying work again, spending time looking after one of the elder men or women who needed daily care. She could not lift or move them; but she was able to cook them stews, talk, and read to them. Her heart ached now for the missed company but it was unreasonable for her to get along out of her house every day when the ice and snow were on the ground for her to slip on, and when the wind sent her muscles to tremors.
Sometimes Léoma might reach and help the tying of her boots along with her left hand, but today she could not seem to get warm enough to do anything but keep her arm bent against her chest, her hand curled into a fist. Once the second boot was secure she rose slowly from her chair and made her way with careful steps across the house where she found the brace for her arm beside the bed. The thin leather was cold this far from the hearth, and she shivered as she slipped her hand through, and struggled, needing to use her good hand to help unbind her fingers from each other enough that she could even make the fit. Her hand was tense and white knuckled, and she needed the relief of the brace to help the soreness. Tears came to her eyes as she forcibly unbent her fingers with her strong hand, then she leaned, pressing the brace against her leg to hold it still, and wrapped the securing strap around, when the cold leather suddenly gave way and snapped before her eyes.
The woman gasped, the startlement of it sending a bolt of tension through her whole body, and she sat down on the bed hard to regain herself for some moments. The chickens were still outside the door asking for attention, and it was all she could do to to pull herself again off the bed instead of simply climbing beneath the covers and trying to sleep the day away. Her stomach groaned. She had nothing in the house to eat and had put off the trip to the market for far too long. She needed to feed the hens, gather the eggs, and take them to sell. Then she would have enough coin for oats she would buy for her porridge, and hopefully she would be able to restock her cabinet with valerian for her teas, which could help keep the muscle spasms at bay. Now she would have to pay the cobbler for repair to the leather strap, for she could do no leather and needlework on her own.
Léoma bundled herself in all the winter garments she had, and took care to put one of her fine leather gloves on her right hand. She sighed, looking to the left glove and knowing she would not be able to work her fingers into it this day, she grabbed hold of a knit mitten instead. So it was, Léoma looked between the two canes she had leaning near the doorway, and instead of the plain this day, she reached for her finely carved cane. The work was detailed in the carving style of the Rohirrim, yet the pictures set upon it were not of this grassy country; but symbols of the north lands. Most prominent was the grip, which was cut to the shape of a wolf's head. Perchance this day the wolf could give her some much needed strength. It was a frivolous thought. Nonetheless, she took her cane in hand and made for her morning chores, feeding the hens, drawing water from the ice cold stream behind her home, and gathering the eggs.
One task accomplished well, Léoma smiled to herself. At least she had not broken an egg. She carefully balanced the basket over her poor arm as she used the cane in her left and made way back to the house to gather all her eggs together into one basket. There were fewer than she had hoped, for the hens enjoyed the weather no more than she, but it would be enough for something. She tucked a cloth carefully around them so they would not be jostled as she moved, then tucked her hand splint in the side. Léoma may not be able to purchase the valerian today as she had planned, but at least the eggs would allow for her to stop by Amalric's shop. He might have time to fix a new strap for her brace.
The morning's task was a balancing act. Léoma gathered her will together, hung the basket over her left, arm, and took up her cane, making her way out the door and starting off from her home near the gatehouse uphill to the markets near Meduseld. She must be careful over each step to keep from stumbling and tripping, as well as slipping on the icy street, so she moved slowly and, and tried to keep the eggs in the basket to remain steady despite the rolling swing of her leg and hip. She saw eyes drawn toward her as she walked, and said not a word to them in response, keeping her steady gaze upon her task. Wandering eyes were nothing new for Léoma. Her name had been upon the lips of the town gossips since her very birth, and they were not about to leave her be now; though she knew she had done more than many of them had ever expected. She had a pride in her independence which she would not let go of, no matter how difficult winter may be.
After a long journey uphill, she began to pass by the cobbler shop and saw the gentle curl of smoke overhead. Suddenly her spirit lifted; she had always enjoyed speaking with Amalric, for the short times that she did, and Léoma had not had a single word with another human in the near week since Leiknarr had last stopped by her home. Her nephew was always busy and barely stayed long enough to exchange anything beyond formalities as it was. Winter had been long and lonely. Someone was in the shop, and Léoma could hear the cobbler's deep voice breaking through the icy air and laughing, and it brought a smile to her lips.
The distraction of the shopkeep, nevertheless, was all it took for Léoma's unsteady leg to make a wrong step upon the icy hill and send her sprawling hard to the ground with a cry. Truly, she was not unused to falling; it was part of her very nature and near daily that she made a spill of some sort. Though she was clumsy, she was not frail and would not break from it. Yet to do so upon the street in front of all who were on their own errands made her feel shamed, and her face heated to an abnormal temperature in the thin air. She looked up the hill to the market stall. She had been so close. Now the eggs lay broken on the street in front of her, and she feared for the city dogs which would soon appear out of nowhere for the sake of her spill to lap up the golden yolks. Still, her eyes looked over the eggshells before her as if to find perhaps a few of the white ovals had escaped the trauma, but the dripping yolks came from each and every one. Léoma felt a pang of hunger in her stomach, wishing she had cooked at least one for the yellow waste that now lay on the snow and dirt.
Working was not even worthwhile for the woman in winter. The daily tasks of keeping the house warm, caring for the chickens, and doing the menial household chores were enough to fill her days. Of course, it certainly did nothing to fill her stomach. She stored what she could during the easy months of summer, though winter weather was for naught but brown mash and water, and on occasion corn cakes; though she had run out of honey the month previous so they were most often dry. It all filled a stomach, and was more than some had, to be certain. Léoma was not homeless. She had a whole house to herself. She had wood for the fire, and if it came to it she could eat the hen's eggs, or at the worst, the hens themselves; though as income was in short supply in the winter it was better to sell the eggs at market.
Cenric, of course, would have been upset if he had known. Her twin brother had coddled her all the years of their life together before he had taken a wife and moved from the family home, and her parents had coddled her all the next ten years, rarely letting her out of their sight. She had barely cooked or kept house until they had passed on to Béma's halls in her early thirties, and though the last eight years had been a challenge; they had also been a freedom she had never been allowed to experience. Léoma had told her brother under no uncertain terms that she aimed to live independently. Still, he sent her teenage nephew, Leiknarr, by once a week to see that the wall of her home was stacked with enough wood to get by, for chopping was not something the woman could do on her own.
As the years went by, Cenric came by less often check on her as often than he once had done. Léoma was careful to let him see that she was doing well enough on her own; and she never wished her brother to think otherwise. The time would come when she would be too old to care for herself; but her health did not fail her now, and she needed the solitude and peace of her home; not the pity of whichever strangers might take her in should Cenric decide that she needed supervision. Nowhere else would she be able to take to her books and studies, to come and go as she willed, and she would be treated as but a child again. She had lived as a child in the eyes of most for thirty two years of her life, and was through with it. Winter was always difficult, yet spring would come and the ache of her muscles would relent and make life easier once more.
Léoma could hear the hens already cackling behind the house as they waited for their feed. With great effort, she managed the buckles on her braced foot, then moved forth to her boots. The right went on more easily, and she laced and tied it one handed as she had trained herself to do. Her fingers did not properly cooperate, and it took her several starts before the knot was finally secure. Then she moved onto the left, which was more of a challenge. This boot was slightly larger than the other to accommodate for the brace; and also more worn for the wood rubbing from the inside, and the drag her foot made on the outside. The boot was beginning to fall apart at the seams, yet, it needed to last until spring when she would be able to sell more eggs, and maybe find paying work again, spending time looking after one of the elder men or women who needed daily care. She could not lift or move them; but she was able to cook them stews, talk, and read to them. Her heart ached now for the missed company but it was unreasonable for her to get along out of her house every day when the ice and snow were on the ground for her to slip on, and when the wind sent her muscles to tremors.
Sometimes Léoma might reach and help the tying of her boots along with her left hand, but today she could not seem to get warm enough to do anything but keep her arm bent against her chest, her hand curled into a fist. Once the second boot was secure she rose slowly from her chair and made her way with careful steps across the house where she found the brace for her arm beside the bed. The thin leather was cold this far from the hearth, and she shivered as she slipped her hand through, and struggled, needing to use her good hand to help unbind her fingers from each other enough that she could even make the fit. Her hand was tense and white knuckled, and she needed the relief of the brace to help the soreness. Tears came to her eyes as she forcibly unbent her fingers with her strong hand, then she leaned, pressing the brace against her leg to hold it still, and wrapped the securing strap around, when the cold leather suddenly gave way and snapped before her eyes.
The woman gasped, the startlement of it sending a bolt of tension through her whole body, and she sat down on the bed hard to regain herself for some moments. The chickens were still outside the door asking for attention, and it was all she could do to to pull herself again off the bed instead of simply climbing beneath the covers and trying to sleep the day away. Her stomach groaned. She had nothing in the house to eat and had put off the trip to the market for far too long. She needed to feed the hens, gather the eggs, and take them to sell. Then she would have enough coin for oats she would buy for her porridge, and hopefully she would be able to restock her cabinet with valerian for her teas, which could help keep the muscle spasms at bay. Now she would have to pay the cobbler for repair to the leather strap, for she could do no leather and needlework on her own.
Léoma bundled herself in all the winter garments she had, and took care to put one of her fine leather gloves on her right hand. She sighed, looking to the left glove and knowing she would not be able to work her fingers into it this day, she grabbed hold of a knit mitten instead. So it was, Léoma looked between the two canes she had leaning near the doorway, and instead of the plain this day, she reached for her finely carved cane. The work was detailed in the carving style of the Rohirrim, yet the pictures set upon it were not of this grassy country; but symbols of the north lands. Most prominent was the grip, which was cut to the shape of a wolf's head. Perchance this day the wolf could give her some much needed strength. It was a frivolous thought. Nonetheless, she took her cane in hand and made for her morning chores, feeding the hens, drawing water from the ice cold stream behind her home, and gathering the eggs.
One task accomplished well, Léoma smiled to herself. At least she had not broken an egg. She carefully balanced the basket over her poor arm as she used the cane in her left and made way back to the house to gather all her eggs together into one basket. There were fewer than she had hoped, for the hens enjoyed the weather no more than she, but it would be enough for something. She tucked a cloth carefully around them so they would not be jostled as she moved, then tucked her hand splint in the side. Léoma may not be able to purchase the valerian today as she had planned, but at least the eggs would allow for her to stop by Amalric's shop. He might have time to fix a new strap for her brace.
The morning's task was a balancing act. Léoma gathered her will together, hung the basket over her left, arm, and took up her cane, making her way out the door and starting off from her home near the gatehouse uphill to the markets near Meduseld. She must be careful over each step to keep from stumbling and tripping, as well as slipping on the icy street, so she moved slowly and, and tried to keep the eggs in the basket to remain steady despite the rolling swing of her leg and hip. She saw eyes drawn toward her as she walked, and said not a word to them in response, keeping her steady gaze upon her task. Wandering eyes were nothing new for Léoma. Her name had been upon the lips of the town gossips since her very birth, and they were not about to leave her be now; though she knew she had done more than many of them had ever expected. She had a pride in her independence which she would not let go of, no matter how difficult winter may be.
After a long journey uphill, she began to pass by the cobbler shop and saw the gentle curl of smoke overhead. Suddenly her spirit lifted; she had always enjoyed speaking with Amalric, for the short times that she did, and Léoma had not had a single word with another human in the near week since Leiknarr had last stopped by her home. Her nephew was always busy and barely stayed long enough to exchange anything beyond formalities as it was. Winter had been long and lonely. Someone was in the shop, and Léoma could hear the cobbler's deep voice breaking through the icy air and laughing, and it brought a smile to her lips.
The distraction of the shopkeep, nevertheless, was all it took for Léoma's unsteady leg to make a wrong step upon the icy hill and send her sprawling hard to the ground with a cry. Truly, she was not unused to falling; it was part of her very nature and near daily that she made a spill of some sort. Though she was clumsy, she was not frail and would not break from it. Yet to do so upon the street in front of all who were on their own errands made her feel shamed, and her face heated to an abnormal temperature in the thin air. She looked up the hill to the market stall. She had been so close. Now the eggs lay broken on the street in front of her, and she feared for the city dogs which would soon appear out of nowhere for the sake of her spill to lap up the golden yolks. Still, her eyes looked over the eggshells before her as if to find perhaps a few of the white ovals had escaped the trauma, but the dripping yolks came from each and every one. Léoma felt a pang of hunger in her stomach, wishing she had cooked at least one for the yellow waste that now lay on the snow and dirt.