Hair of Woven Sunlight (May 2986) - [Talfryn]
Jan 18, 2018 7:54:14 GMT -5
Post by Runa on Jan 18, 2018 7:54:14 GMT -5
“Here’s that fresh honeycake for you,” the baker grinned as he came from the back, a tray in hand with a succulent golden treat drizzled in white sugar presented in his hands. Brandr smiled, his blue eyes lifting to the baker in thanks. It looked divine, and was precisely what his niece wanted for her fourth Name Day the next day.
“Looks good as always, Saeward,” Torsten interjected, laughing slightly and taking a long whiff of the warm, fragrant coils that rose from the honeycake and into the air of the small bakery. “Perfect for a Name Day feast!”
Brandr nodded, and watched with a watering mouth as Saeward swept the cake to the small box and tied brown twine about it to keep it shut. “Well, I do my best for Name Day princesses!” The baker volleyed with a laugh of his own.
That caused Brandr to chuckle. “She’s certainly no princess. Runa will tell you very quick she’s a shield-maiden.”
“Well, I didn’t hear her complain,” Saeward countered, turning and presenting the box, still warm with the fresh honeycake inside. “All little girls want to be princesses. My daughter’s that way—my son, though, wants to be called a proper Eored Marshal!”
That made Brandr laugh, and he turned. “What do you say, Runi? Are you a—Runi?” There was nothing but treats behind glass panes where the man remembered his niece standing, and the young man caught his breath and wheeled wildly to his elder brother. “Tor, where’s Runi?”
Torsten turned, though like his brother was greeted with an empty shop. He glanced to Brandr; he had a look of panic in his eye that the man had not even seen when they were out upon the plain with the Eored staring down an onslaught of orc. “Hold the cake for us, Saeward?” Already, Torsten was bounding for the door. “Hurry, Brand! Bema have mercy, Amalric is going to kill us.”
--
The market was a strange and busy place full of many legs. Some were standing, some were moving, some belonged to dogs, some belonged to people, and still others belonged to horses with hooves that clopped with iron shoes. Runa, standing tall as a big girl was meant to, weaved through the forest of adults, bright eyes scanning the many legs, looking for the four she sought. She had seen the foal plod by the bakery from the window in the door not but a few minutes past, and had asked her uncles if she could go out and see it. Her uncles were always quick to say yes, even while they were talking with other grown-ups. Mama always asked her to wait and be polite. Still, she had gotten outside to find the little baby horse already heading into the crowd.
She called for the foal, though it had not heard her. It had continued further down into the market on its lead, the thin legs gangly as it stepped. Runa hesitated a moment, but she knew her uncles would say it was all right to go see the foal anyway, so she took off. They never said no, after all. Now, though, the baby horse seemed to be gone, and she frowned as she looked around, trying to spy the stormy coat and black mane.
“’Scoose me, siw,” Runa said brightly, a little hand coming to rise and grab the tunic of a man buying fresh vegetables from the grocer’s stand. “Did yow see the littew pony go this way?” The man did not seem to hear or feel her, though, and the little girl frowned. “’Scoose me!” She repeated a bit louder, a slight furrow of her brow framing her serious expression. The foal was going to be gone if she did not find it soon.
That got the man’s attention, and he looked down, frowning incredulously. Runa was used to being told she was a pretty little girl, though what that meant she did not understand. “Gracious Bema, are you lost, child?” The man had a grey beard and green eyes; certainly a stranger—but all the people in Edoras were good. Papa always said it was the best city in Arda, after all.
“No, siw. I’m not lawst,” Runa said plainly. “Did you see the littew pony go by?” She asked.
“Oh…no, I—” The man started.
Runa with her cherubic face and glittering blue eyes sighed. “All wight. Thank you, siw.” And with that, started off once more, leaving the man behind blinking and wondering if perhaps he should reach out and catch her. Still, the girl was moving with confidence, and she had not seemed afraid. Perhaps she was not lost after all. He glanced around the market, wondering if he could catch sight of anyone she might belong to, though nobody else seemed to have hair that looked made of woven sunlight.
Lost she was not, but she had misplaced the foal. Its velvety nose had been so sweet, its clippity-cloppy hooves so small and excited; Runa simply had to find it. Tomorrow was her Name Day, after all. She should get to pet the foal before it grew up like she was going to. Once more she was weaving through the legs of the market eyes darting first one way and then the other in search of the storm-grey baby, though so far she could catch no sight of it.
“Looks good as always, Saeward,” Torsten interjected, laughing slightly and taking a long whiff of the warm, fragrant coils that rose from the honeycake and into the air of the small bakery. “Perfect for a Name Day feast!”
Brandr nodded, and watched with a watering mouth as Saeward swept the cake to the small box and tied brown twine about it to keep it shut. “Well, I do my best for Name Day princesses!” The baker volleyed with a laugh of his own.
That caused Brandr to chuckle. “She’s certainly no princess. Runa will tell you very quick she’s a shield-maiden.”
“Well, I didn’t hear her complain,” Saeward countered, turning and presenting the box, still warm with the fresh honeycake inside. “All little girls want to be princesses. My daughter’s that way—my son, though, wants to be called a proper Eored Marshal!”
That made Brandr laugh, and he turned. “What do you say, Runi? Are you a—Runi?” There was nothing but treats behind glass panes where the man remembered his niece standing, and the young man caught his breath and wheeled wildly to his elder brother. “Tor, where’s Runi?”
Torsten turned, though like his brother was greeted with an empty shop. He glanced to Brandr; he had a look of panic in his eye that the man had not even seen when they were out upon the plain with the Eored staring down an onslaught of orc. “Hold the cake for us, Saeward?” Already, Torsten was bounding for the door. “Hurry, Brand! Bema have mercy, Amalric is going to kill us.”
--
The market was a strange and busy place full of many legs. Some were standing, some were moving, some belonged to dogs, some belonged to people, and still others belonged to horses with hooves that clopped with iron shoes. Runa, standing tall as a big girl was meant to, weaved through the forest of adults, bright eyes scanning the many legs, looking for the four she sought. She had seen the foal plod by the bakery from the window in the door not but a few minutes past, and had asked her uncles if she could go out and see it. Her uncles were always quick to say yes, even while they were talking with other grown-ups. Mama always asked her to wait and be polite. Still, she had gotten outside to find the little baby horse already heading into the crowd.
She called for the foal, though it had not heard her. It had continued further down into the market on its lead, the thin legs gangly as it stepped. Runa hesitated a moment, but she knew her uncles would say it was all right to go see the foal anyway, so she took off. They never said no, after all. Now, though, the baby horse seemed to be gone, and she frowned as she looked around, trying to spy the stormy coat and black mane.
“’Scoose me, siw,” Runa said brightly, a little hand coming to rise and grab the tunic of a man buying fresh vegetables from the grocer’s stand. “Did yow see the littew pony go this way?” The man did not seem to hear or feel her, though, and the little girl frowned. “’Scoose me!” She repeated a bit louder, a slight furrow of her brow framing her serious expression. The foal was going to be gone if she did not find it soon.
That got the man’s attention, and he looked down, frowning incredulously. Runa was used to being told she was a pretty little girl, though what that meant she did not understand. “Gracious Bema, are you lost, child?” The man had a grey beard and green eyes; certainly a stranger—but all the people in Edoras were good. Papa always said it was the best city in Arda, after all.
“No, siw. I’m not lawst,” Runa said plainly. “Did you see the littew pony go by?” She asked.
“Oh…no, I—” The man started.
Runa with her cherubic face and glittering blue eyes sighed. “All wight. Thank you, siw.” And with that, started off once more, leaving the man behind blinking and wondering if perhaps he should reach out and catch her. Still, the girl was moving with confidence, and she had not seemed afraid. Perhaps she was not lost after all. He glanced around the market, wondering if he could catch sight of anyone she might belong to, though nobody else seemed to have hair that looked made of woven sunlight.
Lost she was not, but she had misplaced the foal. Its velvety nose had been so sweet, its clippity-cloppy hooves so small and excited; Runa simply had to find it. Tomorrow was her Name Day, after all. She should get to pet the foal before it grew up like she was going to. Once more she was weaving through the legs of the market eyes darting first one way and then the other in search of the storm-grey baby, though so far she could catch no sight of it.