Golden Chance (January 3010) {Einion}
Dec 8, 2017 23:26:46 GMT -5
Post by Freahilda on Dec 8, 2017 23:26:46 GMT -5
Tlink.
The sound of metal clinking in a coin purse drew Freahilda's attention. The market was humming this cold December day. Colorful cloaks and kaftans. Men and women moved about with carts and baskets. They all seemed tall and noble compared to the band she had come to know as her 'family'. It was times like these that Freahilda could almost forget that she had once been one of them. A lady of Rohan. A lady who had once longed to see the city of Edoras, and the green banners waving over Meduseld.
Now she was simply a Dunlending, traveling along with her motley crew from village to village. Selling their wares. Talfryn had his cart set up in the market this morning and had not needed her, offering her the opportunity to roam through the market stalls and about the market street. There was the Golden Hall ahead on the hill. It was beautiful against the blue sky; how she had always imagined. Even the small houses and shops seemed lovely compared to the way they lived camping upon the plains.
She eyed the person in front of her, as they put away their coin purse after making their purchases, when she saw it happen. A coin fell to the muddy street. Freahilda's eyes widened, and she looked about her. The person began to walk to another market stall, and the young woman took a few steps forward and picked it up. It was heavy in her hand. A large coin. It must be a week's pay for someone. A month's perhaps? It was worth far more than what Talfryn sold in wares in one village. The metal shone in the sunlight, and she wrapped her fingers about the cold luck.
What did people do with all that gold? What did they buy? How much food could be purchased for that… something finer than the stringy game the boys brought to the camp, and roots she could dig on the plains. It had been long since she had enjoyed roasted chicken, and longer yet since she had tasted pork, or fresh soft bread baked in a true oven, not the flat bread she cooked over the fire. Was it enough gold for a horse? Maybe not a fine one but an old one, that could get her where she wished to be. Perhaps not quite.
Her eyes shifted over the market. All those things she would admire, but never buy. The wool. Oh the wool! Soft and luxurious the yarns seemed. Colorful and beautiful the cloths. Cloaks for sale, thick and warm. Kaftans luxurious. She could look a Rohirric lady again wearing something like that.
If she had not once known the feel of the best woolens. If her family had not once raised the finest sheep on the Westfold. If her mother had not been a spinner and a weaver of warm, soft cloth. Perhaps she would not have missed it, she mused. Still. She looked down at the shining coin. Talfryn would notice, and wonder where she had come of it. The fur wrap she had now was enough to keep her warm, mismatched skins of deer, rabbit, possum, squirrel. Whatever the boys had come up with and she had tanned and stitched together for herself. The gold would keep better in her own purse. She would tuck it away. Stitch it into her clothes to hide like she did with all the others. She shifted the skins upon her back and looked up.
Freahilda swallowed hard and her breath quickened, looking around her for a moment, she flipped the hem of her sleeve and tucked the coin into a specially placed slit that led to a small pocket she had hidden the two layers of her dress. Her work was done quickly and she straightened her sleeve again, feeling the weight of the coin resting against her wrist.
The sound of metal clinking in a coin purse drew Freahilda's attention. The market was humming this cold December day. Colorful cloaks and kaftans. Men and women moved about with carts and baskets. They all seemed tall and noble compared to the band she had come to know as her 'family'. It was times like these that Freahilda could almost forget that she had once been one of them. A lady of Rohan. A lady who had once longed to see the city of Edoras, and the green banners waving over Meduseld.
Now she was simply a Dunlending, traveling along with her motley crew from village to village. Selling their wares. Talfryn had his cart set up in the market this morning and had not needed her, offering her the opportunity to roam through the market stalls and about the market street. There was the Golden Hall ahead on the hill. It was beautiful against the blue sky; how she had always imagined. Even the small houses and shops seemed lovely compared to the way they lived camping upon the plains.
She eyed the person in front of her, as they put away their coin purse after making their purchases, when she saw it happen. A coin fell to the muddy street. Freahilda's eyes widened, and she looked about her. The person began to walk to another market stall, and the young woman took a few steps forward and picked it up. It was heavy in her hand. A large coin. It must be a week's pay for someone. A month's perhaps? It was worth far more than what Talfryn sold in wares in one village. The metal shone in the sunlight, and she wrapped her fingers about the cold luck.
What did people do with all that gold? What did they buy? How much food could be purchased for that… something finer than the stringy game the boys brought to the camp, and roots she could dig on the plains. It had been long since she had enjoyed roasted chicken, and longer yet since she had tasted pork, or fresh soft bread baked in a true oven, not the flat bread she cooked over the fire. Was it enough gold for a horse? Maybe not a fine one but an old one, that could get her where she wished to be. Perhaps not quite.
Her eyes shifted over the market. All those things she would admire, but never buy. The wool. Oh the wool! Soft and luxurious the yarns seemed. Colorful and beautiful the cloths. Cloaks for sale, thick and warm. Kaftans luxurious. She could look a Rohirric lady again wearing something like that.
If she had not once known the feel of the best woolens. If her family had not once raised the finest sheep on the Westfold. If her mother had not been a spinner and a weaver of warm, soft cloth. Perhaps she would not have missed it, she mused. Still. She looked down at the shining coin. Talfryn would notice, and wonder where she had come of it. The fur wrap she had now was enough to keep her warm, mismatched skins of deer, rabbit, possum, squirrel. Whatever the boys had come up with and she had tanned and stitched together for herself. The gold would keep better in her own purse. She would tuck it away. Stitch it into her clothes to hide like she did with all the others. She shifted the skins upon her back and looked up.
Freahilda swallowed hard and her breath quickened, looking around her for a moment, she flipped the hem of her sleeve and tucked the coin into a specially placed slit that led to a small pocket she had hidden the two layers of her dress. Her work was done quickly and she straightened her sleeve again, feeling the weight of the coin resting against her wrist.