it is a gracious compromise that alette accepts. she wonders if the girl – she realizes now she hasn’t gotten a name yet – would have been her friend if the world was not in panic. of course not, alette responds to herself, you would never have left skogr.
when alette catches odd’s eye, she nods a hello. the old chieftain’s wife looks tired like the rest of them, but she looks to the girl’s companion and somehow manages a smile. despite the ache in her feet she can no longer ignore and the never - ending feelings of dread, it gives alette a small bit of hope.
she looks back at the gates that seem to eclipse the sun that no longer sets. still there are guards, and she wonders just how tired they must be as well. she searches for odd once more, but she has slipped back into the crowd of tired and hungry mothers, no doubt doing all she can to help as well. at least until they can figure out a way behind those walls.
“could it be that they haven’t food either?” it is an honest question, one that she is sure she already knows the answer to. she then changes the line of questions to not sound as half naive, “how often do the carts come? we’ve a long way yet to go, and we need supplies.”
holding the basket a bit closer, she follows behind shani. while not all that heavy, the sheets pour out like an overflowing cup. she is careful as she follows the strangers lead, doing her best to rally the final reserves of energy she still carries,
there are many other questions alette wishes to ask in due time. for now, there is one that is especially important. she rolls up her sleeves and takes a seat, nearly tearing up from the throbbing of her feet and the immediate relief. now she knows it will feel worse when she must once again stand, but there’s no point in adding that dread in with the fear of dredge on her heels.
“i’m sorry,” alette finally says as they begin the washing. the mindless task is strangely energizing, perhaps because it requires such little thought, “you knew my name, but i don’t know yours… you’ve a knack for helping people. those that need it are very lucky to have you here.”
The water is freezing cold, turning her hands, rough and chapped as they are, first white and then bright red. Shani works steadily, pragmatically, finding comfort in the menial task. Out here, she is free from responsibility, if only for a little while. The cool air bites at her skin, but it is strangely soothing, a relief to be away from the close quarters of the makeshift hospital, with its damp, suffocating air, the stench of infection and decay. Shani looks up at the frozen sun, the ominous sky. It will start to snow again soon, she can smell it in the air.
Worse. It’s only going to make it worse. And it’s going to keep getting worse and worse until-
She doesn’t want to continue the thought. Shani, above everything else, wants to hold on to hope, even if she knows that she is grasping at straws. She glances over to Alette who is quietly and efficiently working away beside her, light in her hair and shadows underneath her eyes.
“Oh did I not – I am sorry, that was rude of me. I’m so used to everyone knowing my name here, I didn’t think… I’m Shani.” She finishes wringing out the sheet she has been working on, it is so cold that the fabric threatens to grow stiff with frost in her hands. This lot will have to go in front of the fire or else it will never get dry, and fuel is getting as scarce as everything else, here outside the gates.
“Oh, they’ve got food in there alright. We brought in a fantastic crop last harvest. Frostvellr used to be thriving, believe it or not.” She shrugs, her words tinged with both nostalgia and bitterness as she remembers the sun on her skin, the feel of the grass against her bare legs, the revelry of the harvest celebrations.
“It used to be a good place. We are good people, Alette. Even the ones barricaded inside. They’re just doing what they think will help them to survive, and I can see why. They have families too, They are just as scared as we are.”
The young woman flings the sheet into the empty basket with a wet thud and promptly moves on to the next one. Her fingers are starting to go numb, but work is work, it’s not going to do itself. “Where do you think you’ll go, from here? There’s nothing past Frostvellr, just a great big old wasteland. Might as well be the end of the world.”
germansingergirl
gummygunk
vaporwave
annaxmalina
jacobvanloon
theartofmadeline
jbbartram-illu
tangentwithtanner
