@tessinsilk
The sweet scent of various herbs fills the homestead from which she currently works. Outside, the sun is high and hot, and there’s an air of restlessness among the men, for soon there shall be jousts and sparring tournaments, and the whole of the capital has swelled in anticipation. Eyva is content to remain where she is, focused on the seemingly mind-numbing task of striping leaves from stalks. She means to make a tonic (a mix of honeyed tea and various wild herbs she herself has gathered from near a stream) for Viktor, hoping it shall help keep him in good health during the tournament. (She knows not if he means to join the jousts--but knowing him, she needs not ask.) It’s only a sound of oncoming footsteps that commandeer her attention from her handiwork, followed by the arrival of someone she certainly hadn’t expected.
“--Tess!” she smiles faintly, rising to her feet to greet her friend, her curls spilling like silk over their hands, tickling their skin as she moves to embrace her. It is a welcome distraction, for she has spent her day in a sour mood, stony-faced and pale and trembling with that anger-- gnashing teeth and steel in her belly-- gnawing at her throat, bleeding fury and icy loneliness -- last night’s dreams had kept her half-wakeful, tossing and turning in her bed and when morning had come, she could still remember, how she had drowned in it; waking up slick with sweat and gasping for air; how she had lost herself once more in that white glade-- frost and snow about her, and she a little girl, shrouded in furs and that chain-- always, always that half-broken chain. She drew back now and looked at her, her smile faltering for a moment at how pale and shaken Tess herself looked. “--are you alright?” she asked softly, taking her hand and moving to sit with her.