Post by aoife on Oct 27, 2008 10:20:12 GMT -6
The last few weeks had been a blur, had it only been that long? It was a whirlwind, not the good kind either. From the moment the gathering in Aberdeen happened, she did not stop running it felt. The gathering ended badly, to say the least. Morgen was not seen but in glimpses, Aoife knew he would be distracted by the events going on. She had no idea that they would be fleeing the region as they did. From the moment the gathering ended, she had gone back to his sisters and gathered their things. Not a lot of conversation was exchanged as she simply moved them into the rooms with the Lady's maidens. Aoife had managed to squish all of their things into a single trunk sending it on the way to the boat, keeping a few items in a basket with them. She horded for them, it was impulse.
The little hairs on the back of her neck were on end nonstop. Food went into that basket, hidden under her sewing kit, in case they needed it, she guessed. The raids back home made her do it. The atmosphere felt like they were "moving inland from the barbarians." Moving inland was not happening. It came in a sweeping motion, they were being rushed through the night, and the ladies ran. Aoife had the little one clutched to her lithe frame, twisted to her with a rough run of black homespun wrapped behind her neck and tied at the small of her back. Contance's hand was in her own; the young lady held into the basket for them.
Running from fear was nothing new to the imp; she simply did it with a grave face, something that she rarely wore. Stoic and quiet, the lyrical voice when used was nothing but hushed whispers. Even when they were aboard the ship and set sail, she kept the girls close. A peek of Morgen, he checked on them and left to do his good works. Her heart never stopped hammering its wicked tattoo of worry until they stepped on Skye's docks. She'd smile then, smoothing Afton's hair as their brother, Morgen, was already rushed off to the castle with a Paige. Their other brother would take them back to their home. Aoife would decline the offer, knowing the girls may want to get home and rest from the adventure they just endured, a walk would do her good.
Days stretched on and she was back to her routine, her sheep were at her cottage when she arrived and she happily greeted the fat little beasts, but use to the extra care Felicity gave them, she was soon shooing them away with a slightly annoyed look on her face, "Spoiled!" The days were cooler; her woolly shawls wrapped about her slender self, the clear sky was above as she took down her last runs of fabrics and ribbons from the line. She wasn't decked out in her usual bell of skirts, though a few fine layers laid under a slender sheath of a dress, those layers were whites and yellows, atop was a deep green, the neckline wide, the yellow sleeves bared to the world, a light fullness to them ended at her delicate wrists. The overall look was lovely, just hinting at that soft silhouette but allowing her freedom of movement. Golden locks were loose in soft waves and curls about her face and shoulders.
She had dyed as much as she could, not willing to freeze herself in the winter. In the front yard she folded them on the table she had dragged out there. She was surrounded. Tall baskets filled to the brim with dyed balls of spun yarn, stack upon stack of dyed linens and homespun, gentle twists of ribbons tied together with string, she had thrown herself into work like no one else, humming and singing as she kept those wide blue eyes on the road, hoping that Morgen or someone would visit her, she had not seen anyone since they had returned. The pleasant voice rose and fell quickly with the little tune in her head, her sheep staying near, though on their side of the fence, the ram playfully chasing the youngest of the ewes across the field back to the group.
"Weave the yarn, spin the yarn, I'll be wed tomorrow morn', catch the thread upon the thorn, send my love to ta Charlie..Weave the yarn, spin the yarn, much ta do, little time, dance 'round the fields of corn when I marry Charlie."
The little hairs on the back of her neck were on end nonstop. Food went into that basket, hidden under her sewing kit, in case they needed it, she guessed. The raids back home made her do it. The atmosphere felt like they were "moving inland from the barbarians." Moving inland was not happening. It came in a sweeping motion, they were being rushed through the night, and the ladies ran. Aoife had the little one clutched to her lithe frame, twisted to her with a rough run of black homespun wrapped behind her neck and tied at the small of her back. Contance's hand was in her own; the young lady held into the basket for them.
Running from fear was nothing new to the imp; she simply did it with a grave face, something that she rarely wore. Stoic and quiet, the lyrical voice when used was nothing but hushed whispers. Even when they were aboard the ship and set sail, she kept the girls close. A peek of Morgen, he checked on them and left to do his good works. Her heart never stopped hammering its wicked tattoo of worry until they stepped on Skye's docks. She'd smile then, smoothing Afton's hair as their brother, Morgen, was already rushed off to the castle with a Paige. Their other brother would take them back to their home. Aoife would decline the offer, knowing the girls may want to get home and rest from the adventure they just endured, a walk would do her good.
Days stretched on and she was back to her routine, her sheep were at her cottage when she arrived and she happily greeted the fat little beasts, but use to the extra care Felicity gave them, she was soon shooing them away with a slightly annoyed look on her face, "Spoiled!" The days were cooler; her woolly shawls wrapped about her slender self, the clear sky was above as she took down her last runs of fabrics and ribbons from the line. She wasn't decked out in her usual bell of skirts, though a few fine layers laid under a slender sheath of a dress, those layers were whites and yellows, atop was a deep green, the neckline wide, the yellow sleeves bared to the world, a light fullness to them ended at her delicate wrists. The overall look was lovely, just hinting at that soft silhouette but allowing her freedom of movement. Golden locks were loose in soft waves and curls about her face and shoulders.
She had dyed as much as she could, not willing to freeze herself in the winter. In the front yard she folded them on the table she had dragged out there. She was surrounded. Tall baskets filled to the brim with dyed balls of spun yarn, stack upon stack of dyed linens and homespun, gentle twists of ribbons tied together with string, she had thrown herself into work like no one else, humming and singing as she kept those wide blue eyes on the road, hoping that Morgen or someone would visit her, she had not seen anyone since they had returned. The pleasant voice rose and fell quickly with the little tune in her head, her sheep staying near, though on their side of the fence, the ram playfully chasing the youngest of the ewes across the field back to the group.
"Weave the yarn, spin the yarn, I'll be wed tomorrow morn', catch the thread upon the thorn, send my love to ta Charlie..Weave the yarn, spin the yarn, much ta do, little time, dance 'round the fields of corn when I marry Charlie."