Warmoon [ONC 2020]•[Shortlisted]•[Honorable Mention List, Stunning Worlds]

2. Varisk

Dawn arrived in a murky suggestion of grey. It offered hardly enough light to see by, but it was still enough to wake the fortress rooster, who took it upon himself to begin crowing from the ridgepole of the kitchen roof.

The kitchen roof was directly below Rhoa's bedchamber window.

"Confounded bird," Rhoa growled under her pillow.

As if to prove a point, the rooster strutted onto the window ledge and let loose.

Rhoa flung her pillow in that general direction, then opened one eye and lay staring at the rafters for a moment. There was nothing for it. The whole house would be up shortly, whether she had a pounding headache or not.

Reaching one arm out of her warm lambswool-lined blankets, Rhoa swatted at the floor. Her fingers found her linen under-tunic and she pulled it quickly beneath the covers with her. She wriggled into it, keeping exposure to the unheated air of her bedchamber to the absolute minimum, doing the same with her knitted over-tunic and grey woolen hose. Then she ground her teeth, shoved her covers off and swung her feet over the side of the bed-box, her breath pluming pale in the hint of morning sun coming through the windowpanes.

She made quick, shivery work of buckling on her long boots in the near-dark, then left, taking the stairs down to the kitchen at a run.

Her mother looked up from the bread she was kneading at the table, her greeting turning into narrowed eyes of disapproval when Rhoa whipped through the door curtains, swiped two apples from the fruit bin and kept right on going.

"You should have a full meal and take a basket."

"If I leave now, the villagers will be inside eating breakfast," Rhoa called, already halfway down the stairs to the Sifting Room.

Her mother came to stand in the kitchen doorway, her floury hands on her hips. "They don't all hate you, you know."

Rhoa shot her a tight-lipped smile as she donned her leather riding doublet.

"What about young Mykian Greenfall?"

With a groan, Rhoa let her head fall forward.

"You could do worse. That boy has grown into quite a good looking young —"

"Yes, and he knows it, too," Rhoa muttered, slinging her Strongcastle cloak around her shoulders and fastening the clasp. "You like him so much, how about you talk to him for an hour about how he gets all his clothes tailored in Lubelin."

Her mother quirked an eyebrow. "You need friends. A friend. Any friend. You spend too much time alone. It's not good for you."

"Right." Rhoa nodded. "Thank you." She lifted the messenger bag down off its peg and made sure her father's document pouch was safely inside.

"Oh. Stop by the Storehouse on your way back, we're in need of our rations."

Rhoa pushed the door open.

"Be careful... And quit rolling your eyes or they'll freeze that way!"

With a snort – because she really had been rolling her eyes – Rhoa stepped out into the stable yard. A cold drizzle met her full on, wrapping her in its clammy embrace, promising a damp, miserable ride. "Wonderful," she sighed, and pulled her hood up.

°°°°°ººººº°°°°°

Headache and drizzle notwithstanding, her trip to Varisk was uneventful. Ardusk was quiet when she rode through. As predicted, the villagers were just beginning to rise, smoke skeining from chimney pots and candlelight in windows the only real signs of life. Even the livestock was subdued, and the market stalls were empty.