The Bull in the Brambles

Chapter 11

Over the next six weeks the girl showed signs of improvement. Her hair picked up shine and became more manageable. It bounced ever so slightly against her back when she walked, full of new life. Her eyes regained their light and her cheeks their blush. Slowly, over time, it became clear she wasn't simply pretty, but an exceptional beauty. With pouty red lips and cherubic features, she was every bit the striking image of the princess from the fairytale. A rich red rose just coming into bloom.

Her ribs no longer pressed against her skin like knives. Good food and plenty of it revealed a body not as thin as one might expect of an elf. Surviving so high in the Frostbacks took more than grace and sinew it seemed. She took to climbing trees and buildings, and the muscles of her legs and arms grew firm and strong. Gradually her limp faded away and it wasn't long till she became quite a quick runner.

After that, her body became pleasantly padded in a way that inherently implied womanhood. Her breasts swelled full beneath her plain cotton blouses, for she had well outgrown the tartan dress, and her rump and hips rounded out. Soon she became rather buxom, with a slight pouche to her abdomen that evoked ideas of femininity and fertility. Long gone were the notions of her being but a child.

As Bull long suspected, she proved to be of clever mind and grew ever more curious about the new world she found herself in. She climbed to new alarming heights in the trees and on the parapets at daring speed. No amount of warnings from the guards or Bull could deter her. She took to stealing things, small trinkets and food. She was quite good at it, Bull rarely caught her till after the fact. He made her return what she didn't manage to eat or squirrel away, which he was certain she was doing, but couldn't prove, as he hadn't been able to find her stash.

She no longer spoke to him. After that night she stopped speaking to everyone entirely. She still listened to commands, for the most part, she was not contrary. Not even hateful. She opened her door every morning right on time and followed Bull to breakfast. She followed him to her lessons with Dorian. The lessons were half-hearted, she listened, and occasionally produced results on paper, but her progress was difficult to track, her now being voluntarily mute.

It would have been easier to take if she were hateful. Bull had tried to antagonize her into talking, maybe not the most mature course of action, but her indignant silence was starting to piss him off. It didn't work, she ignored him entirely. Cold spite drifted off of her, thick enough to taste in the air.

She didn't allow him to touch her either. When he had tried to help dress her as usual she slapped his hand away and glared. It took her nearly biting his thumb off to deter him from trying again. It had needed stitches, the sharp toothed little snake. They spent less and less time together after that.

Despite her resolute silence, she had not turned introvert, quite the opposite in fact. She had been very busy indeed. Her familiarity with the plants growing around the keep led to her picking herbs and beans and the like with the cooks. Soon they had her running errands, delivering herbs and spices to the kitchen, meals to officers, notes and letters, whatever needed doing. Then she was working in the kitchens. She hadn't been asked, she simply wandered in and fell into the task at hand. If it bothered the head cook that she didn't speak, she never said. Briar could still take orders and that was enough. She scrubbed pots, peeled vegetables, ground herbs. It wasn't long before she was helping to bake and braise and roast and stew. All at her own liking and timing, showing up if and when she pleased. She did all of this while singing in Dalish. Perhaps the cook just assumed she didn't know common, which of course, was highly uncommon.

She eventually tired of this and turned to picking medicinal herbs instead, subsequently delivering them to the infirmary. The nurse that had mended her was all too happy to see her looking so well, speaking or not. Once on such a visit, she was mistaken for one of the healers, and ordered to sew up a mild flesh wound. No one had noticed until well after the job was done. After that she sometimes went around and aided the healers. She was no surgeon by any means but she could dress and bind simple wounds, stitch up split chins and knees, and mix a basic poltice when needed.