A Warm Bed

Writers: Suzee, Yvonne
Date Posted: 10th February 2014

Characters: Vell, Fimma, Lembe
Description: Vell finds a hosiptable bed for the night
Location: Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 5, day 7 of Turn 7

Two nights sleeping on the ground made Vell dread a third. Things rustled in the underbrush. Bugs crawled across her face and nibbled her skin. The nights were getting colder, and the ground was hard, uneven and full of rocks. And the sun was nearing the tops of the hills. Soon it would slip behind them and the sky would fade into orange and gold, then indigo and black, and she'd have to face another night alone beneath the Red Star.

"Well, you and me," she told her runner, patting his neck affectionately. The runner heaved a sigh, obviously tired and footsore after another long day walking. They'd finally crossed out of Stony Field territory late that afternoon, far later than she'd anticipated given the map. And still she hadn't seen a sweeprider.

The runner tripped, and Vell reluctantly reined him in. "I know, I know. It's my turn to walk," she said, dismounting. She tucked the stirrups up out of the way as the runner's head drooped toward the path. They'd left the shelter of the scrawny forest for a patchwork of fields, prickly bushes and low stone fences that criss-crossed the hilltops. Hills-- that's what they were labeled as on the map, but to Vell they were small mountains. And they were exposed, but Vell had thought it best to ride openly rather than skulk about the hedgerows. Nothing screamed 'catch me!' like acting like you ought to be caught. "Come on, then," she told the runner, who reluctantly started down the path after her.

She began looking for a place to camp. Somewhere sheltered from the wind and prying eyes, and with enough wood for a small fire. Her supplies were dangerously low and she hadn't seen any game for her bow since early that morning. The baby wherry had disappeared by the time she'd notched her bow, leaving her belly growling and unwilling to be sated by a handful of dried fruit.

The path wound through the hedges toward the valley floor, and the sun crept behind the hills. The light faded and still Vell hadn't seen anywhere worth stopping. Her runner was dragging his hooves as she rounded a bend in the path and came across a smaller cart track that led down the slope into a thicket full of thorns. And... was that smoke?

Throwing caution to the wind, Vell turned down the path as the shadows deepened around her. Perhaps whoever lived there had a barn she could sleep in, or would trade something for some food. Her belly growled and she put a hand over it, telling it to be silent. The prickly hedges formed a wall to either side of the path. She rounded a corner and came across a homely little stone hut with a small shed for company in the midst of a well-tended stone pad. **Too small to stop the Thread,** she thought with a shiver. Silvery smoke drifted from the chimney and lamplight glowed through the window.

A sudden attack of nerves made Vell stop at the edge of the stone pad. Anyone could live there. A man-- a handful of men. Holdless men, thieves and murderers.

"Or maybe just a herdsman," she whispered. "Or a herdsman's wife and children. Or maybe nobody at all." She grit her jaw and began to cross the pad to knock on the door, but the clop of her runner's hooves alerted a pair of canines to their presence. The two animals came snarling around the corner as her runner's head reared up and he shied away from the beasts.

"Down Carn, Mackee," a decidedly feminine voice commanded from the door of the small cottage. "Who you be," she asked the stranger in a wary voice from the shelter of the doorway as the canines watched warily from their bellies.

"Um." Vell struggled with her runner, until he finally settled down enough for her turn her attention to the cottage-- and the dogs. She didn't like the way the dogs looked at her. "I'm just-- I'm a traveller. I was wondering if I could buy a little food."

The woman stared at her for a moment before a baby cry drew her attention and she turned her head. "Put your runner in the barn." she called a moment later. "Lembe will care for him and give him some feed when he gets done with his dinner." With that, she motioned the stranger in the direction of the shed and left the door open letting the golden light spill down the path.

Vell exhaled a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "Lucky boy," she told her runner as she started around the cottage, "You get to spend a little time with a roof over your shaggy head."

The runner wasn't paying attention-- he kept one eye on the two canines until he was almost walking sideways. When Vell slapped his neck to get his attention, he flinched. "Stop being such a baby," she told him.

The barn was a long, low structure, and dark besides. It smelled of hay and manure, and she could hear some sort of creature rustling about in the shadows but she wasn't sure if they were ovines or something else. Vell found a post to tie her runner to before stripping off his saddle and leaving it upside down on the floor next to her bow and arrows. "I'll be right back," she told the runner, then she slung her saddlebags over one shoulder and her rucksack over the other and left the barn.

Once she did, she was uncertain. The canines eyed her warily from the shadows, and she felt naked without her bow. If the woman was luring her into some sort of trap all she had was a beltknife, and it wasn't as if she knew how to use it for self defense. The windows were shaded with curtains and she couldn't see inside, although the smell drifting through the open door made her stomach growl.

Inside there was a woman and a baby. Babies meant safety, right? Nobody with a baby was really a bad person. Squaring her shoulders, Vell knocked on the door.

"It's open," the woman called. The canine's hadn't warned of any other strangers. She was bent over the pot on the hearth dishing up a bowl a stew for the woman. Her husband bent over his own bowl scooping the hot food into his mouth and dipping fresh bread slathered with butter.

Vell's stomach growled. She put a hand over it and told it to ignore the scent of the stew. "Um. Hello. My name is V-- Ellia. Vellia. I was hoping to trade for a bit of food, some bread or dried meat, if you have it?"

The woman stared hard at her. She wasn't much fooled by the false name but if that was what their visitor needed to say so be it. She just nodded, "Sit, eat," and put the bowl of stew on the table.

"I'll put a pack together for you," said Lembe without looking at her. "But you may want to stay another day after tomorrow. Fall's acomin'"

Gooseflesh raced up her spine. Thread, and her without anything over her head... "Thank you," Vell said. "But I-- I can pay."

"That's as may be," he replied without looking in her direction. "But we have no need of marks. Muck out the barn and that is payment enough."

The woman went to the cradle and picked up the baby who'd only just started to fuss and then came back to the table and proceeded to feed it.

"That I can do." The barn was small enough, and judging by the state of the cot would be well kept. Vell picked up her spoon as her stomach growled painfully loud. "What are your names?"

"I'm Lembe and this here's Fimma." The woman nodded in her direction then turned her attention back to the infant in her arms.

Vell picked up her spoon and began to eat. The stew was plain and slightly oily, but was still the most delicious thing she could ever remember eating. It was gone in a flash-- embarrassingly fast. She set down her spoon when she was done. "Thank you. That was very good."

A gilmmer of a smile showed in Fimma's eyes at the praise of her cooking and she nodded. "You can make up a pallet in the loft." She threw a look over her shoulder at a ladder that climbed up into a darkened area in the rafters of the cot.

"Thank you." Vell rose, then picked up her bowl and spoon, and Lembe's as well. There was a pot of water set to boil on the hearth, so she found a largish bucket and poured some in and set to cleaning the dishes they'd used with a fingertip of sweetsand she found in a dish near the bucket. By the time she was finished and had dumped the water outside, Lembe was outside-- presumably caring for her runner. She returned, quietly picked up her things, and blessing the hospitality of holders retreated to the loft.

There wasn't much space up there, but it was warm, which was more than could be said for her beds of late. She spread out her bedroll between casks of salt and herbs hung from the rafters, then paused. There was one more way she could show her thanks. From the depths of her leather pack she pulled her flute case, and with a quick glance at Fimma, she put her flute together and put it to her lips to coax forth a quiet tune.

Fimma separated the baby from her body with a pop of suction release just about the time Lembe came through the door. He smiled up at the music from the loft and bent to tenderly kiss his wife and child.

"Good night," Fimma called softly as she and her husband retired to their tiny room.

The music paused, then changed to a well known lullaby as Vell bid the pair sweet dreams.

Last updated on the May 7th 2014

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A Warm Bed