Donkeyskin - ON HOLD

Of Home

*Of Home*

The cart track led the way through the village's center, through a square that was really more of a quadrilateral, that housed, at its four corners, a blacksmith, a wainwright, a carpenter's, and a pub. At the center of the square, a handful of people had gathered around a stone wishing well.

They waved when they saw the wagon, and gawped when they noticed the strange girl in the donkeyskin cloak seated at Birch's side. Nudging each other, they bent their heads together, whispering, eyes still on the stranger.

Elodie huddled even deeper into the donkeyskin, hanging her head, as Birch stopped the wagon and Ninon vaulted out. She waded into the crowd of whisperers, resting a hand on a shoulder here, murmuring a few words there, and then the knot of gossips undid itself and drifted over to the wagon. 

"Hey, Birch," one of the men called, leaning against the side of the wagon. Elodie squirmed as far from him as she could without actually jumping from the wagon and running into the woods. "Who's this?"

"Donkeyskin," Ninon said, swinging back up unto the wagon seat. "She's an herbalist. Donkeyskin, this is Flint, carpenter's apprentice."

"An herbalist?" a young woman cried, pushing forward through the crowd, her face a mask of relief. "Thank the skies! Ever since Yellowrose died, I've been so worried! Donkeyskin, you are a blessing! I'm Violette, by the way." The young woman smiled, her freckled cheeks dimpling adorably.

"Oh," Elodie whispered, blushing crimson. "Oh, um..."

Another older man spoke up from the back of the group. He was hulking and dark, his clothes soot-stained, a thick leather apron tied around his waist, a blacksmith. "You heard, Birch?" he asked, his voice deep and booming. "Th' princess from over th' border in North Avalon, who cursed the king there? She died, apparently, killed by a couple o' her father's men."

Elodie felt her heart freeze, a fist squeezing the air from her lungs, pressure driving blackness before her eyes. And then hot, righteous anger flooded her veins, and she let out a shuddering breath. "That's not true," she said, rather shortly. When the villagers turned to gape at her, she flinched back, as if she'd been struck.

"Heard it from a trapper as lives over there," the blacksmith said with a shrug. "He seemed t' think t'was real enough."

"I lived in the capital there," Elodie said, more carefully. "The princess didn't curse him, from what I heard from her maid." She mentally asked forgiveness for her lie. She couldn't very well tell them that she was the princess. "Anyway, the maid said the king'd not been right-" she tapped her head to indicate madness "-since his queen died, and that the princess reminded him so much of her that he began to lust after his own daughter."

"Well, I'll be switched!" Flint muttered, running a hand through his hair. "In Silvern's pub last night, that trapper sure seemed certain 'bout that!"

"Anyway," Elodie went on, rather forcefully, not about to let these people believe the worst of her, even if they didn't know it was her. "The maid told me it got to the point where he couldn't help himself, so he-the king, I mean-was about to force her to marry him, so she ran away. No one's seen her since. They said she was headed north."

The townsfolk were silent, frozen in the wake of this new knowledge, of the truth of the poor princess's story. Muttering amongst themselves, they thanked Elodie quietly, welcomed her to town, and drifted off, to carry the news to the pub, or back home to their families.

"What a bunch of empty-headed busybodies!" Ninon grumbled as the wagon jerked back into motion. When Elodie frowned, and glanced at her behind Birch's head, she sighed. "Oh, they're good enough folks, and they mean well, but their meddling can get to be a bit much, sometimes."