Donkeyskin - ON HOLD

Of Routine

*Of Routine*

The next morning, Elodie woke in the pre-dawn chill, carried her clothes downstairs, to the banked fire, careful not to wake the sleeping children, and dressed in the relative warmth of the fireside.

Once dressed, she hurried to build up the fire, chasing the autumn bitterness of the mountains from the little cottage. Ninon had made a few extra biscuits, enough for breakfast, knowing Elodie couldn't cook. Elodie took the plate from the table and set it on the little shelf built into the fireplace, to heat.

Juliette stumbled down the ladder as Elodie was setting water to heat for tea, yawning, fully clothed, but half-awake. Elodie sent her to go find some berries that they could have with their biscuits. As she moaned and minced her way outside, Simon tumbled downstairs, and Elodie, craving quiet, sent him off to feed the pony.

She set the tea to steep and sank into one of the chairs. She'd brought down with her one of her books, thinking she'd have more time before the children woke, and opened it. Grasping in the semi-darkness, she'd chosen the first book she'd come across. Now, looking it over, she saw it was the book of recipes, nicked from the Royal Kitchens.

With a growing sense of realization, she scanned the list of recipes. Yes, as she'd expected, as she'd hoped, the very first was a recipe for bread. Turning to the page indicated, Elodie scanned the spidery handwriting, and smiled to herself. The process was not so difficult as all that, only a simple matter of combining ingredients and letting the yeast rise for long enough.

Grinning triumphantly, she carried the book, reverently, to the shelf by the door, and set it, beside where she'd put the plant encyclopedia, gently in place.

The children were just cleaning the breakfast dishes in a small tub in front of the cottage when a wagon rattled up the cart track from the village. Elodie looked up, expecting it to be Birch, come to pick up Juliette and Simon, or to bring the various supplies Elodie would need.

Instead, the wagon was smaller, a pony cart, pulled by a shaggy black pony, and its driver was a tired-looking farmer in his late thirties, or early forties.

The cart stopped, and he climbed out, looping the rains around a tree trunk, and looked around. His eyes landed on Elodie, and he pulled off his ragged, cloth hat, scrunching it in his hands.

"Which of ye's Donkeyskin?" he asked. His voice was soft and hoarse. Elodie straightened, wiping her soapy hands on her apron.

"I am, sir," she said, her voice shaking. Besides Birch, she'd not been this close to a man since her father–since she'd left North Avalon. Simon didn't count. "May I help you?"

"Oh," the man said, and cleared his throat. "Oh, well, see, I got a dog wiv' a scratch on 'er side, an' Birch tol' me you've a knack wiv' animals, an' Violette says yez is a herbalist..."

"I'd be happy to look at your dog," Elodie said, twisting her hands nervously in her apron. "I can't promise I'll be able to do much, but I'll try my hardest."

"Tha's all I can ask," the man said, grinning shyly as he twisted his hat into knots. "I'm Grayhood, by th' way."

"Have you brought the dog with you," Elodie asked, still slightly afraid of him, despite his apparent kindness. "Or is it back at your place?"

"I brought 'er," he said, gesturing vaguely at the cart. "Figured t'would be easier for ye if ye could look at 'er where ye're comfortable."

Elodie smiled, trying to hide her relief. She wasn't entirely sure she was ready to let some unknown villager cart her off to Skies knew where. "Very well," she said, crossing her arms. "Bring her inside. Juliette, go scrub off the table. Use warm water, mind. Simon, remember the cutbane balm we brewed up yesterday? Bring it to me."