The Iron Hound

1.3

Morin clapped her hands together, a cloud of flour puffing into the air. Constantly, she found her attention drifting to the window, and it had taken her twice as long to make her afternoon preparations than usual.

Thankfully, the Lord Tutelar had decided to bring his army through Rhidmere after the morning rush, so she was able to clear out the shelves and start on the evening's stock on time. She grabbed a cloth from the gnarled poplar table and wrapped it around her right hand.

Giving one of the iron handles a good tug, she opened the bread oven and stood aside, allowing the waft of hot air to funnel into the room, bringing delightful scents with it. Four tourte loaves, brown and steaming, left the oven on the hardwood peel and Morin quickly took them to their cooling trays.

When the loaves were settled and the next batch were set to baking, she dared go to the window again. The bakehouse looked out onto a square plaza with only a single entry onto the main thoroughfare through Rhidmere, right between Hadwein's ramshackle home, and the furrier's. She'd have to take another bundle of bribery over to Hadwein to encourage him to fix up his roof. It was downright embarrassing, especially with the likes of the Lord Tutelar and his men funnelling on through.

The sound of horse hooves on the plaza's cobblestones drew her attention along the row of buildings. She had to lean forwards, peering through the glass, her nose close enough to feel the chill.

Morin felt a grin growing on her face.

Pushing away from the sill, she couldn't help the giggle that bubbled past her lips, as she set about arranging a tray with a variety of cakes. She pushed a stool aside and surveyed her handiwork.

"Oh, fruit cake," she muttered, berating herself.

Stooping low, she pulled out a woven basket from a bottom shelf and freed it of its lid. Fist-sized, cloth-wrapped cakes sat fermenting in the container and she set out two of them onto the tray to complete the selection.

"Perfect."

Dusting off her hands and realising she had a day's worth of flour down her smock, she grabbed one of the horse-hair dusters she used to sweep off the surfaces and set to making herself presentable.

Satisfied everything was in its place, she hoisted the tray and cradled it in the crook of one arm as she made her way to the side entrance. A cloth hung over the window inlaid into the centre of the door, to prevent direct sunlight spoiling any of the bakery's goods, and she pulled it aside to spy her guest. She grinned again.

Throwing open the door, she swung her free arm wide.

"Ahn, dumpling!"

She closed the door after her, deftly balancing the tray as she did so.

"How was the city? Tell me everything!" She winked slyly and delighted in the obvious cringe it elicited from the chronicler.

Ahn had found a tree stump to perch on, her lithe steed busying itself trimming Morin's modest garden. She turned dark eyes on her, elegant eyebrows rising to convey just how much she disapproved. The chronicler's ever-present embroidered shawl was tucked under her chin, revealing her full face, an uncommon sight when she was garbed in her travel-wear. The knee-length, maroon and black, leather coat was pulled tight, fitting her form snugly. The peaked shoulders made her appear wider than she was. That was something she might need to mention to her. Her sky blue robe peeked out from below the hem of the coat, pooling on the ground about her feet.

Morin trotted over to her and shooed her along the stump with one hand. Ahn made no effort to hide the sigh as she sidled over.

Nudging the chronicler's arm with the tray as she sat, she peered at her meaningfully.