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8 Rhoswen Solone

_Rhoswen Solone_

"I heard about the other day, Rhoss." A male voice huffed out, making the girl turn on her bench to see the man it had come from. She was in the garden again, practicing her embroidery skills, though it was rather bland. Rhoswen liked the garden, there was a peace to it that people just didn't have. She wanted to learn botany but she was often told it was not a thing for ladies to pursue, only admire.

The man behind her was her father. He was a moderately thin man, muscular where it counted. He was a veteran of several minor wars and one great one. She took pride in knowing that she was the eldest daughter of such a renowned lord. She loved the man, all flaws included. "I am sure half of the estate has heard of it. Servants love their gossip just as much as the nobles." She responded to him with a half hearted shrug before she went back to her embroidery work.

Her father came and sat next to her on the white wooden bench, one that sat in front of an old oak tree, soaring high into the sky- its size challenging that of the castle they lived in. There was no special story about the tree- it was just old and admired. So admired that it was one of the few trees they didn't clear out to make the place. This had happened a good seventy years ago, making the castle one of the youngest in the Ashmore kingdom. The castle in Denheim the largest out of all.

"It has been a while since you had last been afflicted why you were awake." Her father pointed out.

"You say "afflicted" as if I am ill." She pointed out as she worked, weaving the needle delicately in and out of the cloth.

"You had bled from your ears, what else am I to think? Other times you had bled from your nose and so forth. Spontaneous fainting and bleeding is an illness, Rhoss." He tried to reason with her, but the noble girl would have none of it.

"Spare me you concerned explanations, I have heard them all before." She said in an irritated manner, her embroidery getting rougher with her emotions. "Next you are going to tell me I am mentally unsound because of the visions I see." She said now, looking up at her father with a pointed look before she carried on.

"Because I believe it true."

"Tell me then, why do they come true? Why do I see things, real things, that I should not possibly know about?"

"It is an illusion, a trick of your mind, Rhoss. The medicine practitioners have said so themselves."
    She shook her head in defiance. "The practitioners are nothing but old men. They know nothing of what I have."

"They know a great deal more than what you do, girl. They are men of science and history," He told her now, eyes cast down at the work she was doing. Angry work it seemed to be.

"My visions are not science," She grumbled now.

"And what are they to be then? If not the science of a sick mind then what? Magic? Sorcery? Don't be a child. I had thought you grown more than that."

Rhoswen was miffed now, silent for a while but spoke up before her father could again. "If that is what you must call it then I suppose it is that. I do not know how to explain it's works." She said in annoyance, shoving her needle in and out of the fabric now.

"It is not so. There is no magic in this world but that of life and death."

"Tch," She gripped her needle tightly, taking offense to his constant disbelief. "You would understand if you got them too. I know you would. But you don't. No one else does so they do not get it." She said with a huff.

"Those who are unsound never know they are that way, Rhoss..." Her father said quietly, a grim tone clinging to his voice.

She shoved the needle through the fabric yet again and hissed when it stuck into her thumb. She had been too careless it seemed. Setting aside her work, she inspected her finger and the drop of blood that swelled on her digit.