Melting Like A Snowflake
Title: Melting Like A Snowflake
Fandom: The Dresden Files ~ TV verse/pre-canon
Characters: Winifred
Prompt: 12. Notice
Rating: G
Words: 820
Summary: Winifred has an epiphany.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Dresden Files.
Notes: Pre-Hrothbert and inspired by this quote: "We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand... and melting like a snowflake. Let us use it before it is too late." ~ Marie Beyon Ray
***
Winifred had not meant to linger in the village after fetching her supplies. An uncomfortable feeling kept her at the fringe of the market, hood of her cloak over her hair and face shadowed, observing. Perhaps it was something about the way she'd noticed a group of children dogging the steps of another child, shuffling and whispering and giggling as he plodded from one stall to another. He was unfamiliar to her; but, then, she'd hardly paid heed to the comings and goings of the residents here since her recent arrival. It was a mutual consideration as the villagers hadn't wanted to draw undue attention from the Sorceress.
She frowned, silently following, obeying the troublesome niggling; and saw the biggest of the group reach out and push the boy in the small of his back as he stood looking at pottery wares--which caused him to stumble forward and into the display of crockery before catching himself against the wooden ledge with one small hand. A spouted pitcher, decorated with incised designs and pretty drips of glaze, tipped over and rolled to the edge, then tumbled and shattered on the ground.
The pattering of feet and muffled snickering of children faded away as they made their timely departure.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You there!" yelled the proprietress, as she bustled up, her face red with anger. "You'll have to pay for that!"
Winifred watched as the young boy looked up, distress and confusion pinching his brows together, his lower lip trembling. "Can't," he mumbled, digging into the threadbare pouch at his waist and coming up with only a tuft of lint and a bit of string.
With a huff of exasperation, the woman grasped his short, thick fingers in her own, squeezing tightly. "Well, then, your mother shall. I have put up with you long enough! Back and forth, from my booth to others, shuffling and staring, while your wretched mother works, always looking and never buying, but often breaking things in your clumsiness. I have shown enough kindness!"
I shall not get involved. I have been on my own for nearly a century. Children? I know nothing beyond having been one of them many years ago--
A tear rolled over his round cheek and dripped down. "Mum c-c-can't," he said in answer to the part of the tirade that he understood.
That tear seared into her, beginning the thaw.
--let go of his hand!
A flash of memory--of her mother tending to a newly birthed child and turning to her with a pleased smile and a gesture to help with drying the babe and counting his fingers and toes--caught her, then, and a breeze stirred, fluttering cloth among the stalls and pushing bits of trash along in whirling eddies. Her mother had known children, and had cared for people, proudly teaching her daughter the ways of a healer so long ago. Winifred had gone on to choose a different path....
She had seen--and heard--quite enough. She moved forward, flipping her hood back as she went, and laid a coin where the pitcher used to sit. "This should be enough to pay for it, mistress," she said abruptly. The woman started, having not heard the Sorceress approach.
"You. Humph... well." With lips pressed into a thin line, the proprietress gave Winifred a suspicious, half-fearful look and a short nod, collected the coin and moved off to help a new customer.
"Come, boy," Winifred commanded; then gently, "Let us find your mum."
Brow still crinkled, he followed her out and down the alley of wares.
What am I doing? I keep to myself. I know nothing of children after they've been birthed, and this child is no normal child. I cannot invite trouble. I want to be left alone.
Understanding, finally, that the dark-haired lady had helped him, he took her hand and offered her a wide, crooked smile, teeth showing.
She looked down at him.
Oh.
"Where do you live, child?" Her long, slender fingers wrapped around his and held on securely, warmly.
"Wi' Mum," he replied, confident now, pulling her along, innocent eyes free of tears. He felt everything would be alright. "Show."
She had not meant to care. Truly. But... and there was Mum, in the doorway of her hut--a pile of linens behind her on a trestle table--looking work-worn and resigned.
"Please, my lady, what do we owe?" the woman said tiredly, a thread of pride firming the words. She would not welcome charity.
Winifred looked at the woman and then down at the boy. "I have need of a bit of help in keeping my home," she replied after a moment. "He could work to pay the small debt and then come for a few hours a day to earn more." A hint of a smile softened her lips as she continued to look at him. "Would you like to do that?"
The boy had not let go of her hand. He nodded vigorously. "Can sweep!" he offered.
She glanced back up at his mother for confirmation.
"He can do that," she agreed with a nod of her own, after studying Winifred, looking curiously between the Sorceress and her boy. "I am Enid, my lady. And he--"
"--Dai," he said, supplying his own name proudly.
Something frozen inside her melted and broke free. "Good greeting, Enid." She caught the boy's trusting gaze and fully smiled for the first time in a very long while. "And to you, Dai. I am Winifred."
Fandom: The Dresden Files ~ TV verse/pre-canon
Characters: Winifred
Prompt: 12. Notice
Rating: G
Words: 820
Summary: Winifred has an epiphany.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Dresden Files.
Notes: Pre-Hrothbert and inspired by this quote: "We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand... and melting like a snowflake. Let us use it before it is too late." ~ Marie Beyon Ray
***
Winifred had not meant to linger in the village after fetching her supplies. An uncomfortable feeling kept her at the fringe of the market, hood of her cloak over her hair and face shadowed, observing. Perhaps it was something about the way she'd noticed a group of children dogging the steps of another child, shuffling and whispering and giggling as he plodded from one stall to another. He was unfamiliar to her; but, then, she'd hardly paid heed to the comings and goings of the residents here since her recent arrival. It was a mutual consideration as the villagers hadn't wanted to draw undue attention from the Sorceress.
She frowned, silently following, obeying the troublesome niggling; and saw the biggest of the group reach out and push the boy in the small of his back as he stood looking at pottery wares--which caused him to stumble forward and into the display of crockery before catching himself against the wooden ledge with one small hand. A spouted pitcher, decorated with incised designs and pretty drips of glaze, tipped over and rolled to the edge, then tumbled and shattered on the ground.
The pattering of feet and muffled snickering of children faded away as they made their timely departure.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You there!" yelled the proprietress, as she bustled up, her face red with anger. "You'll have to pay for that!"
Winifred watched as the young boy looked up, distress and confusion pinching his brows together, his lower lip trembling. "Can't," he mumbled, digging into the threadbare pouch at his waist and coming up with only a tuft of lint and a bit of string.
With a huff of exasperation, the woman grasped his short, thick fingers in her own, squeezing tightly. "Well, then, your mother shall. I have put up with you long enough! Back and forth, from my booth to others, shuffling and staring, while your wretched mother works, always looking and never buying, but often breaking things in your clumsiness. I have shown enough kindness!"
I shall not get involved. I have been on my own for nearly a century. Children? I know nothing beyond having been one of them many years ago--
A tear rolled over his round cheek and dripped down. "Mum c-c-can't," he said in answer to the part of the tirade that he understood.
That tear seared into her, beginning the thaw.
--let go of his hand!
A flash of memory--of her mother tending to a newly birthed child and turning to her with a pleased smile and a gesture to help with drying the babe and counting his fingers and toes--caught her, then, and a breeze stirred, fluttering cloth among the stalls and pushing bits of trash along in whirling eddies. Her mother had known children, and had cared for people, proudly teaching her daughter the ways of a healer so long ago. Winifred had gone on to choose a different path....
She had seen--and heard--quite enough. She moved forward, flipping her hood back as she went, and laid a coin where the pitcher used to sit. "This should be enough to pay for it, mistress," she said abruptly. The woman started, having not heard the Sorceress approach.
"You. Humph... well." With lips pressed into a thin line, the proprietress gave Winifred a suspicious, half-fearful look and a short nod, collected the coin and moved off to help a new customer.
"Come, boy," Winifred commanded; then gently, "Let us find your mum."
Brow still crinkled, he followed her out and down the alley of wares.
What am I doing? I keep to myself. I know nothing of children after they've been birthed, and this child is no normal child. I cannot invite trouble. I want to be left alone.
Understanding, finally, that the dark-haired lady had helped him, he took her hand and offered her a wide, crooked smile, teeth showing.
She looked down at him.
Oh.
"Where do you live, child?" Her long, slender fingers wrapped around his and held on securely, warmly.
"Wi' Mum," he replied, confident now, pulling her along, innocent eyes free of tears. He felt everything would be alright. "Show."
She had not meant to care. Truly. But... and there was Mum, in the doorway of her hut--a pile of linens behind her on a trestle table--looking work-worn and resigned.
"Please, my lady, what do we owe?" the woman said tiredly, a thread of pride firming the words. She would not welcome charity.
Winifred looked at the woman and then down at the boy. "I have need of a bit of help in keeping my home," she replied after a moment. "He could work to pay the small debt and then come for a few hours a day to earn more." A hint of a smile softened her lips as she continued to look at him. "Would you like to do that?"
The boy had not let go of her hand. He nodded vigorously. "Can sweep!" he offered.
She glanced back up at his mother for confirmation.
"He can do that," she agreed with a nod of her own, after studying Winifred, looking curiously between the Sorceress and her boy. "I am Enid, my lady. And he--"
"--Dai," he said, supplying his own name proudly.
Something frozen inside her melted and broke free. "Good greeting, Enid." She caught the boy's trusting gaze and fully smiled for the first time in a very long while. "And to you, Dai. I am Winifred."