[Katherine is going about the simple, mundane task of sorting wool into separate colors, a job one of her ladies would have likely done for her back home. She recites an old poem as she works:]A palm tree stands in the midst of Rusafa
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I like it.
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[Nope, not arguing this point with you today, Katherine. He's too stressed.]
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They were defeated, of course. But they had a certain honor.
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Thus, no.]
What do you wish to speak with me about?
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If I brought you the wool, could you make something for me?
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Yes, I suppose that would be fair. For the winter. [And mostly because she kinda likes you, which means she won't be picky about ew, doing work for someone.]
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