nine and seventy. voice.
Tis sweltering here, and I am wearing wool. Admittedly, it only seems a poor decision now, for later in the evening when the air cools I keep very warm indeed.
How is everyone else faring? I trust that no one has gotten ill yet, and that no one has gone hungry.
[Though there's nothing dignified about being barefoot, linen shirt sleeves rolled up to her shoulders and a single skirt hiked up above her knees, it's too hot to care. Far, far too hot. And working by a fire, making lunch out of whatever dead animal Sexby and his inmate had dragged into camp and peeling all sorts of odd-looking fruit, is dirty work.
She sighs and wipes the sweat off her brow, turning to check on Mal.]
How is everyone else faring? I trust that no one has gotten ill yet, and that no one has gone hungry.
[Though there's nothing dignified about being barefoot, linen shirt sleeves rolled up to her shoulders and a single skirt hiked up above her knees, it's too hot to care. Far, far too hot. And working by a fire, making lunch out of whatever dead animal Sexby and his inmate had dragged into camp and peeling all sorts of odd-looking fruit, is dirty work.
She sighs and wipes the sweat off her brow, turning to check on Mal.]