[for Silence]
Marian had spent much of the past week testing her luck with the bookshelf. It had yielded her such titles as Making Every Man Want You, Men are like Fish, and Dating for Dummies. While she did not think any of these were that appropriate she and taken them all, studying them as she could. Often she became frustrated, or disgusted even, throwing the books down, yet in the end she always went back to them.
It was because of these books that she had panned this evening. A lovely woman busy cooking in the kitchen for a wedding had helped her with food, giving her some of what she'd made, and helping her roast a wild bird Marian had caught. She'd brought these things back to her hut, setting a chest outside as a table, covered with a cloth she'd taken from the store rooms. A fire was lit in the pit she had built, and palm oil lamps dotted the area, on the chest, and the bench not in use, as well as inside of her hut.
She'd found flowers as, truly, she'd always liked flowers. Some were scattered about the table, and some others were braided into her hair. Fragrant white blossoms that were unlike anything she'd known. The gown she'd found was similar to any she would have had at home, a simple pattern and buttoned down the front, though the neck cut lower than she was used to, the cap sleeves she had adjusted to by now.
Now there was simply the waiting. Marian had never been patient, she'd been told frequently what a failing it was, and while she'd always dismissed that, now she wondered if perhaps it was a flaw. She'd never wanted so much for someone to arrive, for things to go well, for all that she did not know precisely how things should go.
It was because of these books that she had panned this evening. A lovely woman busy cooking in the kitchen for a wedding had helped her with food, giving her some of what she'd made, and helping her roast a wild bird Marian had caught. She'd brought these things back to her hut, setting a chest outside as a table, covered with a cloth she'd taken from the store rooms. A fire was lit in the pit she had built, and palm oil lamps dotted the area, on the chest, and the bench not in use, as well as inside of her hut.
She'd found flowers as, truly, she'd always liked flowers. Some were scattered about the table, and some others were braided into her hair. Fragrant white blossoms that were unlike anything she'd known. The gown she'd found was similar to any she would have had at home, a simple pattern and buttoned down the front, though the neck cut lower than she was used to, the cap sleeves she had adjusted to by now.
Now there was simply the waiting. Marian had never been patient, she'd been told frequently what a failing it was, and while she'd always dismissed that, now she wondered if perhaps it was a flaw. She'd never wanted so much for someone to arrive, for things to go well, for all that she did not know precisely how things should go.