17.May.12, 09:59 AM
"Excuse me? Anyone in quite this early?"
Belamie closed her eyes. Her morning's revery was over and she needed to focus, to shake off the quiet. The table under her hands and the dull leather of her apron was coated with a fine layer of sawdust and though her natural impulse was to draw a breath as she prepared herself for the day's performance, she checked that urge. She'd neglected to tie a cloth around her mouth and nose to protect herself from breathing in those particles.
The voice was a soft one, on the verge of uncertainty. Something about it tickled her memory. Who was at the door? Her mind brought her an image of dark skin and strange pale eyes. The midwife? That's right. Lymsleia. She let her hands move back into the smooth strokes required of sanding down the spoon as she considered how to best respond.
In the end, the matter was decided for her. Belamie didn't see or hear the girl approaching.
Of course she didn't. That was Indivara's way and it was far more unsettling than the scars that marked the child's face. The pulse of alarm she felt made it difficult to slide the right smile into place; it was slow in coming as she looked up from the work in hand to focus on her visitor.
It didn't surprise her that the girl knew her name. That was also her way--and Belamie's as well. "In here, Lymsleia!"
The summons was louder than she'd prefer--all of this empty echoey space did strange things to a voice accustomed to lingering in the softer ranges. But Bel kept her smile firmly in place as she returned her eyes to Indivara's face. The scars were looking better. Less vivid, even if they were no less distinctive. In a distant part of her mind, she wondered how the girl could stand the itching as they healed.
"Indivara," she said quietly, letting the name stand as a greeting. When she saw her eyes focused on the spoon, Bel set the sandpaper down and carefully brushed the object off before offering it to the girl for study. Children liked to hold things, to study them close, even those on the borderland between childhood and adulthood like this one. And touching soft, worked wood like this was a pleasure that might incline the girl favorably towards herself--it was rare that people didn't respond positively to the tactile sensation when they really studied a well made piece.
"I'd be happy to take a commission, of course. You just have to tell me what you'd like and I'll tell you if it's possible. Some of the better wood is still seasoning."
Belamie closed her eyes. Her morning's revery was over and she needed to focus, to shake off the quiet. The table under her hands and the dull leather of her apron was coated with a fine layer of sawdust and though her natural impulse was to draw a breath as she prepared herself for the day's performance, she checked that urge. She'd neglected to tie a cloth around her mouth and nose to protect herself from breathing in those particles.
The voice was a soft one, on the verge of uncertainty. Something about it tickled her memory. Who was at the door? Her mind brought her an image of dark skin and strange pale eyes. The midwife? That's right. Lymsleia. She let her hands move back into the smooth strokes required of sanding down the spoon as she considered how to best respond.
In the end, the matter was decided for her. Belamie didn't see or hear the girl approaching.
Of course she didn't. That was Indivara's way and it was far more unsettling than the scars that marked the child's face. The pulse of alarm she felt made it difficult to slide the right smile into place; it was slow in coming as she looked up from the work in hand to focus on her visitor.
It didn't surprise her that the girl knew her name. That was also her way--and Belamie's as well. "In here, Lymsleia!"
The summons was louder than she'd prefer--all of this empty echoey space did strange things to a voice accustomed to lingering in the softer ranges. But Bel kept her smile firmly in place as she returned her eyes to Indivara's face. The scars were looking better. Less vivid, even if they were no less distinctive. In a distant part of her mind, she wondered how the girl could stand the itching as they healed.
"Indivara," she said quietly, letting the name stand as a greeting. When she saw her eyes focused on the spoon, Bel set the sandpaper down and carefully brushed the object off before offering it to the girl for study. Children liked to hold things, to study them close, even those on the borderland between childhood and adulthood like this one. And touching soft, worked wood like this was a pleasure that might incline the girl favorably towards herself--it was rare that people didn't respond positively to the tactile sensation when they really studied a well made piece.
"I'd be happy to take a commission, of course. You just have to tell me what you'd like and I'll tell you if it's possible. Some of the better wood is still seasoning."