![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jackofallgeeks| He sat himself at the table, his muscles groaning in relief, as she buisied herself at the fire. A large pot was hung over the flames, boilling a milky-colored stew. It was probably goat again. The rain beat against the windows as she dished out the stew, her ladle clinking dully, first against the pot and then against each of the stone-work bowls. "The wooden shingles leak over in the corner." She said flatly, motioning with her head. "You'll need to fix them." 'When we have the money' was left implied. She placed the heavy-smelling bowl infront of him and then took her own seat. The iron spoon, smooth and bent by years of use, slid familiarly into his hand. He would tell her about the oxen tomorrow. |
