"Mondays never go well."
Thera looked at the Head Novate through tired, unimpressed eyes. "It's Wednesday."
"I know dear." The older woman strolled through the walled garden, examining the beds one by one.
It was the youngest girl's day to do the weeding, and because they had just started someone always had to come behind them and ensure they'd not pulled up any of the plants.
"Don't you agree, Thera?"
Thera sighed, and carefully replanted a seedling someone had clearly started to uproot. "That Monday's never go well?"
The Head Novate nodded happily.
Thera nearly bit down on her words. She'd joined the sanctuary on a Monday. A clear bright fall day where she'd been walked up to the gates by her mother and handed over to the sisters like a donated pig.
"I haven't noticed."
The Head Novate smiled, shaking her head. "You are always so politic."
Thera had learned. She'd been a Novate for six years now, from eleven to seventeen. She'd learned some fine skills. When not to speak. When not to even think of speaking. When to bow. When to smile and agree happily. When to smile and agree solemnly.
How to make jam.
The jam was probably her most useful skill. Because someday when she was alone, when the day came they let her check the girl's weed pulling skills on her own then she'd sneak one of the st of henbane. And then, while the others were all spending the evening in line to the loo, she would be off...
"Come come dear," the Head Novate said quietly. "The henbane isn't ready yet anyway." She patted Thera on the shoulder, and walked toward the kitchen. "Besides, fall is a bad time of year for a sea voyage."
Thera sighed, and focused back on the job at hand. "It's still Wednesday."
Thera looked at the Head Novate through tired, unimpressed eyes. "It's Wednesday."
"I know dear." The older woman strolled through the walled garden, examining the beds one by one.
It was the youngest girl's day to do the weeding, and because they had just started someone always had to come behind them and ensure they'd not pulled up any of the plants.
"Don't you agree, Thera?"
Thera sighed, and carefully replanted a seedling someone had clearly started to uproot. "That Monday's never go well?"
The Head Novate nodded happily.
Thera nearly bit down on her words. She'd joined the sanctuary on a Monday. A clear bright fall day where she'd been walked up to the gates by her mother and handed over to the sisters like a donated pig.
"I haven't noticed."
The Head Novate smiled, shaking her head. "You are always so politic."
Thera had learned. She'd been a Novate for six years now, from eleven to seventeen. She'd learned some fine skills. When not to speak. When not to even think of speaking. When to bow. When to smile and agree happily. When to smile and agree solemnly.
How to make jam.
The jam was probably her most useful skill. Because someday when she was alone, when the day came they let her check the girl's weed pulling skills on her own then she'd sneak one of the st of henbane. And then, while the others were all spending the evening in line to the loo, she would be off...
"Come come dear," the Head Novate said quietly. "The henbane isn't ready yet anyway." She patted Thera on the shoulder, and walked toward the kitchen. "Besides, fall is a bad time of year for a sea voyage."
Thera sighed, and focused back on the job at hand. "It's still Wednesday."
I have no explanations for this. It just decided to hang out in my head tonight. Also, you really shouldn't give people henbane. It's not pleasant, and it probably wouldn't kill anybody but all the same...
And can you guess how little I'm paying attention to these titles anymore?
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