Some walls are built up stone by stone. Others word by word.
“The wall may be crumbling, but it still keeps the peasants out.”
Jaenna’s mother had been saying that since she was a child. The wall was even more dilapidated now.
Jaenna could relate.
A poor lord made for a lonely manor. And a daughter past her prime.
Jaenna gazed out her window, over the wall, at the farmer woman. Ridel. She’d first seen Ridel when they were both girls. They grew up together. Ridel marrying, having babies, working, being useful. Jaenna here, alone, at the window.
Jaenna had never spoken to Ridel. Nobles don’t talk to peasants. Her mother insisted.
Jaenna watched Ridel work in her yard. She felt herself sinking into her stool, hardening there, dying slowly from lack of interest.
Suddenly, she stood. She would go through the gate, all by herself. She would approach Ridel and say… What do you say to a stranger? Jaenna balked.
Her feet didn’t move. She stared at Ridel. Doing this. Now doing that. Now going inside.
Jaenna sat. The wall was stronger than it looked.
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