Jenny: A Far Green Country

The game of draughts which Jason had challenged her to partway through the afternoon was interrupted by Domitia's arrival. The Guttersnipe's attention was divided between Ambrosius leaning over and murmured, "No, chit, not that. Like this..." and Domitia's violent sneezing. Jason threw up his hands and said, "I will never beat her if you help!" as she got up quickly, bobbing out.

"I'm going to just check on Domitia. She looks unwell." Again. "I will be back in a moment."

Ambrosius pulled his chair around, displacing hers, eying the board while Jason pursed his lips in the determined frown of a martyr.

In the time it took to cross the room, the Guttersnipe could see that Domitia was truly unwell and that Cathair, though concerned, did not know where to go and or to do to help her. Arawn's Breath the natives called it, the soul-chilling mist of the Eryri hills. It had got in Domitia and was playing havoc with her. The girl's hair smelt faintly of salt when the Guttersnipe approached, holding up her hand in a sign of peace to Cathair. She then took hold of Domitia below and behind the cheekbones and pressed gently, asking if it hurt. Cathair, standing just behind her, was a brooding presence. Unfond of men in general outside her sphere, the Guttersnipe rose to the occasion. "It is just the hill sickness," she assured Domitia, dropping her hands to her sides. "We will give it a single mortal blow, and it will pass quickly. Sit so - and so - and do not stir from the fireside until I come back."

As she turned, she flicked a cool glance into the Irish bull's face. He was muddied and coarse in his appearance - he had that going for him. With the exception of Master Lucius, she disliked with a roiling belly men with dirtless hands. She saw a frankness in his look, a wariness as of one holding a small, dangerous thing in one's hands, still, not knowing if it would strike. She took the opportunity of those two heartbeats to Look at him, and saw through his eyes a rolling green country, fair with the wind on its face, warmer than her own climes, as frank and still more honest. He had the country in his eyes, and as her own eyes cleared, she gave him the smallest nod, passing on.

He had the good green country in his eyes. Yes, he would be a fine man.

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