Jenny: Sleeping Quarters

"It is beautiful." The Guttersnipe carefully watches the girl horde away some of her cheese, frowning slightly. "It has a very diverse countryside: lakes, mountains, valleys, plains, moors. And the moon is always bigger and the sun shines brighter there, I think."

She put away the last of her raisins and finished off the watered mead, teeth on edge. Pushing her stool back, she got up, gesturing to Domitia. "I'll show you to your bunk," she said. "I'll come for you in the morning, and then I'll take you to see the master. Move, brute." (This to the big old war-hound that was lying before the fire.)

She took Domitia through the house to the slave quarters. Unlike Gwenhywfar's bower, the sleeping cells were very Roman in concept: small, narrow, fit for a room and a trunk and not much more, the reasoning being that one spent little time in a sleeping cell. "You've got a window," the Guttersnipe said cheerily. She dropped down beside the bed and fished out the folded rugs from underneath, piling them atop the thin mattress. "Clean, sturdy - " she sat on the cot and bounced. "If you're any good at painting or poetry, feel free to decorate the walls." Then she shouldered up and smoothed down her dress. "I'm off to see to Gwenhywfar. Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning."

She gave the girl a friendly smile.