Jenny: Gwenhywfar

Having crossed the pasture and made their way over the fences, Wulf took Firefly around while the Guttersnipe led the girl round by the garden. They went in through the white-painted gate among the untidy broom and poppies, which made the enclosure seem to shine out, and stopped a moment, dropping onto the doorsill to wrestle off her boots. "I seem to have stepped in something," she mused, and fell to scraping the boot clean.

The fountain gurgled in the background. The garden, axial in concept, afforded few places to hide, but round the biggest broom-bush a voice called, "Guttersnipe, is that you?"

She threw up her head. "It's me! I've come back with Wulf from Lord Marcus' for Master Lucius." She clambered to her bare feet. "How is he?"

Gwenhywfar came into view, holding in her hands long strings on which she had been arranging amber beads. She moved with all the grace of one of her songs, which belied the strength she could employ from one of those bare alabaster arms. The sunlight struck the amber and her hair and made them shine like the poppies with wild fire. "He was out for a while," she told the Guttersnipe when she had come closer, "but he was feeling ill and took to his room. He asked me to send you in when you arrived."

"Right away." The Guttersnipe swooped up her dirty boots and perched on the threshold like a bird on a branch. Turning to the new slave-girl, she nodded briskly. "Take care of yourself. I'll see you presently. Be respectful - this is our bard."

Then she swept away indoors through the dim vestibule, padding quietly toward Master Lucius' room. He would want a glass of wine, she reasoned, and news of the Wearmouth, and then perhaps he would be better.