Beneath the ruins
17th November 1102
“Bring the torch closer so I can see”, barked Lochan.
Obligingly Noah knelt, the flickering light of the flare casting eery shadows over the weathered tiles.
They go down below
17th November 1102
Tiny flakes of snow swirled through the chill air netting themselves in the heavy weave of Harndall’s cloak which was already sodden with their melting bodies. Behind them the hollow shell of the ruined church loomed, blackened arches curving upwards like the ribcage of some giant rotting creature.
All around him were men, men with swords, their sharp edges menacingly slicing through the soft forms of the unfortunate snowflakes whose suicidal trajectories intersected them.
Igrayne is hollow
31st October 1102
Despite the occasional cool breeze twining around Igrayne’s body like the breath of a lost soul, the party was remarkably cosy. They were seated around the heavy wooden table, lovingly notched together by Noah’s steady hands. Although the world around was dark and forbidding, they had created a small pocket of warmth and conviviality within the radius of the light from the dancing flames.
Igrayne remembers a doll
31st October 1102
Igrayne plunged her hands into the steaming water. They slid below the surface, hidden momentarily beneath a haze of steam. When they reappeared she could see them magnified, pink and chapped from years of hard work. She was unpleasantly reminded that they were not hands becoming of a lady’s maid. Perhaps she had risen above her status as scullion, but the rough skin on her hands would never let her forget from where she had come.
