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Linduial had changed out of the ruined dress, finally, laying it carefully aside so she could try to salvage some of the silk embroidery thread later. She now wore a gown of yellow linen, delighting that they seemed to have left the rain behind with the morning, and had spread her cloak on the large stone she now sat on, carefully transferring Marenil's dirt drawings to paper, writing his rough measurements and the ideas he'd told her down in her fine lady-like hand.
Her hair was now neatly tied back and up into a womanly chignon at the base of her neck, and she was enjoying the warming air as the early spring sun shyly peeked around the thinning clouds. She'd grabbed an apple out of the stash in her room when she'd changed and fetched the paper, and ate it slowly, careful not to muss her work with the juice. She was quiet, and thoroughly engrossed in what she was doing; she noticed little of the doings around her, except for Marenil, who was slowly beginning to sort what bits of wood and stone he thought were salvageable, and piling the rest in a corner of the yard for Kara to use as kindling, not interfering with Lord Eodwine's own survey of the damage.
The two of them were an island of calm in what was still a fairly chaotic atmosphere.
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