|
Saeryn
The two pots of porridge were nearly boiling. Saeryn stood by the stove and stirred first one pot then the other. She laid her hand on her belly. Her hands were trembling again. They often did now after very little exertion, and what with lifting and pouring the grain into the bins, she was very tired.
Stefnu and Modtryth came into the kitchen, carrying a sack between them. “This is the last one,” Modtryth said.
“Good. These will be done shortly. The fire’s hot enough, we can start more water.”
“Should we prepare anything else? Potatoes? Some of the dried meat, perhaps?”
Saeryn shook her head. “Not yet. The porridge will do us all good, but eating too much all at once would do more harm than good, I think.” She laid the spoon over the rim of the pot. “I will be back,” she said.
She went out the door into the hall and across to her and Eodwine’s room. She opened the door cautiously, so as not to wake her son, and was surprised to see Eodwine stretched out on the bed beside Eoghan. She went to the bed and laid her hand gently on her son’s forehead. He was still hot, but he seemed fast asleep and did not respond to her touch. She reached across him and touched Eodwine’s forehead. He, at least, was not feverish. He was asleep, though, and Saeryn took the moment to study him. He may not be sick, but he was far thinner than what was right. The skin was pulled tight over his cheekbones and his eyes were sunk far back.
“Are you asleep?” she asked in the tiniest whisper. If he was, she would let him lie until the porridge was entirely finished, and then she would wake him.
|