24: Well, whaddya know? I am writing a story (just the bones so far, but wow)! Check it out (and check out the end of the last post for the first bit of it)!

why does the noblewoman dig me so much?

Is she into women?  No, well, maybe, but she's not after me in that way, or else she is being really subtle with her approach.    I helped her in a moment of real need.  She needed to hide out with her grown daughter and my small cottage was the place to do that.  Her grown (illigitimate) daughter was pregnant, and sadly, she and the infant died during childbirth.  We buried them there, asking the midwife to keep everything under wraps.  She continued to stay with me for much of  the following year.  I would have to go back down to my family's home (they didn't know a thing about all this) to bring down the herd and participate in shearing and trading at market and such, but I would always make an excuse and return to the cottage, bringing fresh provisions, blankets, little comforts.  At one point, she decided that she was ready to return home, and very carefully and chokedly asked me if I would like to come with her back to her world.  I thought about it, knowing that I would never be able to return home in the same way again after, that bidding farewell to this life was pretty well for keeps.  I went back and forth about it, then what won me over was my desire to study and learn and discover.  I said yes, and I introduced her to my family, who were all properly bowled over, of course.  They hopped around frenetically to bring out the best and make a good impression.  The time came when we told them of our plans, and they were stunned.  My mother started to cry, then I started to cry, and I noticed my noble friend was dabbing away too.  My father and brothers looked like they had been sucker-punched, all lacking their usual bravado and boisterous manner.  We rose to leave, and my mother embraced me, and choked her way through asking my friend to be careful with me and be good to me.  My mom wrapped up the remainder of our meal to send with us.  My father disappeared then reappeared with a bottle of his infused brandy, and my brothers gave us sheep-things--wool, wool tunics, wool socks, a sheepskin rug.  My nicest brother gave me his handmade flute, trying unsuccessfully to speak as he handed it to me. I wasn't able to either, and said it with embrace instead.    

The carriage had arrived, and my friend produced a small but heavy (two-hander) box full of gold and silver coins (I had wondered what had made her things so heavy) and gave it to my mother.  We boarded the carriage and waved to my family as the horses pulled us away from my old home.  I thought about opening the brandy, but knew I wouldn't need any help keeping my stomach settled in this swaying, jostling carriage.  My friend advised me to fix my gaze on something outside the window that doesn't move, and patted my hand, resting her hand on mine for a second.  Big tears then started to roll down my face as my gaze had clamped onto the rock outcropping that marked the spot where I had been going since I was a young girl to pasture my sheep.  I couldn't see the cottage, but I knew it was there, and would be there, but after a while we began to pass it, and I had to pick a new focal point further out into the distance.