A man
was approaching from the northwest stepping out of the sun’s brilliance. She shaded her eyes and watched as he moved
easily down the slight incline from the village. A scribal kit was looped over his shoulder
and he carried a dagger at his belt. She
recognized him after a moment: the man who had knelt to speak with the children
at the well, and had seemed to be grieving.
He
stopped beyond the well and stood waiting.
“A
man!” Henerte snorted. “Just what we
need to foul things up!” She straightened
and stared at him as he gazed back at her.
She raised her voice slightly.
“Well? Why doesn’t he come here
instead of dawdling there?”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to disturb us,” Nebet suggested.
“A
considerate man!” said the Town Scribe’s daughter. “Will wonders never cease?”
(from Mourningtide
by Diana Wilder)
8*/10. The
complete review is here.
.
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