As if I could stop him.
He squeaks, looking toward the door as though expecting Ramsey to charge in at any moment.
“You’re going to have to be more careful from now on,” I warn, hoping I won’t have to give him up.
I found Harold back at the caves, or rather, he found me. My mother always said I had a way with animals, but it could be the scent of the dyes that attracted him, or the soft threads I’d been weaving.
Whatever the reason, he never left, making a home by my side and allowing me to use his fur to make brushes to help paint my weaves.
Arwin nearly had a panic attack when she first glimpsed him, taking umbrage with his forked tail, horns, and flat face, so I hid him around the others, knowing he would only make me a bigger outcast.
As if that were possible.
Unfortunately, I suspect there will be no hiding him from Ramsey, and if I selfishly kept him around, he would not be long for this world.
“You may have to go soon, little guy,” I say with a frown, fighting back weak tears.
He tilts his little head and squeaks.
“There are lady mice out there, and it’s unfair of me to keep you all to myself.”
He circles his spot and lies down.
I’ll worry about him later.
I straighten my weaves, taking note of what needs my attention.
Fixing the damage caused by Ramsey is arduous, and a part of me wonders if it’s even worth it with what the men offer, but as Elena says, we can’t rely on them for everything, lest they think we’re weak.
The one that suffered the greatest damage is the weave Grixis requested, meant to be a gift to Elena.
Why even bother, though, when there are plenty of animals on the island, some with strong hides for tents, others with soft ones for bedding? Why bother continuing to weave at all?
They probably just want to keep me busy, so the Tempest men will think I have value and that I’m not as weak as I appear.
The unfortunate truth is, I am.
I’m not made for Melgrim, and it’s astonishing I’ve survived for as long as I have without succumbing to the cruel land. Stronger women have perished, yet I remain, depending on others to keep me alive.
No…
I lift my most intricate weave, finding it stretched in places that won’t be easy to fix. I could keep going with it as is, but the image woven into it would be distorted.
It might seem trivial that I even care about the design, but Elena said that it would give the noble maidens a small sliver of home and show the Tempest men we have culture.
I understand why that might seem important, but with the cold season coming, I can’t help but think it’s all for naught. What hope do I have of making enough bedding and clothes for us all?
And soon, Ramsey will demand I leave, and I have no safe place for my weaves.
But what choice do I have but to continue, as I cannot hunt and the other necessary jobs are taken?
Hopefully, Elena will know where to put me, and if there is no place for my work, maybe she’ll find me a new job, one the men will respect.
Not that I’m capable of much.
I go to Elena’s tent and find a bell now fastened outside. I ring it.
“Come in.”
