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Apart from natural tiredness from lack of sleep, you feel fine - no pain
from your
wound and no sign
of fever. You wonder if perhaps Aaron exaggerated the seriousness of the
infection to
free himself of what he obviously saw as an encumbrance. The
room has a small mirror on the wall, and by careful manoeuvring and looking
over your
shoulder you manage to examine the wound in it. (Dawn has broken by now,
and there is
sufficient light.) It doesn't look too bad to your,
admittedly untrained, eye. Maybe the salve has caused a big improvement.
You replace
the dressing and consider your options.
You decide that what is going on in the village is no concern of yours now that Greger and Alyssa are safe. And whilst you would like to know about your past life, you can't get that knowledge just by wishing for it, so you decide that to brood on it would be futile. That leaves going after Aaron. You smile wryly to yourself. Who are you trying to kid with this oh-so-rational analysis? You were going to go after Aaron come what may. He may be stubborn but so are you. You wish you knew what the monks had done with the sword that you took from the gaoler; you would feel much happier if you had a weapon. At least they have provided you with clothes to replace the ragged brown dress; even better, not having any woman's clothes, at least in your size, they have given you male attire: breeches, jerkin, boots and long woollen socks. Apparently they are less horrified by the idea of women wearing men's clothes than are the local peasants. The items look to be mostly second-hand, but of good quality. And they fit quite well, especially (and most importantly) the boots. Aaron must have opened up a fair lead over you by now. You wonder if the abbey has any horses and, if it does, whether you can bring yourself to steal one given the monks' kindness towards you.
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9/1/2002 9:12:16 AM
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