Read Online The Tower of Ravens by Kate Forsyth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Forsyth
Ads: Link
protected. None will harm ye here.”
The girl looked up again, considering Lilanthe for a long moment. Then she nodded in acknowledgement and went back to her meal.
“Ye’re welcome,” Lilanthe said with gentle irony and went back into the darkness.
“It’s usual to say ‘thanks’ when someone does something for ye,” Lewen chided gently.
“Why?” she asked.
He was nonplussed. “It just is. It’s good manners. People get upset if ye do no‘ say thanks.”
“Why?”
“They just do. It’s rude.”
“What rude?”
“Rude is… being rude is having bad manners.” Lewen was conscious of talking in circles. He made a big effort. “Good manners are like the oil in the clogs of a clock, they keep things running smoothly,” he said.
The girl stared at him blankly. Lewen realised she would never have seen a clock before and cast around for some other way to explain.
“Being rude makes ye seem… ungrateful. No-one will like doing things for ye. If ye say things like ‘please’ and ‘thank ye’ and ‘bless ye’ and ‘may I,’ then people will like ye more and like doing things for ye.”
“If me say… this thing, ‘thanks,’ then people like me?” she asked incredulously.
“Aye.”
“Ye too? Ye like me if me say ‘thanks’?”
“Aye, o‘ course. I mean…” Fearing his tongue getting into a tangle again, Lewen came to a halt.
“Then me say thanks,” she said.
“Ye’re welcome,” he said. “That’s what you say when people have said thanks.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Ye just do,” he answered.
The girl absorbed this in silence.
Rather shyly Lewen directed the girl towards the clean clothes. “Would you like to change? And there’s a comb for your hair.” She stared at it in puzzlement as he held it up for her. He mimed combing his hair, then said, “Though happen your hair is too knotted to comb by yourself. And it needs to be washed.”
He imagined himself washing it for her, and colour surged in his cheeks. He went on doggedly, “Tomorrow, happen my mam will help you wash and comb it. Now ye should sleep. Ye are tired.”
She had put one hand up to her hair self-consciously. Now she dropped it, nodding and saying, “Aye, me tired. No‘ much sleep last night.” She shook her head wonderingly and crammed another piece of whortleberry pie into her mouth.
“Why no‘? Were ye riding the mare all night?”
She jerked her head in affirmation.
“How long? How long were ye on her back?”
She shrugged, then held up two fingers.
“Two days?”
“One day, one night,” she answered. “Long time.”
“Aye, indeed. I’ll leave ye to sleep then, for ye must be tired,” Lewen said, handing her the pile of soft blankets. “I hope ye will be warm enough.”
She had been fingering the blankets rather dazedly. At his words she looked up at him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Dimples suddenly flashed in her cheeks. She made a gesture that went from the blankets round the shadowy, lantern-lit stable with its straw-filled byres and sleepy, contented animals. “Me never so warm,” she answered.
Lewen went back through the cool, moonlit garden to the house, feeling that hot, happy daze one gets from drinking too much ale at Hogmanay. His mind was so full of the girl that he had to stand outside the door in the darkness for a while to clear his head.
When he came into the kitchen, his parents and his sister were already seated at the table, eating their meal. Fires burnt at either end of the room, and candles were lit on the table and mantelpiece, filling the room with a golden glow. Ursa lay on her rug before one of the fires, her enormous bulk blocking most of its heat. She lifted her grey snout and looked at him with worried eyes, moaning a question. Both his parents scrutinised him closely too but he managed not to flush, pulling up his chair to the table and saying in his usual practical way, “She’s no‘ badly hurt, just tired
The girl looked up again, considering Lilanthe for a long moment. Then she nodded in acknowledgement and went back to her meal.
“Ye’re welcome,” Lilanthe said with gentle irony and went back into the darkness.
“It’s usual to say ‘thanks’ when someone does something for ye,” Lewen chided gently.
“Why?” she asked.
He was nonplussed. “It just is. It’s good manners. People get upset if ye do no‘ say thanks.”
“Why?”
“They just do. It’s rude.”
“What rude?”
“Rude is… being rude is having bad manners.” Lewen was conscious of talking in circles. He made a big effort. “Good manners are like the oil in the clogs of a clock, they keep things running smoothly,” he said.
The girl stared at him blankly. Lewen realised she would never have seen a clock before and cast around for some other way to explain.
“Being rude makes ye seem… ungrateful. No-one will like doing things for ye. If ye say things like ‘please’ and ‘thank ye’ and ‘bless ye’ and ‘may I,’ then people will like ye more and like doing things for ye.”
“If me say… this thing, ‘thanks,’ then people like me?” she asked incredulously.
“Aye.”
“Ye too? Ye like me if me say ‘thanks’?”
“Aye, o‘ course. I mean…” Fearing his tongue getting into a tangle again, Lewen came to a halt.
“Then me say thanks,” she said.
“Ye’re welcome,” he said. “That’s what you say when people have said thanks.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Ye just do,” he answered.
The girl absorbed this in silence.
Rather shyly Lewen directed the girl towards the clean clothes. “Would you like to change? And there’s a comb for your hair.” She stared at it in puzzlement as he held it up for her. He mimed combing his hair, then said, “Though happen your hair is too knotted to comb by yourself. And it needs to be washed.”
He imagined himself washing it for her, and colour surged in his cheeks. He went on doggedly, “Tomorrow, happen my mam will help you wash and comb it. Now ye should sleep. Ye are tired.”
She had put one hand up to her hair self-consciously. Now she dropped it, nodding and saying, “Aye, me tired. No‘ much sleep last night.” She shook her head wonderingly and crammed another piece of whortleberry pie into her mouth.
“Why no‘? Were ye riding the mare all night?”
She jerked her head in affirmation.
“How long? How long were ye on her back?”
She shrugged, then held up two fingers.
“Two days?”
“One day, one night,” she answered. “Long time.”
“Aye, indeed. I’ll leave ye to sleep then, for ye must be tired,” Lewen said, handing her the pile of soft blankets. “I hope ye will be warm enough.”
She had been fingering the blankets rather dazedly. At his words she looked up at him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Dimples suddenly flashed in her cheeks. She made a gesture that went from the blankets round the shadowy, lantern-lit stable with its straw-filled byres and sleepy, contented animals. “Me never so warm,” she answered.
Lewen went back through the cool, moonlit garden to the house, feeling that hot, happy daze one gets from drinking too much ale at Hogmanay. His mind was so full of the girl that he had to stand outside the door in the darkness for a while to clear his head.
When he came into the kitchen, his parents and his sister were already seated at the table, eating their meal. Fires burnt at either end of the room, and candles were lit on the table and mantelpiece, filling the room with a golden glow. Ursa lay on her rug before one of the fires, her enormous bulk blocking most of its heat. She lifted her grey snout and looked at him with worried eyes, moaning a question. Both his parents scrutinised him closely too but he managed not to flush, pulling up his chair to the table and saying in his usual practical way, “She’s no‘ badly hurt, just tired
Similar Books
