Eoin in seventeenth century plague mask and red leather cloak hugging Widow Magaidh in peasant dress.
Widow Magaidh hugging Eoin

Eoin tapped the scroll in Fearchar’s hand, creating another simple sign with his free hand that Fearchar was able to guess at.  “Who’ll read it? No fear, Ah’ve a lovely lass who’ll ‘elp with that,” he smiled broadly, happy at the somewhat one sided conversation.

Widow Magaidh tapped on Fearchar’s arm and made a more universal sign – one for coinage.  Eoin sighed. No one could quite understand him. He had learned over the years though, if he paid well enough, people were much more likely to make an effort at learning his wants.  Girl? his hands moved once more.  Fearchar nodded.

This reminded him of something.  Eoin reached under his cloak once more for a medium size pouch and pulled out a small box, not much larger than to hold a piece of jewelry.  He handed the ornately carved box to the old woman. Fearchar was surprised at the smooth scent of spice that emanated from the wood. Widow Magaidh opened the little snap and lifted the lid to see many small papers folded into tight little satchels.  A slight gleam of silver under the papers flashed for a second before she replaced the lid. She sighed in relief. “Thank ye, Eoin. Bless ye,” she hugged the figure tenderly, almost like she was afraid to break him. She let go of him and busied herself in getting ready to leave.  

Fearchar eyed the man uncertainly as he pulled his bow, quiver, and hunting basket from under the table. He was going to see just what this doctor could really do. Widow Magaidh’s cough had persisted for years. However, it had seemed in the last year that it had become less taxing on her health. Maybe the man’s medicines really did do something for her.

“Time t’ find out exactly what ye ‘ired me f’r,” Fearchar clapped his hand on Eoin’s shoulder as he stood up.  Eoin looked up at him, flinching at the sudden contact. He joined suit and followed them out the door.  Widow Magaidh tapped Fearchar on the shoulder outside the door. He sighed heavily and fished into his newly acquired purse and pulled out a gold coin.  “Ah should’a ken ‘fter the last five bets that ye don’nae lose easily when ye wager high, do ye, Aunty?” Fearchar groaned as he placed the gleaming metal in her withered hand.

Tractor in the Country Postcard
Image result for the renegades of pern
The Renegades of Pern

I am a writer and artist working through the Kavordian Library series. I write sci-fi, fantasy, lgbt romance.

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