Wildflowers | Alec Volturi

cinq

"She was brave and oh, so smart. She knew how to use that to her advantage everytime."

A basket hang form her arm, swaying with each lazy step she took on the muddy dirt roads that lead through the village. All was wet from the night before, and those she didn't care much for a bit of water, her Father had taken it upon himself to forbid her from going to her meadow so early in the morning.

It had nothing to do with the silent war she waged against him, but, she believed, it was an action taken out of care for her health.

Instead of sitting among her flowers wth berries on her tongue, wishing that Alec would join her in a secreted moment, she was to check the few stops that they had in the village to restock the kitchen.

It was another of Mother's jobs that she had taken over, and still, not one slice of delectable gossip had reached her ears about the state of her health. It seemed as though all were happy pretending that she was fine, or that perhaps she was simply a miserable victim of her own nerves.

Part of her, perhaps the evil part, wished that they would speak out, accusing her of being sick or a worshipper of the devil to have such a weak body.

Part of her wanted to feel justified in her silent rage against her mother, the woman of the house and of their family, a respectable lady of the village, for leaving all of her tasks to her daughter. Robyn was miserable now as Rodick had taken to placing Mother on bed rest as though he was the physician that he had her send for.

She was thankful that Mary had written her back with the news of a doctor that is to pass through here sometimes within the fortnight.

Robyn needed him to come as much as her Mother did because she found herself growing terribly short with the woman. She loved her mother, yes, she always would, but she could not take the weight of the burden of her own responsibilities paired with her mothers. It was simply too much for her, too much for her to stand to look at her mother.

She shifts her basket as she enters the small bakery. The breadmaker and his wife great her jovially, a drastic change from the temperature within the small room.

Before her, Jane stood with her back erect and eyes guarded. She grasped her own basket -- larger than her own and more in the shape of a sack -- with a tightness, a caution, that Robyn had never exhibited before.

"Fine day," she greets in a friendly tone. "The rain will do us some good, don't you think?"

Jane shoots her a curious look. "Aye, I suppose that it will."

She hums. "I have hopes that it will save my families fields. Rodick might not need to spend so much of his day wasted with watering now. He could focus on the animals for once, I believe."

"Alec said something the like when he saw the weather. He was pleased to have a chance to fix the fence," she replies quietly.

Robyn blinks. "The fence has broken again?"

The other girl's jaw tightens. "It is always broken," she says sharply.

It translates to: 'someone is always breaking it.'

"A pity. It is odd, though, that it is always broken. Alec is smart and strong, he is capable of fixing a fence and your land is not so big as to garner so much destruction from the weather. Your home is practically in town, is it now?" her words are rhetoric, a setting for the couple that watches them converse, ready to gossip their warning. "I shall ask Rodick to join me later in visiting your home. He might be able to see the problem that is plaguing you."