The other day ago, sensing that he'd soon be gone, the fighting girls had shoved a 'new' shirt at him, one they'd quilted together from his old one and various scraps and then put through a quick dye, making it roughly the same muddy color all over. "Wear this and stop busting the seams in the swordsmith's clothes," one said, and then they'd all hung around hoping he would take it off in front of them.
It's not, by most standards, a good shirt, tackled more out of general enthusiasm than prior experience. The sleeves are slightly different lengths, the hems are uneven, the fabric pieces it's made of vary wildly in weight and coarseness, and much of the stitching is clumsy. On the inside, about halfway down the back, there's a panel of fabric leftover from embroidery practice, still bearing shaky attempts at flowers. They'd used a smaller shirt as a pattern, scaling it up without measuring very precisely, and had erred large - too large, but Guts is a huge boy and it's not quite so baggy as they expected.
One of the kitchen girls, already wide awake and making preparations for breakfast had eventually taken pity on him and given him something portable. "Now go away and good luck. The pears are ripening and I don't want you eating all those, too!" Then she gave him a string bag of wrinkly dried peach rings that he had to keep away from Safflower, who was convinced he had brought her a treat.
Cows can be heard lowing expectantly as they wait to be milked. Guts is up before things get particularly busy, but a lot of farming happens here and farmers don't waste light, especially when the afternoon gets hot enough to impede working.
Galli's punishment for wandering has included taking some of the crap shifts at the watchtower, though things have gone quiet and there may once again be no watcher assigned overnight soon. She's slumped at her post, alternating which hand is a closed fist and which one's an open palm slapped against it in a dull way that suggests she's been doing it for a while. Near her little covered tower, the gate has a crossbar on the inside that's been lowered into place for the night, quiet or no quiet.
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It's not, by most standards, a good shirt, tackled more out of general enthusiasm than prior experience. The sleeves are slightly different lengths, the hems are uneven, the fabric pieces it's made of vary wildly in weight and coarseness, and much of the stitching is clumsy. On the inside, about halfway down the back, there's a panel of fabric leftover from embroidery practice, still bearing shaky attempts at flowers. They'd used a smaller shirt as a pattern, scaling it up without measuring very precisely, and had erred large - too large, but Guts is a huge boy and it's not quite so baggy as they expected.
One of the kitchen girls, already wide awake and making preparations for breakfast had eventually taken pity on him and given him something portable. "Now go away and good luck. The pears are ripening and I don't want you eating all those, too!" Then she gave him a string bag of wrinkly dried peach rings that he had to keep away from Safflower, who was convinced he had brought her a treat.
Cows can be heard lowing expectantly as they wait to be milked. Guts is up before things get particularly busy, but a lot of farming happens here and farmers don't waste light, especially when the afternoon gets hot enough to impede working.
Galli's punishment for wandering has included taking some of the crap shifts at the watchtower, though things have gone quiet and there may once again be no watcher assigned overnight soon. She's slumped at her post, alternating which hand is a closed fist and which one's an open palm slapped against it in a dull way that suggests she's been doing it for a while. Near her little covered tower, the gate has a crossbar on the inside that's been lowered into place for the night, quiet or no quiet.