Hoshor Plains tinnun ⊹

Vairë had a distinct pinch to her face. The sort of tooth-grinding expression of a woman who had little sleep and had to answer questions she did not wish to.

Her sister had little shame, it felt. To do such things in the middle of everything, where children roamed, it soured beneath her tongue. She wouldn’t say such things, her sister was young and in love. Her husband, however, was far older.

It appeared his brain did not live in his head, rather lived beneath his belly.

She padded to the call, nursing a headache as the woman’s circle opened before her. Vairë gave her mother and the other women there a sort of pinched smile, the kind when you are either in too much pain or too angry to speak. Then, she rather inelegantly flopped into a sit, resting her throbbing head between her own legs.