the road less traveled
She thinks she is done for this day. Her purse feels a bit heavier than when she starts, able to jingle with coin before being spent. For the past year, this land has been her house. Whether she will call any court a home is beyond her knowledge. Ignorance is sometimes bliss, after all. Willoughby stands alone in the center of the area, by a fountain.
But she is not alone for long. Just after wrapping up her routine - including begging for scraps - the simple act of kindness catches her unawares. It is welcomed, however, as the bread is extended to her. She feels her belly lurch with greed and restrains it. "How kind of you, sir" says the young woman, accepting the half loaf with a smile flashed his way.
For someone who does not earn much, the item is treasured. She holds it to her chest before admiring the golden loaf at a distance. It is free of rot, of ruin and decay. A healthy piece of bread. Her stomach would thank her for it. "Thank you" she adds to the stranger, bowing her head dutifully like a good little beggar.
And in that instant, her purse spills.
Ah, of all the rotten luck. The signos are few and far between, but they spill regardless. "Ah" the bard says, shocked into near silence. They tumble in different directions, scattering the ground. The leather of her purse is worn and more drawstring than satchel. It chooses to break in this moment. Yet she is not perturbed. Willoughby sets the bread down and -
begins to pluck them back up.
@Micheal / speaks / yay
