Wordcount: 1038
Accomplished: Nonhle gets to be miserable in a cage for a couple of hours before disaster strikes. (I’m going back and filling in some missing scenes, most of them from her POV.)
Excerpt:
She shook herself out of the memory and rubbed her hand across her eyes. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a cup of water,” she said to the woman who huddled by the fire.
The woman snorted. “Pretty manners for a dead woman. Where’d you get them?”
“I was born on the plains,” she said, and cursed herself. She always reverted back to the manners she had been taught as a child when she was afraid, as she was now. The people of Matinne favored a more direct approach. “Water?”
“Suppose I can’t begrudge a dead woman a drink. Here.” She reached down next to her and picked up a clay bottle. “Beer. Better than water.” She set it down by the cage and returned to her seat, picking up a stick up stir the fire with. She did not look at Nonhle; it was as if she had abruptly ceased to exist.
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