Dairine
was humming to herself, a song she'd heard in town one day, when
there was a knock on the door. She was long past the fear of opening
it. An elderly woman she didn't recognize stood on the step. “Forgive
me, but I was told in the village that there was a woman here who
could help me.” She held up a cloak with a tear in it. “Can you
fix this?” Her voice grew hoarse. “I don't have much in the way
of money. I lost my husband several months ago and haven't gotten
everything resolved yet for me to be comfortable.”
“It's
an easy fix,” Dairine said. “But, forgive me, I can't possibly
work without some sort of payment.”
“What
about these?” The old woman held out a basket of apples. “They're
straight from the orchard. I know they're not much, but it would be
something.” She pulled one of the largest out of the basket. “If
you want to know how they taste before you work, you can try this
one. If it's not to your liking I'll find some other way of paying
you.”
Dairine
loved apples. She'd missed them living with the miners. They were too
expensive in town since the orchards around the town produced the
kinds of apples only the highborn could afford. She hesitated for a
moment, and then took the large apple from the woman. “Would you
care to share it with me?”
“I
get my fill of apples during this season,” the old woman said. “Go
ahead. That one's all for you.”
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