The reeds interlocking in her hands bore the brunt of her emotions as she wove, picturing a certain red-haired menace.
She had noticed his gaze on her but chose to ignore it. Yet it seemed the louder she laughed, the longer he glared! She could not for the life of her understand why he was always looking at her—not with desire but with something between annoyance and loathing.
So instead of waiting to speak with Lord Goodwin at a later time, she ran toward them. If he insists on staring, she had thought, let him look me straight in the eye. Men like him only glared from afar. Up close, he would fold beneath her radiance.
The reeds cried for mercy as she tightened her weaving, remembering how wrong she had been.
He did not fold! His glare only hardened.
"What in the world could I have done to him!" she snapped. "Did he lend me some money?" she wondered, "Or perhaps we met in another life and I was the death of him."
"Have you finally gone mad?" Milcah said, stepping out of the hut with a bowl of ripe bananas. "Who are you talking to?" the old woman asked, placing the bowl on the ground and taking a seat next to Damaris.
"Milcah, could there be any reason why a man would meet a woman and glare at her like she was covered in filth?" she asked, setting aside her weaving to take a banana.
"Hah! So you finally met a man aloof to your charms." Milcah burst into uncontrollable laughter, clutching her stomach as Damaris' scowl only proved she had hit the nail on the head.
"Why do you gain joy in my predicament?" she pouted, vigorously chewing her banana as though it were stone.
"I am glad that your only predicament is a man not falling for your beauty. It reminds me that so much time has passed since the night I first saw you." A motherly smile crawled up her lips as memories of that fateful night flooded Damaris' mind.
A cold winter night.
Damaris shook her head, sending the memories back to where they came from.
"Tell me, who is the mutt that would look at Damaris and not be smitten?" Milcah asked in mock defense. "Is he a fair mutt?" she added, brows dancing in mockery.
Damaris scoffed. "Fair my foot! With that nasty gaze of his, he looks like dried sorghum leaves."
"Ah, I see, so you are angry that the handsome man who caught your eye has no interest in you."
Damaris' brows creased, her hands rising dramatically with disbelief. "Have you been listening to anything I said? I said nothing about fancying him. If anything, he must fancy me but his pride as an Imperial Gardener—" she said the title with distaste. "—would not allow him to accept it!"
"Damaris, have you ever thought that your pride might be your problem?"
"Oh Milcah, you only say that because you do not know how those men from the capital behave," she asserted. "I once heard of a nobleman who bullied a maid because he loved her and was too proud to admit it. I believe it is the same thing here."
"Really?" Milcah jeered, but Damaris was too invested in her explanation to see the mockery in her words.
"You bet. I am certain he cannot believe he has fallen for such a fine Lady."
"And where might the Lady be, if I may ask?" Damaris found Milcah laughing again, making fun of her.
"Oh Milcah, mock all you want but just you wait." She looked in the direction of the woods as though she could see something far beyond the human eyes.
"I will break that arrogant gaze of his and make him confess his love."
***
After delivering Hargar's mat that evening, Damaris headed straight to the market square. By the time she arrived, the children were already seated in their usual spots, eagerly waiting.
'Here comes Damaris, Damaris' They began to sing her praises.
'Here comes the Queen, Damaris'
'Hair as black as coal, Damaris'
'Skin as pure as Gold, Damaris'
'Eyes that beat the stars, Damaris'
'Arms like wings of a swan, Damaris'
'Legs as long as a crane's, Damaris'
'Voice as calm as rain, Damaris'
'Oh here comes Damaris, here comes Damaris'
The star of the night bowed lightly, honoring their songs by moving her feet to the rhythm of their lousy drums, dancing with all her heart like she had been paid to.
As she danced, the evening grew darker, and the moon—fuller than the night before—hung in the sky, a guide to all, signaling the end of a tedious day.
Soon, villagers began to gather around, for they craved a little entertainment before returning home for the night.
"Damaris, what tale shall you tell today?" a curious girl asked.
"Ooh, how about the tale of the Evil Duke and the Hound of Zebulon?" Eric gleefully suggested.
"Oh, oh—how about the tale of the Hound of Zebulon and the Battle of Dinhabar!" Another boy called out.
"Oh, I know. Tell us the tale of the Witch and the Hound of Zebulon!"
In a moment, all the children were calling out names of tales she had told before. It always intrigued her how much they delighted in her tales even after hearing them again and again.
"How about…" she paused, and they all fell silent. Their eyes widened with focus as they awaited her next words. "—a tale never told before."
The awe in their eyes only doubled. "A tale buried so deep that no one but Damaris knows of it," she smirked. "A true tale of betrayal, redemption, and… love."
She looked over at those gathered, all eagerly waiting to hear the title. Something caught her eye at the far end of the crowd. Something red. Her eyes squinted, but the radiance of the lamps only reached so far—and she saw nothing.
She regained focus.
When she had held their attention long enough, she finally spoke. "The Hound and his lover."
Thus, another night was drowned in sweet tales from the lips of the finest storyteller in all of Wisteria.