A woman wearing breeches is so completely out of Galinda's experience that for a few moments she stares, more than a little startled, and only belatedly recalls herself and looks away. The difficulty of it is that Éowyn in breeches is quite as handsome as Éowyn in a dress, or in a nightgown, and there is something about the line of her calf that keeps drawing Galinda's eye. Or at least it does until Éowyn asks the questions she has determinedly been trying not to think of, and thus thinking of all the more.
"Oh, well, of course I shall be here," she says lightly - she is trying for lightly, at any rate, even if her voice has developed a sudden tendency to wobble when she tries to talk - "and I shall probably be so bored as to start work on embroidering the sky." The tapestry she has been working on is large, and the sky a particularly unexciting stretch of monotonous blue, and Éowyn knows that Galinda has been procrastinating on it as long as she is able. Up until now, she has been wonderfully successful at it.
Up until now, she has had Éowyn by her side.
Galinda swallows hard, and reaches for Éowyn's tunic - just for something to do, not because it really needs holding. "So I will thank you to send word as soon as you can, if you please," she adds, trying for at least a more steady voice. "For I will be waiting." Waiting, and wishing, and hoping, and fearing - she can imagine it all too easily, scanning the horizon for a messenger who does not come, hating the dusk as night settles and the road becomes part of the endless black, waiting all night without knowing Éowyn's fate.
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sforzinda
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Date: 2025-07-23 02:59 pm (UTC)"Oh, well, of course I shall be here," she says lightly - she is trying for lightly, at any rate, even if her voice has developed a sudden tendency to wobble when she tries to talk - "and I shall probably be so bored as to start work on embroidering the sky." The tapestry she has been working on is large, and the sky a particularly unexciting stretch of monotonous blue, and Éowyn knows that Galinda has been procrastinating on it as long as she is able. Up until now, she has been wonderfully successful at it.
Up until now, she has had Éowyn by her side.
Galinda swallows hard, and reaches for Éowyn's tunic - just for something to do, not because it really needs holding. "So I will thank you to send word as soon as you can, if you please," she adds, trying for at least a more steady voice. "For I will be waiting." Waiting, and wishing, and hoping, and fearing - she can imagine it all too easily, scanning the horizon for a messenger who does not come, hating the dusk as night settles and the road becomes part of the endless black, waiting all night without knowing Éowyn's fate.