He had said he would return during the winter, and she suspected he would keep his word. But she would not have thought less of him for waiting until the roads were more clear, and it astonishes her that he has ventured forth during the darkest time of the year, when the snow is deepest. That astonishment does not show her face, except perhaps in her eyes.
There is no chance for her to comment on it or ask after his haste before he continues. An eyebrow lifts when he mentions Yule--for yes, her people do celebrate it, or have done in the past. There is little to celebrate this year save their survival, and few gifts such as have been given in past years. If he wished to be in time for the date it explains some of his determination to set forth despite hideous weather, and yet...
It still surprises Haleth, enough that she does not speak further as the takes and opens the parcel. She gasps audibly at the contents, her eyes wide with wonder and amazement. Even in the relatively dim light of the tent (even the Chief uses candles sparingly), the fabric shines.
Carefully she reaches out and with one fingertip traces part of a whorl, the contrast very great between the rich, textured cloth and the metallic threads and her own finger, calloused and worn and still dotted with bits of hide glue from her work. The cloth alone must have taken a long time to create, even without taking into account the time needed to embroider patterns with such meticulous care--and how had he learned such patterns? By sight alone?--to say nothing of the care needed to assemble it into clothing. The amount of thought put into this gift, as much as the effort, speaks volumes.
Haleth does not doubt it will fit, and fit perfectly, and she stares at it all for a long time.
"You do me great honor with this," she says quietly in her low voice. Her eyes she is still looking down at the cloth, and her finger trembles just a little. "I have never seen the like."
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There is no chance for her to comment on it or ask after his haste before he continues. An eyebrow lifts when he mentions Yule--for yes, her people do celebrate it, or have done in the past. There is little to celebrate this year save their survival, and few gifts such as have been given in past years. If he wished to be in time for the date it explains some of his determination to set forth despite hideous weather, and yet...
It still surprises Haleth, enough that she does not speak further as the takes and opens the parcel. She gasps audibly at the contents, her eyes wide with wonder and amazement. Even in the relatively dim light of the tent (even the Chief uses candles sparingly), the fabric shines.
Carefully she reaches out and with one fingertip traces part of a whorl, the contrast very great between the rich, textured cloth and the metallic threads and her own finger, calloused and worn and still dotted with bits of hide glue from her work. The cloth alone must have taken a long time to create, even without taking into account the time needed to embroider patterns with such meticulous care--and how had he learned such patterns? By sight alone?--to say nothing of the care needed to assemble it into clothing. The amount of thought put into this gift, as much as the effort, speaks volumes.
Haleth does not doubt it will fit, and fit perfectly, and she stares at it all for a long time.
"You do me great honor with this," she says quietly in her low voice. Her eyes she is still looking down at the cloth, and her finger trembles just a little. "I have never seen the like."