"Your Majesty, how would you like me to do your hair for your departure?" Macrina asked. She stood behind Hermi, her fingers guiding a white comb through the long river of Hermi's dark tresses.
Meeting Macrina's light brown eyes in the mirror, Hermi replied, "A simple braid would suffice. Make it neat and tight enough to endure the ride until we reach our first camp at nightfall."
With an obedient nod, Macrina set to her task. She worked with her characteristic quiet efficiency, never offering a word more than necessary.
Though Macrina possessed small, nimble fingers that looked almost childlike, they were perfectly suited for the intricate demands of a lady's maid. She wove the hair into a single plait that felt secure against Hermi's nape, then assisted her into the thick gambeson that would serve as her light armor.
On Hermi's bed lay a viridian cloak, its velvet looking smooth even from a distance. Casting her gaze toward the green pool of fabric, Hermi asked,
