Open Post: What a yarn

[sporesprouter]

There's still quite a bit of winter yet, according to the calendar, not to mention whatever Dark is, and Tress got an idea for a project fairly recently. It's appropriate and it gives her a chance to stretch out a skill she hasn't really gotten an opportunity to use in a while.

So she's in a cozy parlor, sitting curled up in a big comfy armchair right by the window, a basket of yarn at her feet, and she's knitting. It's still too early to be immediately obvious what it is she's knitting, but she's moving with the easy confidence that indicates it's definitely not a new craft she's just now decided to take up.

Sometimes, after all, it's nice to go back to something old and familiar.

Comments

[sporesprouter]

"It's just... when we switched, your hands..." She shrugs. "I decided I should knit you some gloves."

[onthewillowsthere]

He flushes slightly. It makes sense that she noticed, and it's a kindness, but it makes him feel terribly shy. "Thank you."

[sporesprouter]

"You're welcome. Besides, I haven't done any knitting in a while, so it's nice to make sure I remembered how." She can intuit a little bit of the reason behind Galahad's somewhat muted reaction, and hopes that at least giving an alternate reason besides just making gloves for him helps temper it at least a little.

[onthewillowsthere]

It does remind him of the nuns embroidering religious scenes, gathered together in the afternoon -- if the weather was fair and it was spring or fall, sometimes in the courtyard of the nunnery near the kitchen garden, but otherwise in a room appointed for that purpose. The older nuns would give the younger ones advice, or comment on the neatness of their stitches. Sister Mathilde couldn't see well, so Galahad would sit at her feet and thread her needle for her when she told him to. Being with Tress while she does her work makes him feel a little sense of hominess. He focuses on that instead of how silly it feels that his hands should be too cold and that Tress should have noticed while she was in his body.

"Thank you," he says again, a little more confidently.

[sporesprouter]

"Of course," she says easily, smiling down a bit at the glove in progress as she works. "I hope green's all right. If you'd prefer a different color, I can change it and just leave it green at the wrists."

[onthewillowsthere]

"Green is good." Green makes him think of Shen Yuan and Percival.

[sporesprouter]

She nods. "Then they'll be green." The yarn she picked is as close to the shade of the Verdant Sea as she could find, to as best as she good spread warmth with a little bit of her home.

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad returns to his careful study of her hair, shading in the waves. "--Do you know what a scrunchie is?"

[sporesprouter]

She furrows her brow thoughtfully. "No, I don't think I've ever heard of one. What is it?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"Magnus uses it to hold his hair back. It doesn't come loose like a braid does."

[sporesprouter]

She blinks. "It doesn't come loose at all? Wow."

[onthewillowsthere]

"It holds differently from a piece of cloth. Better. I think it would make working easier."

[sporesprouter]

"I might have to figure out how to get one. No matter how hard I try, it never all manages to stay out of my face."

[onthewillowsthere]

"I know." He's been watching her, although he doesn't say that, mercifully.

[sporesprouter]

"Scrunchie," she repeats quietly. "Thank you. I'll see if I can get a drawer to make one."

[onthewillowsthere]

A little nod, before he goes back to his sketchbook, in companionable quiet.

[sporesprouter]

She smiles and returns to her knitting in turn.