With short stature and tiny breasts, she looked a girl-child in her market days dress, crossing the bridge to the town square. She wore her cascade of raven’s hair in single braid down her back with sprigs of lavender tucked in to the weave of hair and bright-coloured ribbon. Her eyes flashed of amethyst and the river; her smile held secrets ne’er told.

What ever nature and the season put to her hand, she sold: bundles of sweet herbs and grasses; flower crowns and nosegays; salves and rubs; nostrums and potions. Most thought her fey; a thing of the forest, shunning humans but two days a month. Only she knew what lay at her end of the bridge when market ended, and she was not telling. {126}

Written for FFfAW #87 ;  © joy pixley (photo)

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© my frilly freudian slip

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