Eli’s parents’ home.
Before Eli could knock, the door was flung open and a small woman with exotic features and a deep red dress of billowy silk enveloped them both in a fierce hug.
“Mama!” Eli laughed, returning her bear hug. “This is Arabel.”
The small woman flashed a generous smile at Arabel immediately.
“Welcome, Arabel,” she said and Arabel was delighted that her voice was musical, almost sing-songish, as if she was a shrill, lushly feathered creature, a corvid in human form. The imagery smacked Arabel immediately with its accuracy.
Eli’s mother was dark of hair and features and extremely bird-like. She was beautiful in a way Arabel had never seen before. Her beauty wasn’t the sculpted, coiffed and shiny patina of those who paraded for praise at the Priory or the slick, pretty manner of the primping salesgirls. Rather, hers was an earthy beauty made more graceful for the setting of night-time stars and bonfires out of doors. Arabel was nothing short of enchanted.
“I’m Mireille, and this is my husband, Baltis.” Eli’s mother clasped Arabel’s hand to Baltis’ hand and Arabel felt another kind of shock run through her. It was a new sort of sensation, one she couldn’t actually place, but it had a good energy to it, as opposed to creepy or evil, so Arabel went with it unresistingly.
“You have the Sight,” Baltis observed, grinning at her.
And yes, Eli shared his father’s features, including the cut-glass cheekbones, Arabel noted.
Arabel nodded as Baltis and Mireille ushered them into the caravan, which was more spacious than it had appeared from the outside. The caravan was divided into three separate areas, kitchen, bedroom and small living room. All of the rooms had arched doorways with beaded curtains but no actual doors, and throughout the space ran smooth, dark wooden floors. The living room was painted in a bright, toasted pumpkin hue and boasted a small peat burning fireplace and a much beloved looking dark brown sofa with sagging springs and numerous throw cushions in cream and orange.
What Arabel could see of the bedroom was that it was a small nook rather than an actual room, and had charming pale green coloured walls. A plump looking straw and feather mattress on the floor dominated the room. The dark wooden floor was covered completely here with a thick knotted rug of forest green, which the bed then mostly covered. A small circular window was across. The caravan was staunchly bohemian and Arabel loved it.
They moved into the bright kitchen and Arabel was delighted that it was painted in a solid canary yellow and had a small pine table with four pine chairs in the center of the space and a clay oven to their right. Candles stood in large stone holders on the table and the room was welcoming. There were two small windows and a slanted looking counter space which was crowded with spices and herbs and drying plants.
A fragrant aroma filled the kitchen and Mireille motioned to the large black pot overtop of the clay oven, which was fuelled by a peat fire. The smell of the peat burned into Arabel’s nostrils and she was glad to pass by the black pot as Mireille motioned her to smell it.
“I’m preparing some herbs for the Priory market tomorrow; I’ll send some home with you. Good for sleeping.” Mireille said in her sing-song manner, the magnetic smile never leaving her heart shaped face.
Eli settled into a kitchen chair and Arabel followed suit. Baltis was up at the slanted counter pouring them some lemon water as Mireille tended her herbs. Arabel glanced around in curiosity. The walls of the
Before Eli could knock, the door was flung open and a small woman with exotic features and a deep red dress of billowy silk enveloped them both in a fierce hug.
“Mama!” Eli laughed, returning her bear hug. “This is Arabel.”
The small woman flashed a generous smile at Arabel immediately.
“Welcome, Arabel,” she said and Arabel was delighted that her voice was musical, almost sing-songish, as if she was a shrill, lushly feathered creature, a corvid in human form. The imagery smacked Arabel immediately with its accuracy.
Eli’s mother was dark of hair and features and extremely bird-like. She was beautiful in a way Arabel had never seen before. Her beauty wasn’t the sculpted, coiffed and shiny patina of those who paraded for praise at the Priory or the slick, pretty manner of the primping salesgirls. Rather, hers was an earthy beauty made more graceful for the setting of night-time stars and bonfires out of doors. Arabel was nothing short of enchanted.
“I’m Mireille, and this is my husband, Baltis.” Eli’s mother clasped Arabel’s hand to Baltis’ hand and Arabel felt another kind of shock run through her. It was a new sort of sensation, one she couldn’t actually place, but it had a good energy to it, as opposed to creepy or evil, so Arabel went with it unresistingly.
“You have the Sight,” Baltis observed, grinning at her.
And yes, Eli shared his father’s features, including the cut-glass cheekbones, Arabel noted.
Arabel nodded as Baltis and Mireille ushered them into the caravan, which was more spacious than it had appeared from the outside. The caravan was divided into three separate areas, kitchen, bedroom and small living room. All of the rooms had arched doorways with beaded curtains but no actual doors, and throughout the space ran smooth, dark wooden floors. The living room was painted in a bright, toasted pumpkin hue and boasted a small peat burning fireplace and a much beloved looking dark brown sofa with sagging springs and numerous throw cushions in cream and orange.
What Arabel could see of the bedroom was that it was a small nook rather than an actual room, and had charming pale green coloured walls. A plump looking straw and feather mattress on the floor dominated the room. The dark wooden floor was covered completely here with a thick knotted rug of forest green, which the bed then mostly covered. A small circular window was across. The caravan was staunchly bohemian and Arabel loved it.
They moved into the bright kitchen and Arabel was delighted that it was painted in a solid canary yellow and had a small pine table with four pine chairs in the center of the space and a clay oven to their right. Candles stood in large stone holders on the table and the room was welcoming. There were two small windows and a slanted looking counter space which was crowded with spices and herbs and drying plants.
A fragrant aroma filled the kitchen and Mireille motioned to the large black pot overtop of the clay oven, which was fuelled by a peat fire. The smell of the peat burned into Arabel’s nostrils and she was glad to pass by the black pot as Mireille motioned her to smell it.
“I’m preparing some herbs for the Priory market tomorrow; I’ll send some home with you. Good for sleeping.” Mireille said in her sing-song manner, the magnetic smile never leaving her heart shaped face.
Eli settled into a kitchen chair and Arabel followed suit. Baltis was up at the slanted counter pouring them some lemon water as Mireille tended her herbs. Arabel glanced around in curiosity. The walls of the
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