[OnyxCougar]

OK, going to post one more to see if you see a trend. (Same era, Warch, you may wanna skip this thread, it's all I write, for the most part.) Two posts, since it's too long for one.

The old man sighed as the knock came at the door in the wee hours of the morning. “Why,” he muttered to himself, “don’t they have the sense the Lord gave a dog?” He pulled the thick black boots over his long johns. “You’d think they’d have enough to get out of the rain.” As he pulled on his sweater, the knock came again, determined but not hurried. “Coming, coming,” he called, as lightning flashed in the window. Moments later a deafening crash of thunder sounded over the little house by the river. The man jumped and involuntarily raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment. “Bah!” he snorted. “Don’t know what I’m waiting to see.” Proceeding to the door, the white haired ferryman twisted the latch and lifted the lantern as he squinted into the rain outside. “Now then, what do we have here?”

A lone figure stood back from the doorway, seemingly unaware of the downpour. The feeble light illuminated a dark cloak, heavy with rain as it fell about slender shoulders like a woolen shroud. The hood was drawn, and the man blinked and stuck his head further out the door, looking for others. There were none. “Yes?” he inquired.
“Are you the ferryman?” a low, quiet voice asked. “Y-Yes.” He stuttered. It was a woman. But what would a woman be doing out alone in this storm?

“How much to take me across the river?”

He blinked. “In this weather? I wouldn’t try to cross.” Another flash of lightning struck nearby and he steeled himself for the deafening thunder that followed. Her head rose slightly in anticipation and was rewarded with the concussive blast.

“Very well. I will find someone who will.” She turned to leave and the old man narrowed his eyes. This was not an attempt to haggle the price. She simply meant what she said. What could be so pressing that she would cross the river in this deluge? She walked away slowly, stepping off the wooden planks that served as a walkway to the door of the hut and sank into the mud.

“There is no one else.” She stiffened. “This is the only crossing for leagues either direction. I’m the only ferryman here.”

She turned back slowly and lifted her head. “I must cross tonight.”

He looked at her slender face and gazed into steel blue eyes that held exhausted determination. The ferryman nodded. “Aye, that ye shall. But first this thunderhead must blow over. Not more than an hour, I’d say. Then we cross.”

She considered it. “How much?”

He smiled despite himself. She was shrewd, this one. “Five silvers.”
“That your normal price?” she countered.
“It is for young women in the largest storm of the season, before dawn.”

She looked down and visibly sighed. A small torrent of water fell from her cloak and added to the mud about her feet. She reluctantly returned to the wooden planks as he stepped back from the doorway, and entered the small hut behind him. “Take off your shoes,” he fretted. “Can’t have mud in the house. And hang your cloak by the fire. The rain may stop in an hour's time, might as well attempt to dry off.” He caught a glimpse of a wry smile as she turned and walked to the fireplace.

Hanging the lantern on the hook in the ceiling in the middle of the room, he put a kettle over the fire. She paused and then pulled the dark wool over her head. A white dress hung dripping on her frame. In several places, it had been torn, and mended with black thread. The thin linen clung to her body, and he noticed several large bruises before he turned away, blushing. “You have anything dry in that pack of yours?” he inquired gruffly.
“No.”
“Figured.” He walked into the other room as she wrung her cloak out over a small basin. He returned to the room as she hung the heavy garment on the hook, the water evaporating with a hiss. “Here,” he said, holding out his hand, looking at the door. She turned and looked at the heavy cotton shift being offered to her and smiled. “Thank you,” she said, and went into the bedroom to change. “There’s a towel on the dresser,” he fussed to the fire. “Thank you,” she said again, muffled behind the door.