homeward bound

Penelope hugged herself tensely as her friend pulled away, giving her a look that made her tentatively smell her sleeve. Her face reddened beneath the dirt. Her knuckles coldly held herself, as she seemed terrified of what she ought to be doing with them. Scrubbing them clean? Polishing them and painting them? Using them to serve drinks to her parched charge, or take her violin back to her study in the stead of her servant - Penelope opened her mouth to offer only to realize it was silly when she didn't know where to bring to it. She gaped and stared uselessly.

She took a deep breath to calm herself.

Addy, I know, I look wretched. Then she lowered her voice. The Antivan have lost their minds. What is going on? Please, tell me you know something, that this is all just some temporary Crow scheme? She took a tentative step closer, like a deer to water when it's not sure if it should bolt.