There was rarely a day when Thale was on the docks and none could remember a year that they hadn?t seen the old fisherwoman. Tales and rumors on the docks and throughout RhyDin was that she had been the wife of a pirate that had been killed decades ago and that she became a fisherwoman to stay near the waters her husband had once sailed. Thale kept people at a distance so the truth about her past was kept to herself so her silence was enough to keep the rumors and assumptions fueled. Even her first name wasn?t known.
Appearing Human and in her late sixties. From the back, she might have been mistaken for a man at first. Her silvery hair that was heavy with black was normally twisted up and tucked into the old, brown soft-cap. But S?jira had cut it and took the weight of it off of her in doing so. Thale?s face was weathered and worn from the elements and saltwater but not as much as features that were twisted often with a scowl of irritation to send people out of her way or deep crow?s feet at her eyes. Her hands were just a wrought with time and work, her fingers gnarled at the joints and caused pain that she spoke of to know one. Though no one took too much notice, she spent nothing on finery and the man?s tunic and britches she wore were old and tired with years of wear and tear; two sizes two big. Not more than a few pairs of each owned, if any did notice they might have wondered where the old woman did spend her money on. A good pair of boots had just as much use, but they were sturdy.
By any and all, it was known that the fisherwoman?s shack stood on the docks but out of the way enough to have the stomping feet of the men and noise of loading and unloading of people and cargo at a little bit of a distance. The old shack had once been a weighing and counting room for a local warehouse for shipments coming in and going out, then it had served as a storage shack for numerous fishermen over the years. From the outside, it was small with two windows. On the outside hung an iron and glass lantern but nothing else to really claim that anyone might live inside. No flowers, no paint to the windows or door of it. Inside was a large, main room where a small table and two chairs stood to the right of the door and beneath one of the windows. To the left was a simple bed that had been removed from a captain?s cabin, standing thick and solid but without illustration. Its mattress was straw within a cloth sack. At the foot of the bed was an old seaman?s trunk with the shallow, carved letters of ?T.T.?. And at the far wall were pegs in the planks of it with fishing nets and tools hung along the entire breadth of it.
Thale stood near the old bed and stomped her other boot on before she tied it up. Then a gnarled hand grabbed the leather hands of her pack of tools and one of the smaller nets in its bundle. Both were lugged out the door with the pale light of morning on the horizon?time to start the day.
Appearing Human and in her late sixties. From the back, she might have been mistaken for a man at first. Her silvery hair that was heavy with black was normally twisted up and tucked into the old, brown soft-cap. But S?jira had cut it and took the weight of it off of her in doing so. Thale?s face was weathered and worn from the elements and saltwater but not as much as features that were twisted often with a scowl of irritation to send people out of her way or deep crow?s feet at her eyes. Her hands were just a wrought with time and work, her fingers gnarled at the joints and caused pain that she spoke of to know one. Though no one took too much notice, she spent nothing on finery and the man?s tunic and britches she wore were old and tired with years of wear and tear; two sizes two big. Not more than a few pairs of each owned, if any did notice they might have wondered where the old woman did spend her money on. A good pair of boots had just as much use, but they were sturdy.
By any and all, it was known that the fisherwoman?s shack stood on the docks but out of the way enough to have the stomping feet of the men and noise of loading and unloading of people and cargo at a little bit of a distance. The old shack had once been a weighing and counting room for a local warehouse for shipments coming in and going out, then it had served as a storage shack for numerous fishermen over the years. From the outside, it was small with two windows. On the outside hung an iron and glass lantern but nothing else to really claim that anyone might live inside. No flowers, no paint to the windows or door of it. Inside was a large, main room where a small table and two chairs stood to the right of the door and beneath one of the windows. To the left was a simple bed that had been removed from a captain?s cabin, standing thick and solid but without illustration. Its mattress was straw within a cloth sack. At the foot of the bed was an old seaman?s trunk with the shallow, carved letters of ?T.T.?. And at the far wall were pegs in the planks of it with fishing nets and tools hung along the entire breadth of it.
Thale stood near the old bed and stomped her other boot on before she tied it up. Then a gnarled hand grabbed the leather hands of her pack of tools and one of the smaller nets in its bundle. Both were lugged out the door with the pale light of morning on the horizon?time to start the day.