((Oh jeez! I thought my reply posted, I apologize.))<br/><br/>Madyline twisted and untwisted a long red curl in her fingers, an anxious tick. "Why are we here?" She looked towards the window again. "What do they want with us here? I am no one." In her anxious state her accent, normally hidden behind "proper" talk, was coming out once more. The thick accent alluded to Irish roots.<br/><br/>"Will they just leave us here?" Her eyes dropped, and she spotted a long thread hanging off of her skirt. She twisted it in her hands and snapped the thread, weaving it between her fingers. She looped it twice around her wrist, then unwound it once more. Her hands were constantly moving.<br/><br/>~*~*~<br/><br/>Mary handed him the paper as she slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped into the chilly air. She made her way to the stables, where their mounts dozed. "A pair of young people were accused, they're being held in the jail, and tomorrow at midday the elders decide what manner of<span style="font-style: italic">test</span>they will be subjected to." Disdain twisted the word in her mouth. They weren't tests, just excuses to torture.<br/><br/>She pulled the stable doors open and clucked to her mare, a chestnut with white socks and mane. "Come, sweeness." She cooed. "We have work to do." The horse snorted at her, annoyed by the interruption of her sleep, but rested her large head on Mary's shoulder and lipped at her sleeve.