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Beka staggered through the door, exhausted, but her face lit up at the sight in front of her. Farmer was sitting by the kitchen window, weaving by the light of a soft yellow globe hovering over him, and Achoo was pacing back and forth after the shuttle, tail wagging happily. He looked up, smiling, though his brow furrowed in worry as he took her in. He stood and hurried over to her, slipping a bracing arm around her waist and closing the door gently behind her.
“Rough night, dear one?” he asked, as he helped her to a chair. “Mmm.” She nodded. “I had to chase someone from Styvek Street to the Night Market, and they upset three vendor carts in my path before I caught up.”
Farmer squeezed her shoulder, then moved to put the kettle on the fire.
“And I'll have to wash and fix this before watch tomorrow,” Beka said, gesturing at her torn uniform. “The other one's still at the laundry, and they've been backed up with all the recent flooding…”
“Leave that to me, love”, Farmer said, coming back to her.
“You've got court tomorrow,” Beka protested. “And it's not bad. Washing it will be worse than mending it, honestly.”
“And I slept for most of your watch,” Farmer said, putting his hands on her shoulders and beginning to knead them. “I can get it done before I have to leave.”
Beka sighed but didn't argue, only leaned back into him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her for a long moment, then began to work at the buttons on her uniform. Beka closed her eyes, shifting slightly to give him better access, and let him take it off of her. He tossed it into their kitchen wash basin and poured a pitcher of water and a pinch of lye over it, then set it to agitating with a flick of his fingers.
“Aches or stress?” he asked, when that was started, his hand hovering over a small crate of blankets. “Or just sleep?”
“Aches, please,” Beka said, “and oh, you could have finished what you were doing.” She had just noticed that the loom's shuttle was frozen in mid-weave, Achoo sniffing at it curiously and tapping it with her paw.
“It's not any trouble,” Farmer said, following her gaze. “It's not actually frozen, so I don't have to sustain it. I just temporarily made the shuttle weightless, so the thread's holding it up. And it should be good for another twenty minutes, at least.”
Beka laughed. “Of course you did,” she said, grinning fondly at him. “Is there anything you can't make look easy?”
Farmer grinned back and returned to her, a red blanket in his arms. “Oh I don't know,” he said, the country drawl he was so fond of creeping into his voice. “I've never really applied myself to spinning straw into gold chain, but I reckon that might give me some trouble.” He tucked the blanket around Beka.
Beka snorted. “Looby,” she said fondly. “If anyone could do such a thing, I'm sure you'd find a way.” She sighed happily as she felt the bruise balm infused in the blanket begin to go to work on her sore muscles.
“With such a brilliant and kind wife as my inspiration, perhaps I shall yet manage it,” he said, arms wrapping around her again.
She sighed contentedly again and nestled against him. Distantly she felt his lips brush against her forehead, and then his arms gather her up, but then her consciousness slipped away, asleep and safe in her husband's arms.