Arin took the basket from her. "Coming or going?""I've a errand here, and won't be home until late.""Shall I guess what brings you to town?""You can try."He peeked in the basket. Bread, still warm from the oven. A bottle of liquor. Long, flat, pieces of wood. Rolls of gauze. "A picnic...with a wounded soldier? Sarsine," he teased, "is it true love? What's the wood for? Wait, don't tell me. I'm not sure I want to know."She swatted him. "The cartwright's oldest daughter has a broken arm.
-Marie Rutkoski
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