Chapter 3 - Seek a Bath First

Sarah straightened, offering a weary smile that felt more like a grimace in the dusty gloom of the hut. "Greetings," she replied, her voice raspy from thirst and exhaustion. She dipped her head in a slight bow, her armor clanking softly against the rough-hewn wooden beams overhead. “I am Sarah, a pilgrim on my way to Sanctuary the Holy City.”

She gestured to the dust that coated every inch of her person – a fine layer clinging like powdered bone to her tunic, hair, and even the intricate silver platework of her armor. “This wasteland has been…unforgiving,” she admitted with a wry laugh that came out more of a cough. "I seek food, lodging for the night, and perhaps...a place where a weary traveler might wash away some of this grime."

She ran a hand over her tunic, feeling the gritty texture through the rough fabric. It was hard to remember what soft skin felt like beneath all the layers of dust and sweat. The thought of warm water, even if it meant sharing a communal basin with other travelers, filled her with an unexpected longing.

The woman studied Sarah for a moment longer, appraising the young knight with eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Her gaze lingered on the sword strapped to Sarah's side, the way she held herself with a warrior's taut alertness even in this haven of ramshackle huts. Finally, a flicker of something akin to amusement crossed her weathered face.

“Pilgrim, are you?” she grunted, gesturing vaguely towards a stool huddled beside a small, rickety table piled high with tools and scraps of leather. “Well then, pilgrim is what you shall be called for tonight,” she said, nodding towards the fire pit where embers glowed orange in the gathering dusk. “Sit yourself down while I tend to these hides. You look like you could use a bit of heat.”

The woman reached out and tugged a rough woolen blanket from a nail hammered into the wall behind her workbench. She tossed it carelessly onto a stool by the fire.

"Wash up in the communal basin," she added, gesturing towards a low doorway at the back of the hut. "There's a bit of soap left from last week's caravan. Don’t expect much else until dawn."

She went back to her work, hammering rhythmically on a piece of tanned leather while Sarah sank gratefully onto the stool by the fire. It was too small for her armor, but she settled as best she could, letting the warmth seep into her chilled bones. The woman's blunt hospitality was unexpectedly welcome.

Sarah closed her eyes, savoring the moment - the crackle of the fire, the scent of woodsmoke and leather, the gentle murmur of voices from beyond the hut’s flimsy walls. For a few precious minutes, the wasteland seemed far away. Here, in this small space shared with a rough-hewn woman and a flickering hearth, she could almost believe that peace was possible.

She wondered if the Sanctuary of The Holy City held anything like this - not just the solemn grandeur of holy halls, but also these small moments of unexpected comfort.