wool comber, of Kuttenberg
“I comb wool from first light until it's too dark to see the fleece, Sakra. I mind my own business, mostly.”
Things Drahomira Green had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Compline
Lucy Baker asked me again to carry a message to the villages. I told her no. The roads are full of Hungarians and Cumans who would slit a girl's throat for a pair of boots, Sakra. I'm not getting killed just so she doesn't have to worry.
Nota scribaeShe stood by the door while speaking and looked out at the street three times.
the feast of the Ascension, at None
Saw Mary Weaver eating meat yesterday. Good for her. I'm eating thin cabbage pottage again because I'm using a broken wooden comb that tears the fleece and takes twice as long. An iron comb would be faster, if a girl had one.
I told you, Drahomira, I just need it for one more bundle! It’s fine work, I can't use the wooden one.
She said that at Easter, too.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
Lettice is still crying over that brass thimble her mother left her. I told her Margery’s dead and the thimble won't bring her back. The living need taking care of, not the dead. Sakra, we all have blisters.
It was my mother's! You have a heart of stone, Drahomira.
Let her grieve, Drahomira. It's hard enough.
Nota scribaeDictated hurriedly while walking.
Mid-Lent Sunday, at Sext
Sybil and Constance are fighting over tailoring shears now. It’s like watching dogs fight over a bone with no meat on it. At least they didn’t lend out good padded jacks to be pawned like Annabel and Milada did.
I had them first, she knows I did!
the day after Candlemas, at Prime
I lent my heavy iron comb to Mary Weaver so she could take some better-paying work. I felt sorry for her because of the cold. Let it be known I expect it back by the end of the week, or I'll be combing with wood again.
Never lend a good tool, Drahomira. You'll not see it again.
Nota scribaeThe speaker's hands were covered in grease and smelled strongly of sheep.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It’s only a little way out, Drahomira! They don’t know if I’m alive or dead!
If I go out there, they'll know I'm dead, and it won't help you any.