She reached the fountain before he had taken three steps.
Meera stopped at the rim of the basin with her skirts still bunched in her fists, looked up at the bearded stone figure and the water falling from his lifted vessel, and let out a breath of pure delight, as though she had crossed the whole county to find exactly this.
Then she let the silk fall.
She tucked her gloves into the sash at her waist, one and then the other, with the care of a woman putting away something she would want again. She pushed the loose sleeves of her gown up past her elbows. And she plunged both bare arms into the basin up to the forearm.
"Oh."
Her eyes closed.
"Oh, that is cold."
She did not take her arms out. She leaned forward over the rim, her hair sliding over one shoulder to brush the surface, and moved her hands slowly through the water in wide, lazy circles, the way one might stroke the flank of a horse.
"This is good water, Ulrich. Truly good. Where does it come from?"
