People whispered. They always whispered, shied away from Rosie when she went out, hissed at her behind her back. Elanor couldn't understand why when she was young.
Later, after her moon flow had started and Elanor stayed up long nights sewing with Rosie, she learned the truth. A late knock on the door revealed a woman who had spat as Rosie's feet only the day before. They spoke in hushed voices Elly couldn't quite hear, and Rosie gave the woman a flask. Coins fell to the floor and the door banged softly shut.
Rosie knelt and gathered up the coins, handing them to Sam who had come in unheard. Confused, Elly looked from one to the other.
Sam kissed Rosie's forehead. "You needn't help them."
The smile on Rosie's face cut into Elly's heart. "You can't deny the power of the blood, Sam. If I tried, I'd be worse than Frodo."
"They hate you," Elly couldn't help but say.
Rosie shook her head sadly. "They fear what they don't understand, my lass. And fear is almost as painful as hate."
~