Sister Clara made her way down the small path towards the river.  The morning was cold, but she thanked God that there was no rain or snow falling.  This would have made her already cumbersome task of fetching water for the convent even more miserable.

She hummed a hymn quietly to herself as she made her way, careful to not sing the words out loud and break her vow of silence. 

Soon the trees parted and she found herself at the bank of the river. She knelt down by the water, placing the half dozen water skins to be filled beside her.  She cupped a handful of water and drank.  The water was pure and ice cold, and it invigorated her senses.  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, letting the earthy smells of the forest and river fill her lungs.  She always took sever...

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