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Whoever can powerplay Miqui returning soonish! First four paragraphs can be skipped. ._. Sorry. DRAUGRomg.
Eris is by James!
You haven't finished your Cueponi task, the coyote began, even as she began heating another pan over the fire. Draugr continued to cut, methodically. Her lavender-hued eyes did not lift from the task, and her silence was, at first, taken as an insult by the coal-furred Auxiliary. She was readying herself to admonish the child, perhaps by stating there was no need for an answer, for her maturity was plain, but Eris was strugging with the wording of this counterinsult when the youth spoke up, her voice quiet.
I am not ready to be an adult yet, she admitted. An adult should be skilled and ready to serve. I'm not skilled enough yet, and I can't be ready to serve until I am more skilled. I'm sorry, she said, and her voice seemed genuine to the coal-hued woman, who was surprised enough she almost let the pan slip from her hand and into the fire. She steadied it with another hand and took a moment to absorb and contemplate the younger woman's words. Finally, she shrugged.
I suppose I see the sense in that. What do you want to learn? Your mother is skilled in arts of leather-working. I've never seen white leather before. The pale material was Eris's favorite garment, and she was often seen trotting around the ruins in it, but she rarely wore it anywhere with the potential to damage the item -- white dirtied easily, and the hybrid wished for longevity from her garment. She twitched an ear and heard the distant sounds of hoofbeats, surely an approach.
Draugr's answer was quicker this time. I know how to make a pelt or a piece of leather, but it's not fun. The garden is interesting. Plants, the Bambino said, a grin apparent on her dark muzzle. I want to learn how to bring babies into the world, too. Not my own, she added quickly, making a face. Mama Siv says, the Moðir women in the Hearg helped birth and raise all the children in the pack. I want to do that, she said. This answer, too, surprised Eris, and she did not know what to say in response -- thankfully, she was spared, as Odessa made her presence known, along with Salvia and Larkspur -- who had traveled on foot, it seemed, for the dark woman heard only one set of hooves.
The dark-hued woman made ready to answer, though she spared a moment for Larkspur all the same prior to verbalizing her response. There was a whale felled to the north of Salsola. Miqui says we can use the fat for oil, for lamps and candles, and for wool -- I don't know how to use it, but if it's useful, we want it, of course, the woman said, grinning. Even if Salsola had no use for whale oil, perhaps it had trade value -- Miqui and Tlantli would not have wasted their time otherwise, she thought. At least, she trusted the former -- and Miqui had seemed adamant in his purpose. Miqui has the cart, and he's gone to fetch another load. Gjalda went with him to help Tlantli with the carcass. We're... what was the word? Ah, you know -- explain it to them, Draugr. You heard Miqui speak longer than me, the dark woman said, lifting a hand from the pan to wave it at her dismissively.
Extracting, Draugr supplied, taking up the process where Eris left off. Extracting oil. The blubber gives the best kind, Miqui sir says, but the meat can provide some, too. Whatever is left-over after we take the oil from the meat can help fertilize the garden or maybe a pasture? The smaller hybrid had stopped her cutting for a moment to watch Molcaxitl begin to pour the first cooled batch of oil -- the purer kind -- into a jar. She looked at Salvia questioningly with the suggestion of the pasture, however, for she did not know if such things were appropriate for soil meant for horses and sheep. Miqui sir says they used great big pots and pans in Barbados, wherever that is. But he said these little ones will work, too. We just cook it like any other meat, until it goes liquid, no chunks. Some pieces will stay no matter what. Then we use the oil, like miss Eris says.
Or trade it, Eris said, grinning. Do whatever suits you -- help cut, we have a spare knife. Or take a pan, the Auxiliary said, smiling. Her Salsolians were always eager to help, but she was not a commander to delegate specific individual tasks -- whatever suited them suited her. Draugr had gone back to cutting, her pale amethyst eyes returning to the slices of meat and fat before her. Eris's pan was nearly ready to be passed to Molcaxitl, who had finished filling two jars with the first pan. Are there any larger things we can use to hold it? she said, frowning. She feared they'd run short on jars.
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