the moving season

Theodoric Martin · 10-28-2010, 03:47 AM

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for Susquehanna, backdated to the 20th. (wc: 411)

Theodoric woke to a day that was perfectly clear and cold. For the first time of the season, he was genuinely grateful for the thick blanket on his bed. In the small home he had claimed in the AniWaya village, the round bedroom was the only second-story room in the building and for some reason tended to be a little chillier than the rest of the house. I’m going to need a brazier for winter, was his first inchoate thought for the morning as he rose and hastily dressed. Theo kept a businesslike desk in his room, and added “brazier” to the list he kept there. Downstairs, he ate a cold breakfast and thoughtfully eyed the dead, empty hearth in the corner. There was his occupation for the day.

An axe was not among the tools the Gatlvska had brought with him from his Scottish homeland. Fortunately, he found one among the field tools in the storage area of the stables and borrowed it for the day. It needed sharpening, but a whetstone was, at least, something he possessed. Theodoric then tacked up his mare Suthen, favoring her steady demeanor over her mate’s. With a quick few twists of leather he rigged the pony’s saddlebags for carrying logs, grabbed the mare’s leadrope, and headed for the woodlands beyond the working fields.

In a forest as rich as AniWaya’s, there was plenty of dead wood to be found and chopped. By late afternoon, Theodoric had amassed a tidy stack of logs for his winter fires. Another day’s labor would be required to gather enough to last the upcoming season, but it was time to stop for the day. For one thing, Suthen was dirty and tired from hauling full loads back to the village. Theo could exchange ponies to continue until nightfall, but he himself was exhausted by an outpouring of physical labor that was not usual in his routine. Besides, his owl had joined the party with the waning sun and landed an unusually large hare for dinner.

An hour later the sun was just beginning to set, Suthen was safely stowed back in her stall, both equine and canine were clean, and the hare was roasting over a merrily cracking fire in an impromptu pit outside of Theodoric’s home. (The chimney to his inside hearth, he had discovered, was choked with a bird’s nest. He hadn’t the energy to clean it). Theo settled tiredly on his cloak near the fire to watch dinner cook. As lovely as the setting was, he found himself wishing for a nice pint of ale and maybe a little company.

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