Book 1: Chapter 51: harvest II.

Book 1: Chapter 51: harvest II.

Sore muscles and a stiff back were my reward once morning visited its presence upon this world once more. The sigh that escaped my throat echoed from the empty walls as an unfamiliar sight greeted my eyes. Only once several moments had passed did it register to me that I was now within the lodge. Sunlight drifted in from unfamiliar angles, and the scent of dried meat hanging in the corner did NOT pervade the air. A welcome change.

After several moments of confusion, I managed not to trip down into the cellar and find the door that led back outside. A yawn wrenched itself from my throat as I emerged from my place of dwelling and greeted a new day. One that promised to be just as long as that before. No grey clouds laden with rain greeted me on the horizon, something I was both grateful and oddly disappointed for.

While a clear azure sky did mean I could perhaps work uninterrupted, it also disappointed a part of myself that would not be opposed to a day off. Some figment that, against my better judgement, just wanted to spend a single day lazing under a tree, accomplishing a grand sum total of nothing.

The sum total of what was mine lay spread below me, And it was beautiful. Lacking an urgency to do something, I instead leaned against the doorframe and simply stood in simple admiration of all that I had built.

This too passed, and the ever-marching grind continued on, leaving me with little choice but to follow its pace. Another yawn stifled in my throat, I made my way down the hill, banged on the doorframe of the old house to wake Artyom, and headed for the storage shed. There was yet another reminder that I needed fresh chillvines to keep my milk cooled awaiting me. Where before they had been almost icy to the touch, those that remained were now cool at best. Not exactly optimal for keeping precious milk stored cold.

Buckets in hand, I greeted Artyom as he sleepily emerged and marched towards the pasture, intent on getting this done within record time. Such a feat proved itself to be impossible rather quickly. Means they were, the taur-cows were not stupid. Far from it. Today, they scattered at the sight of me, dispersing to the farthest reached of the pasture out of sheer spite. I stomped after them, pails in hand, Cloven Crash readied for when they got in range.

Stubborn, boorish beasts though they were, I prided myself in being even more hardheaded. One by one, I bore down on where they trotted to, let my shout echo across the green fields and did my needed chores. Their stubbornness cost me dearly in the currency of time, however.

And here I was, thinking of bringing even more of them onto my farm. That future promised no shortage of entertainment indeed.

Eventually, with some spillage involved, I was able to procure several full buckets and empty them into chilled jugs that awaited. With that out of the way, I groaned, grabbed the scythe and headed for the fields. Artyom raced across the yard, in hot pursuit of Gol as the much larger beast fled the felinids wrath.

Gol, it seemed, had realized another long day of labour was expected from him, and wanted none of it. His lumbering gait easily towed the screeching felinid along behind him. The rope Artyom had wrapped around his neck did little to inconvenience the massive monster. In fact, he seemed to treat it with amusement, grunting wickedly as he dragged Artyoms yowling form along.

He barreled across the yard with gleeful contempt for the felinids indignation. A wild charge that saw the smaller being pulled through the dirt like a rag doll as he refused to let go. One that ended with me looming in front of him.

Firm hands clamped down and stopped the beats in his tracks. He protested, of course, with grunts and surly growls. But the message was delivered. Like as not, he was headed back to the fields.

Without any new surprises from the monster plants, the day instead descended into a monotony of cutting, stacking, and helping the bumbling duo load stocks for delivery. Once again, even helped on by virtue of my size and strength, the work progressed at a painstaking pace. Without variation came boredom, spurred on by how the end of this single field seemed to inch closer without any large breakthrough or hurry.

A dry throat soon demanded water, and with orders for the other two to carry on, I laid down my scythe and headed for the stream. It was on this path that I passed by the piled husks of the burstbomb hosts, and stopped in examination. They had not yet been ripped free for a day, and had already begun to degrade.

Their metallic sheen had faded, and a brownish rust had settled itself in. Cracks ran through the previously impervious dome as the sheer density of the shells worked against itself. And yet, I did not regret my decision to destroy them. There was such a thing as quitting while I was ahead. My reasoning that they were too inherently dangerous to be handled safely remained sound.

Their fruit had a singular purpose, and that was destruction. I had removed the threats before they could bring harm to me and mine. If it had only I, then perhaps I could have found some reasoning to keep them, but that was not so.

Those words proved to be true. Gol proved to be much more eager with Ishilas presence spurring him on. The big lumbering brute loped along at all speed, setting a pace that Artyom could scarce keep up to. Scythe moving in almost machine-like fashion, I too worked my way towards the fields end. Small interruptions aside, and periodic stops to chat with Ishila, the day seemed to all but fly past, and before the sun had begun to sink low on the horizon, the last stand of grain had been felled and now the bundling began.

My back still sore and the cutting done, I instructed Artyom to attend the stack bundles I had worked upon while I took over his task of transporting loads back to the house. I could hold just as much in my own arms as Gol could fit upon his back, and the field began to be emptied at all haste.

Not content to simply sit by, Ishila made her way over to the perpetually hunched felinid and began to lend what help she could. Her movements were stiff, obviously burdened by pain. She grunted under the weight of what had been wrought unto her, yet did not falter.

The sound of hooves in the distance was low at first, then grew to where I stopped and gazed down the road, curious. Riders were not uncommon, especially with what had been happening as of late, yet the urgency and speed in this one were unmatched.

Death rode a ragged horse onto my yard, and I recognized Lerish beneath the blood and torn clothing. The huntress pulled my barely conscious horse to a halt ahead of me and swung from the saddle.

It is done. Were all I heard as she handed me the reins. What and why, I did not feel the need to inquire. I already knew that it involved bloodshed, and not her own.

Her eyes traced across the fields, and came to a rest on Ishila as she stood, framed by the setting sun. Without another word uttered, the huntress stalked across the barren fields of freshly-felled grain. I could almost see the smile bloom on the orcs face as she hobbled towards the advancing woman, fighting pain with every step.

And yet, there was a smile on my face as Lerish seized Ishila and hauled her upwards into a tight hug, one that she reciprocated.

Fool girl. I could hear her whisper as I drew near, an uncharacteristic tremble. I thought you were gone.

All the worlds horrors couldnt keep me down and away from you. The orc blushed a little as she fumbled the worlds.

Lerish drew back and looked her in dead in her in gleaming eyes.

I know. Was all she spoke.

Youre bleeding. Ishila finally noticed. A lot.

Not mine. Now just shut up and let me hold you.

Unable to find a decent moment to interrupt their precious moment, I instead decided to sort of awkwardly hover a distance away. Let them enjoy the moment and have whatever time they needed together. The recollection of what had happened with Lerish and her dwarf hunting expedition could wait until later.

So. I rumbled one they approached me. I take your venture blessed you with success?

Wrong word. The huntress grunted. Nothing good ever comes from dealings that involve the Under-dwellers. But yes, I am here and I am alive. Count that as success, if you will.