My palms sting and my arms are sore. The trip with the jugs took more out of me than I thought, but I also had some surprise cargo to hoist. It's to be expected, I suppose. Not necessarily wanted, but I like drinking. I like water. I also like swimming and fishing and most other water like activities. Not so much the pumping. The screw handle is getting loose, but I don't have the tools to fix it. I'll have to go back to the village and let Leann know that she has to get out here and do her thing. This is her little baby from an idea some traveler gave her and now she won't shut up about it. Granted, it's much easier than wading in the water and filling the jugs manually. Now, I put the thing down and turn the handle and water starts coming down the spout. It is rather handy. Her next project better be a thing to carry the water back to the village for me. That'd be nice.
I roll one finished jug out of the way and move on to the next. My arms are tired. They burn and sing so beautifully. Carrying them back is going to be terrible. That's fun. I can do it. Don't want to take multiple trips, so one on my head and two on the staff and I'll be fine.
I stop turning the handle and let my arms rest. I'm going soft. Too soft. Leann and Mionn and Koenn are never going to let me hear the end of it. I'm already taking too long with this and that's a whole avenue of ridicule waiting. Mionn could do this trip three times over with three times the weight and three times the weather. I'm not sure what the last one means, but that's what she always says. My ears twitch. They sense the reason I've been somewhat leisurely with my task.
A head pokes above the water and smiles at his hands. He gazes down at the handful of mussels he's pried from the river rocks. He wades to the bank with the rest waiting for him in a tight wicker basket. The water drips from his hair and cuts down his slight frame. He's pale, ice pale and gentle and soft. The water runs down him like snow melt and I keep turning my handle. He's counting. I think he should do one more trip, just to be sure. Then maybe one more, but with me because I am very good at getting clams. I think. I usually just get the water. My foot is cold, and I don't know why.
"Niann," Simo calls out, "That one's full."
It is, I think. It would explain my cold foot. I look down and it seems to track. I stop turning the handle and the screw pump slowly dies down. I move it out of the way, and I think that's all of them. Three, three full jugs of river water that had all manner of fish and clams and Simos swimming in them. It should be fine for the rest of the day or so. Then it's someone else's problem. Hopefully Mionn, so she won't try and fight me.
Simo waits for me. I have a bit of set up before we can go. We should probably figure out a better way. Rollable barrels maybe and then I can stand on one and just jig my way on top until I get back. It's smart, but I don't know if the others would go for it. These are very good jugs, and they should probably be used as much as possible. One goes on my head and the others are on their yoke. Together with one last little bit of strength. I am up and I am moving. Simo has his basket of clams and I think that's everything. I take a moment to set everything aligned and he takes the lead. Such a gentleman. He moves a big rock out of the way for me. I appreciate it. I really do. So much better than what happens when I'm on my own. Or with Mionn. She actively tries to trip me.
Simo is fun to watch. His tail swishes and bobs and bounces. His ears twitch and dance and move with every little sound. He picks up a bird to the south a moment before I do. We let it go. We are working. There will be time enough to play later. I still pick it up and fight down the urge to go after it. We're not children anymore. His ears twitch again, and it shakes the rest of his hair down. I watch his back move. Slender and slim and lithe, built for the water and made by the river. His legs pump and move, and I watch those too. I watch everything he does. It makes the work much easier to deal with. He's not watching me. He will do that later. I move the yoke and the water sloshes. I stumble a moment, but I keep moving forward. I blame Simo. He is distracting. And he didn't get that rock. I don't know what else I can do. I am only one woman with her hands full.
A playful growl comes from the trees. Simo takes it upon himself to respond. We are home. Terrible, wonderful home with our hammocks and our hearth and our tools. And the others who look at us as we walk by and snicker. I don't know why. I guess they don't want clams and water and whatever else we bring.
"The amours are back," someone calls. I growl a bit and keep moving. It's not my fault we had the same duties. It's not my fault we have to keep walking together. They put the cistern by the cookfires. We didn't. My tail straightens and holds. We keep walking. Simo blushes and keeps his head down, with his adorable ears flat. The yoke puts mine down, but my ears are still up and twitching. More snickers and points and laughs. I ignore them. My water is still heavy and there are still many, many steps to take me there.
Simo peels away and that's terrible. Work and duties and the fact that I turn right is what separates us. He turns left. I am alone now, next to the cistern and ready to end this all. The yoke comes off first and then the one on my head. I stand and stretch and feel my entire body tear back open. Burning and ripping and singing under my movements. It's all so wonderful.
"Only three this time," Mionn purrs, "You're losing your touch."
The growl starts in my throat the moment I hear her voice. Everything on me stands on end. She's here to poke and needle and prod and annoy. I take the first jug and empty it into the cistern. It's a little over halfway. I take the next one and keep working. That one's empty too and then the third.
"Really," she says, "that's all you got. I thought, maybe, just maybe they were packed tighter, y'know. Made up for the lack of jugs."
I ignore her. It's hard, but I do. I have the last of my chores done. I put them all back down in their right spot and start walking away, being the bigger woman and all that. I am the bigger woman, maybe half a head over her dark ears and short hair, and broader in the shoulder. She might have the chest on me, but that's depending on the day, what we ate, how excited we are, the weather and if the stars align really. Out of my control. Hers as well, even if she doesn't think so.
"Move," I say. She's blocking my exit. I have other things to do. Like lying in the sun. And napping in the field. Maybe even dozing in my hammock. She's grinning at me, little fang biting into her bottom lip and I wish it would bleed. It looks like it's bleeding, but it's just jam from a pie she stole.
"What were you doing out there with Simo," she asks, "I mean, you are strong. Not as strong as me, but still. You had to be doing something to get all tuckered out."
"Move," I say again with an edge creeping in. The worst of us deserve a second chance, and this is hers. She doesn't take it, so I am now morally justified in whatever I do to her.
It's a simple shove, but she only sways. Rooted to the ground like a grand tree. She laughs. So quick to anger, so quick to let it all boil over. Really quite unbecoming. The young ones have problems with their temper. I am past my nameday, so I am supposed to be something a bit more composed a bit more communal. She doesn't make it easy.
"So testy," she hums, "I'm just curious. The Burning Moon is coming up and I just want to make sure your first is special. Can't have you ruining the tradition so close to the day."
She blocks the way for a moment more. I glare her down. She just sits and smiles, her left fang biting her lip. I could do it. I could let that little bit of temper seep out and guide my hands to glorious fury. I do not. I am tempered. I am calm. I am one with the wind and the forest. She chuffs and giggles and darts away, chuckling all the while. It takes a moment, but I think I figure it out. I'm blushing. The Burning Moon is coming, and I am blushing at the thought. That's just natural. Everyone blushes when they think of the first time when the sky burns and bleeds and cracks open into insanity. Or something. I just remember the ever-trailing smoke and the blood red sky as the meteors came down. I remember the almond cookies I got to eat. I hope they have those this year as well.
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