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Chapter VII
Saure began not to care.
This is always a troubling occurrence, especially in one so young. But you have to understand (and perhaps, God forbid, you do), it's sometimes easier to douse one's sorrow in apathy in order to stay somewhat sane. This, of course, never really works- it's just a lesser form of insanity.
She continued to tend to her garden and the green-shed. She kept the house in neat order. She mucked out the stable. She took washing down to the creek. She busied herself with these chores and decided she never had parents… or at least that they just chose not to return.
Fred, who had been outraged at the kirnfolken's behavior the day this unfortunate chain of events began, took up patrolling duty during the day. Since Saure gave no opinion of whether or not it was appropriate for him to do so, he made the decision himself. He assumed none of them would be stupid enough to try to attack a beast several hands taller than themselves. Not with spades and pitchforks, that is.
The folken were, indeed, too terrified to near the place, and several accepted that some curse had befallen the Fira family; parents slain in a cone-wind and daughter slain and eaten by a giant puma. The fact that the beast still roamed the farm was indubitable proof. So, many forked protection from the evil eye when passing the farm on the main road.
Nag, noticing this occurrence, took it upon herself to walk free among the different farmlands at whim. She gossiped with other horses and various livestock, had herself many bellyfuls of good hay, and frightened the living daylights out of superstitious old housewives. They forked the sign at her every time she wandered into their view. This amused Nag to no end.
Saure, however, was getting worse. One day, she ceased to acknowledge her companions' presences at all. Fred tried |
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desperately to get her to respond to his queries, and eventually let her go. He laid dejectedly on the stoop and looked out miserably at the clear blue summer sky.
She carried a large twig basket of washing to the creek. It was full mainly of her parents' clothes- the same clothes she washed every three days without fail. Two pairs of old trousers, three dresses, four pairs of stockings, three men's shirts, an undersuit for winter, a nightgown, and three pairs of bloomers. She washed these items with a careful slowness, and hung them to dry on the line when she returned. After three days, she would take them down and wash them again.
This fine summer day, edged with the crisp fringe of fall, she was again down at the creek, scrubbing a hole in one of her mother's dresses. She was so absorbed in this task, that she didn't notice the dark shape floating down the creek to her left.
Her hands were reddened and sore from the work, and that is why she jumped when the object struck the back of her left hand. She plucked it from the current, and was about to fling it angrily out of the way… when she noticed how heavy it was. She looked at it in the sunlight, feeling the material with her thumbs. It was an odd sort of parcel; tightly wrapped in strange, dark oilskin and bound with a single twine of silver thread. The oilskin, she noticed, seemed to sheen red in one light and green in another when tilted. It was almost impossible to determine its color. Its texture was that of a veiny, webby sort which reminded Saure of a rubbery leaf.
She snatched the dress from the stream as it began to drift away, dropping it back into the basket. She pulled her legs from under her and sat angle-kneed (I suppose we call this "Indian-style") on the stony bank, setting the parcel in her lap. The twine was cool and silky, and it came undone easily with a gentle pull. She folded back the oilskin, noting it was very neatly cut in a sloping diamond shape, which reminded her of trilliums. Beneath this strange wrapping was a large tome of deepest royal blue leather. The title was embossed in
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