Being grounded did not excuse her from chores. For they were many and endless, tasks only stages of completeness or compete till they needed tending again. Salting and flipping the cheeses was one such daily task. That Hema always enjoyed despite the cold cloth because it was a chance to let her hood down. The golden eyes of the Incarnation of ?veni were not obvious things, and could be concealed with flesh weaving, but they were still an inconvenience given that she lacked the knowledge to flesh weave. Still, in the dairy where she worked alone she didn’t have to worry about them.
The dairy itself was a long cream coloured rectangular building, and like all others was built off the ground. It’s masonry heater, unlike most, was a floor to ceiling column with many interior chambers. In addition, hollowed Sorrow bones spread out from it like a spiders web against the thick dark brown heartwood walls. One wall was dominated with the tools of her trade, churns, basins, jars, paddles, grinders, cheese clothes just to name a few while the other had the cheeses she was working on.
It was also one of the most difficult buildings to manage, but she had shown a skill for heat management as a teenager which, over time and competency, earned her the dairy for her own. Hema had first started making cheese when she was about nine and had continued to do so till the present day, seven years later.
She rotated blautost, hardost, sn?frisk and cheddars, checked soft cheeses like fl?temysost over, they were her least favourite by virtue of being the pickiest cheese. Each cheese had it’s own shelf that ran the length of the longest wall based on average moisture levels and temperature. She generally preferred to put the soft cheeses up higher because if they froze it wasn’t the end of the world. Whereas a frozen blautost would be humiliating. Each shelf was packed to the brim with produce as she was in charge of the vast majority of cheese production in the village. During the short spring and summer, if there was a bumper harvest of milk, then it was either pooled together for one great treat that she would make for everyone. Or it was split for extra personal use among the villagers.
This year had been such a case, fortunately large amounts could be frozen. The village had two verogants, who were thankfully a breeding pair. So that gave them large bounty of rich milk for most of the summer which made for excellent butters and creams. Auroch and sp?lsau which both numbered in the fifties provided the rest of the milk they used with a rare treat of muskox on occasion.
Hema finished with the last wheel of blautost and checked over her little personal stash of hardost. Hardost would keep well, and increased it’s value with age. So hopefully that would give her something to work with later. This was a collection she was making for when she inevitably left the village. She wanted to go to the university at the city, which meant she would need something to trade with.
As the ?veni she would have to learn how to help her people, which in turn meant understanding them, and that was something she was rubbish at. Going to the city seemed like a straight forward way to solve that problem. Besides, it was the highest institution of learning on the planet and she wanted to learn more, as her little village wasn’t equipped with the resources she needed on that front. She was sure her parents would give her a tea block when she left to help her pay for things, but having something like her fine cheeses felt like a good back up plan.
Stands-at-the-North-Wall stepped into the dairy through the customary porch. Hema’s mother Robin had given the dryad an old coat and boots that weren’t any good for common use but suited the needs of the Stands-at-the-North-Wall just fine. It was a ratty just worn thing and not effective enough for them. The furs, at a glance, were deer and muskox, making a sea of brown of varying thickness. It had lost beads from the sides of the arms and the boots had lost all decoration. Hema found it painful to look at but didn’t have the means to repair it.
“Are you finished?” the dryad asked.
“Yes, next is brushing the muskox and then after that we spin whatever we get out of them,” Hema said. “Hopefully by then my mother will have relaxed.”
“I should hope so. This is a waste of time.” Stands-at-the-North-Wall said and grimaced wrinkling her thin nose.
“It’s not a waste. It’s all important,” she said.
“I’d rather hunt Sorrows and eat sunlight,” Stands-at-the-North-Wall said.
“You can do all three at once,” Hema replied.
“True,” Stands-at-the-North-Wall mused. “Let’s go, the sooner you're done the sooner we can do something actually useful.”
Hema huffed and refrained from saying that everything she did was useful. Otherwise she wouldn’t be doing it. They headed to the porch and Hema dressed in her brown heavy trousers and coat. Her beads were in red and white in diamond patterns, on the top of her boots and backs of her mittens. She pulled hood down the beads clicking before they stepped dark night outside it was illuminated by a thin ring of white light from the ring above them. It was towards the end of val and the dawn shift was starting to stir.
She and Stands-at-the-North-Wall headed toward the wall. Sorrows generally didn’t interact with wildlife so all the village's livestock was kept outside. A small army of shepherds managed them for frequent rotations out into the forests to the north and plains to the south. While they did have a store of hay from the short summer months, it was used sparingly. Today the muskox had been brought in and after gathering tools Hema joined ten other people to brush the musk ox. half of which were her age, equipped with tools like her, while the rest were warriors. Their fur was used for clothing, bedding though not the best for that for it’s rough texture or stuffing pillows and mattresses.
A pair of guards stood by the heavy stone doors and one nodded to the group as they approached. Hema envied their strength, moving even one of the doors without magical assistance was next to impossible and while many in the village could do it, she was not among them.
Hema braced as a wind blew through the narrow gap. It was always awful, the buildings of the village broke it up but as soon as they stepped outside there was little protection. Beyond, the muskox herd was digging through the fields for the grass underneath. Thankfully the muskox kept within a metre of each other and worked as fantastic wind blockers. Hema picked one furthest from the doors, pulled a wide toothed comb from a basket that she kept on her arm. She greeted the muskox with a pet on its neck, it ignored her in favour of grazing and she began to brush the thick course fur.
Stands-at-the-North-Wall kept her head on a swivel. Hema wasn’t worried, she picked the end of the herd because her talent allowed her to become incorporeal. Thus in the event of an ambush her safety was the least of her concerns. These muskox had been a part of the village for as long as anyone could remember, generation after generation. Which lead to them being docile and even enjoying the grooming. Hema couldn’t feel the texture of the fur through her mittens, but she often paused to push handfuls off of the comb into her basket.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
As she worked, the sun began to peak up over the horizon. The sky was cast in dark purples and blues that filtered out the worst of the harsh white light. Despite her veil, Hema still averted her eyes from the sight. She never understood the people who could look at the sun and feel joy. It was a dangerous killer, bringing as much death as it did life. Unlike her, Stands-at-the-North-Wall preened at the white light.
Hema knew that the dryad was unlikely to have leaves and was probably coniferous thus less subject to the damage from the sun. It was still odd to see someone preen like this. “I thought you were practicing playing Itarus,” she said as she brushed.
Stands-at-the-North-Wall dropped her head and pulled her hood up. “Ah, you don’t stretch up to it do you?” she said.
“No we really don’t, it burns and harms us.” Hema said as she worked her way down the muskox.
“Right, your bodies have no protection. I keep forgetting, you wear so many layers,” Stands-at-the-North-Wall said.
“How old are you? If you don’t mind me asking,” Hema asked.
“About a century,” Stands-at-the-North-Wall said.
“Oh, so you’re like my age in tree terms?” she asked.
“Aye,” she said with a sharp nod.
Hema hummed and scanned around but everyone else had paired up and were chatting quietly as well. “Would you like to help me? It would be more interesting than just looking around, and would help you blend in.”
“I’d rather not. They nibble on my bark sometimes,” Stands-at-the-North-Wall said. She scowled and inched away from the bovine.
“Then consider it revenge-,” Hema said with a soft giggle. “-come it will be fun.” She pulled a brush from her basket. “You can go in after me and she’s unlikely to act out.”
Stands-at-the-North-Wall hummed distrustfully but walked to her, took the bush and settled on her left to cautiously begin to brush the muskox extremely gently. The muskox completely ignored her, continuing to dig and graze.
“See not so scary,” Hema said.
“Still is a bark nibbler,” Stands-at-the-North-Wall grumbled. But unlike Hema she didn’t wear mittens so she could enjoy the soft fur that Hema had already detangled.
“Who also provides you fertilizer at the same time,” Hema said. “To me it seems like an honest trade.”
“It’s not your bark being eaten,” Stands-at-the-North-Wall snapped.
Hema paused for a moment. She pursed her lips as she stopped to watch the dryad. Then she sighed her tail drooped low to brush the snow. This was why she needed to go to the city, to the university. To understand others better. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me,” she said.
Stands-at-the-North-Wall brushed a few more times before she responded. “I understand your thoughts,” she said and pulled fur out of the brush. “But I don’t agree, but you are flesh and I am plant we don’t really connect.”
Hema pulled the fur off her brush to store in her basket before she returned to combing. On the surface she supposed that was true. They were fundamentally different beings, maybe of different things. However, Stands-at-the-North-Wall was capable of standing beside her. She wasn’t just a tree, but equally a person just like Hema only less limited than herself.
“I don’t think that’s true. We are different, but how we can connect is up to us,” she said. “We are connecting right now just by talking to each other. Having different understandings and saying them to each other.”
“Discussion is not connection. Connection is the great roots beneath the snow,” Stands-at-the-North-Wall said.
“You’ll have to show me before I can understand that one. Maybe when the work is done?” she said. “We could sneak out.”
“You aren’t worried about your mother?” Stands-at-the-North-Wall asked.
“The mines aren’t far, we can be there and back within ten minutes. And you’ll protect me.” Hema said.
“Okay, you need to learn about it anyway and the towns are rubbish for it.”
The group brushed the whole heard and Hema dropped her basket off in the weavers building before they snuck out of town again. Hema turned into maple leaves and a wind quickly blew her into the forest. The snow was well packed when she landed. Stands-at-the-North-Wall turned from a blizzard of pine needs back into a person as well.
“This way,” she said.
Presently the mine was abandoned, at least from a metal working standpoint. Metal was plentiful and the village already had all that it needed. Now the mine was used to tap into the World Below. They didn’t meet any farmers on the way down and Stands-at-the-North-Wall took them off the main path, down dark caverns, but Hema for some odd reason could tell they weren’t far from the surface and nowhere near the mushroom farms.
Stands-at-the-North-Wall stopped in a dead end, then reached up to the ceiling. At the touch of a fingertip the tunnel illuminated with a vast network of roots both tree and fungal alike. Endlessly linked.
Hema pulled off a mitten and touched the wall of the small tunnel. Her eyes dilated as she felt what Stands-at-the-North-Wall meant. It was a network that stretched across the continent. It was like a wind against her skin, she could make out it’s edges but not the fine details. She barely noticed Stands-at-the-North-Wall touching her till her hand was yanked away from the wall.
“You have to keep such explorations short, or you run the risk of losing track of your mind among it.” Stands-at-the-North-Wall said. “But that is true connection.”
“Okay,” Hema said and wobbled a bit on the spot before she sat on the ground. It wasn’t warm per say but it was more comfortable then being above ground. “But I couldn’t understand any of that. It was just, I don’t know, information? Feeling? Beyond my comprehension.”
Stands-at-the-North-Wall scowled. “?veni’s domain is the below,” she said. “Here everything should be clear to you.”
“Well it’s most certainly not,” Hema said. “I’ve only been down once or twice in my life.”
“Mhm, odd. I thought you’d feel more and understand more here,” Stands-at-the-North-Wall said. “But we should be getting back before your mother catches wind of this detour.”
“Good plan,” Hema declared.
As they headed back out Hema couldn’t help but linger at a fork in the tunnels. Something in her chest and the back of her mind beckoned her deeper. That a home was that way, down into the dark. Stands-at-the-North-Wall didn’t let her linger but the feeling stuck with her even as they came out into the dawn. Again they flew back straight to the weaving building and Hema quickly dipped inside. They hung their coats off the rafters and settled onto one of many kept chairs.
The building was a single room with corner hearth the stone of which extended well into the walls to preserve thermal mass. One side of the room was dominated by a large mechanical loom with the chief seamstress worked. The noise of the machine made a continuous thunk click, as she wove the thread into sheets.
Hema’s basket had already been placed by an empty padded chair. Cleaning brushes and spindle already thoughtfully added. She sat down discreetly as Stands-at-the-North-Wall discreetly watched from a corner. The other five seats were already taken. Four by other women and the last by a man. He was a fined boned hawk woven creatures with his wings tight to his back. He was already done cleaning and was spinning the fur onto a spindle.
She kept he eyes down as she settled and began to brush the fur between two thinly but densely packed metal brushes. She pulled them in opposite directions of each other which sorted so they all laid in the same direction and cleaned the fur.
“Where did you go?” The hawk woven asked.
“Just to the outhouse Venrel,” Hema said.
