Chapter II: Stag

A shorter filler chapter. Highlights the economy and lifestyle of Errusten and elaborates on Talaedra and Ralnor's thoughts. (Will have Chapter III up by tomorrow!)

Talaedra woke with the sun. She sat bolt upright in bed and stretched her arms in front of her before getting up. In the basin, she washed her face, used a mint paste on her teeth, and combed her hair before braiding it over her shoulder and out of her eyes. She dressed in warm layers, her clothes loose on her frame. She could hear her father's snores from the other side of the wall. It was a good sound. It meant he was still alive, and Talaedra was relieved that he had made it through another night. Walking through the middle of the cabin--tiptoeing past a snoozing Ralnor--Talaedra lifted her boots from their dirt-speckled spot near the door and slid them on her feet. She took a glance at her father, who slept only a few feet from the door, his face relaxed, framed by his wild copper hair and wooly red beard. Talaedra left the cabin, closing the door quietly behind her.

Without a war, there was less demand for lumber, and without their own caravan, there was less need to cut it year-round. As it was, they supplied their neighbors and made ready their supply to sell in Stoneshore. That made Talaedra's life a bit easier, she supposed, but she would have been much happier for a caravan of their own and a bit of extra work. Ralnor could have been to a healer and back, by now. 

As it was, there was no healer in Errusten. And as it was, there was also no butcher. Thus, Talaedra grabbed the bow and quiver from their place near the door, and headed down the porch steps. Stood in the middle of the cobblestone path, she looked up. In front of her, the sun was rising from behind a foggy sky. She turned, and saw nine moons sitting proud above her little cabin. They were a comforting constant. She smiled at them, like they were old friends, and trotted her way into the neighboring wood. 

It was a long, quiet, tiring walk before Talaedra found the unlucky stag. A massive creature, quick and strong--and a shame to kill. Talaedra got low and made herself still. With care, she gave the beast a quick death with a well-placed arrow. She cut its flesh away and took what she could use from the mess within, right there in the forest where she'd slain it, with only the trees to bear witness. The gruesome process made Talaedra's stomach churn, but as she carried the hide and meat back to her little cabin under the nine moons, she felt no guilt despite the beauty of the stag. She would use the parts she could, and from the stag's death would come health and warmth. 

Some time had passed since Fawkes's unwelcome visit, and though Talaedra had, rather ashamedly, found him startlingly pretty, she was glad not seeing him again. Ralnor slept through the entire encounter, and he never mentioned Merek's band of thieves at all. Their lives had continued, and Ralnor had begun to heal. His recovery was worth hauling a butchered stag through the woods. Emerging from beyond the trees and reentering Errusten, Talaedra sprinted home. The bow and quiver were returned to their corner of the porch. When Talaedra stepped inside, Ralnor was still snoring. Talaedra was relieved that the pain wasn't keeping him awake anymore. 

Making as little noise as she could, Talaedra carved the venison into thin pieces. She salted them, pressed them, and put them in a keg. She left the cabin and ran to the mill, the sun now high in the sky and the moons retreating behind the fog, though they still hovered. Watching, waiting.

Throughout the mornings, Ralnor tried to fight sleep, but familiar voices called him back to his dreams. His brother, whom he had missed for a decade and a half. Then, Relisandre. Her laugh, which he had not heard since the first time she left. When he dreamed, he could walk. He could swing an axe, whether for wood or for blood. He relived the war; he looked back on it fondly, though he knew it was grisly and terrible. In his dreams he was younger, his fire-red hair free from silver, his body strong and agile, his daughter a child beside him on long journeys across Tavaun. 

Ralnor awoke in the afternoon, his head aching from the excess of sleep.  He could hear his daughter and his men at work. There was no end to the thwack of axes and the splashing of the water on the wheel echoing across the river. Ralnor could do nothing but lay there and listen, made lame from wounds that festered and forced him to suffer a corpselike stench.  With his incapacity also came loneliness, holed up in his home, a once relaxing place that now made him restless. His books were in piles beside his bed, where he could reach them, inviting bristletails to nest within the pages. They were the histories and legends with which he had taught Talaedra to read, their spines weak and frayed, the paper fragrant with age. They told of times when Tavaun was her own; legends of Percival the Restorer, who protected the old faith and communed with the Dragon-Gods; of the great cities built by the Tavaunish, before so many were slaughtered and their life's work razed to the ground. He knew the stories completely by now, and as he stared at the pages, his mind wandered. He worried for his daughter, whom he had kept so safe. He struggled to release his grasp on her. And now, the mess with the witchcraft.

  Whatever Talaedra had been learning from Lola was helping him to recover. This he could not deny. He felt a lingering fear, however, that Lola was tricking his daughter, seducing her with miracles and goading her into dangerous practices. "They're only plants, Papa" Talaedra had whined, so Ralnor acquiesced to her care, but complained still. Soon, the caravan would come, and this rotten interlude would end. 

Reviews

[WisbyWrites]

This is still short, but I made it a little longer and generally better. You get to know the Dirthitryns and Tavaun a little better here. Everyone's goal and their obstacles are pretty clear now. :)