One Moo'r Plow

Book 1: Chapter 53: Harvest IV

She had not left the night before. This I found with a pail of milk in either hand, eyebrows raised as Ishila stumbled from the old house. Sleepy still, her eyes bleary and posture slumped, the orc gave a sheepish wave in my general direction as I returned from the fields, chores finished and another day of harvest ahead of me.

Up till the wee hours of morning? I guessed, tone wry. It took her a few moments to reply. Minutes in which I stowed away the mornings load and began to prepare for the day. Breakfast was a hearty affair, given that I preferred to consume my food now for a shorter break come noon. Artyom stomped from the house behind her, a positively foul expression distorting his features.

One could add up the sum total of what had happened the night before and perhaps come close.

Its not what yah think. Ishila rubbed her eyes and cracked a wistful smile. We were only talkin.

Chatter somewhere else next time, yes-yes. The felinid hissed.

To say everyone was sore -one way or another- would be an understatement. Myself excluded somewhat, Gol and Artyom definitely felt the pace of the past few days, and Ishila was still in recovery. My own body only lightly felt the strain, but I was blessed with unrivaled physique and relentless endurance by virtue of being a minotaur. An unfair advantage I had wholly come to enjoy. Relish even.

The thought of returning to a weak, frail human form no longer interested me, I found in a sudden, stark moment of clarity. I fortable within my new body. In enjoyment of it, even.

A slight cough from Ishila interrupted this moment of self-appreciation as the orc held out a small bowl. I realized my ladle had frozen halfway through the air, about to serve up some leftover stew for breakfast. A good, healthy meal, but one I feared would not quite get everyone ready for the day. Sore muscles and all those other worries that did not overmuch trouble me.

One very short internal debate later, I stood and abruptly made my way to the garden. Watered by now-gone blood the cleric-shine valiantly regrew precious petals. Pale, silky things that promised great profit. More than that, they could save lives. The wound inflicted by Ishilas father had already healed, rendering the plant whole once more.

Without a fresh source in sight, I sighed and drew the knife. Heartbeats later, it supped on my blood, smeared across its form as I gently plucked off a few of the larger petals with another, cleaner finger.

These I passed out among my friends and helpers as I returned, with instructions to consume. Perhaps a pricy action to alleviate some soreness, but I would rather they be happy and healthy than try to pinch a few coins more.

At some point, I should have realized I never saw Lerish coming, nor did a scent fill my nostrils. Instead, the huntress seemed to appear beside me, cloaked in silence.

You look better. I grunted in an effort to hide my surprise. Startled or not, I was determined to get used to her constant habit. A light blossomed in Ishilas eyes, an one could see a smile form behind her bowl as the orc scarfed down her breakfast.

Hmmm. Was all I was returned. Little expected, little given. No one had ever accused Lerish of being a fascinating conversationalist.

Off to the hunt once more?

Soon. Here for a bit.

The slight grin upon my features were all the comment I deigned to give on that subject.

While I have your attention, The conversation veered off-track and presented her with a bowl. It was seized from my grasp, sniffed for a second and then chugged down with all haste.

There was something I had a mind to ask of you. I continued undeterred. A favor, in fact.

Mmmm. A slightly barbed tongue licked away some leftover liquid and stared flatly. For a moment, all was silent save for distant birdsong as those feathered greeted the morning sun.

Ask what you will. She shrugged.

If you ever have free time, it would be a great boon to me if you could deliver me the carcasses of higher-leveled creatures. Their blood, in particular.

The single eye that gazed upon me didnt so much as blink.

Sudden penchant for necromancy? Was all she asked.

Dont think Ma and Pa will particularly appreciate the attention that brings. Ishila winced quietly into her own bowl.

The conclusions you leap to wound me. I sighed. But no, it is for something else.

Done. Lerish spoke. After a brief pause, I found that no, I did not have to explain what it was for. There was something nice about knowing a person that simply could not be bothered to care.

She did not stay much longer. Naught but a few moments had passed when she stood upright, nodded to everyone and left in silence. A wistful look adorned Ishilas face and bright eyes followed the huntresss path.

I hate tah see her go, But I do love watchin her leave. She muttered. There was a pause, then a sudden, deep blush as it struck her everyone had heard that. Despite my most heroic efforts, a smile cracked the edges of an otherwise flat expression.

There was a collective groan shared between Gol and Artyom as I stood, ready to head off and begin my work.

A few more moments, yes-yes? The felinid pleaded with big, round eyes, I relented after a moment and told them to come when ready.

Anythin I can help with? Ishila grunted and heaved herself up. A skeptical glance showed she was not gifted at hiding her stiffness.

Youre still healing up. I stated the obvious.

Yes, and? The lass tossed back. I can still work. Need to repay you somehow.

Look. She continued after a moment. You healed me. Kept me from havin to walk round for the rest of my life with achin scars and a broken body. Thats no small thing. Im whole because of you. Somethin words cant really appreciate. So dont be stubborn and just let me help to show some small part of the gratitude I owe ya.

After a moment to fully appreciate what the orc had just said, I grinned and clasped my hands.

So, how much do you threshing?

It didnt take long for me to have Ishila positioned over a large sheet covered by stocks of grains. Flail in hand, she groaned, stretched her back and began to beat away. No instructions were needed, and after a few moments of observing her motions, I was satisfied. She knew what to do, and would likely have them ready for winnowing before the day was out. The flail rose and fell as she beat the oats, the blows separating the grain and straw through brute force.

A long and enjoying day of repetitive labour set before her, I made myself scarce and trotted back towards the fields. With one stripped bare, another awaited me. Oats were still the dominant crop here, with sections of barley and wheat also planted.

All would serve to feed the cattle.

My eyes drifted across the road where said cows roamed the pasture, and another smile found its path unto my face. The horse that had been fed cleric-shine petals just the night before was not doing better. That would have grandly undersold how full of life it seemed at the moment, being chased around the pasture by the taur-cows, having made an annoyance of itself through overeager exuberance.

All was indeed well.

Thoughts firmly set aside, I hefted the scythe, sighed at the extraordinary full field before me and got the cutting. Even with the stream having been cut off days ago, the ground was still soft beneath my hooves. Every step sunk into the rich, loamy earth as stocks fell around me. At first, I worried about how badly I was displacing the earth. Then it dawned upon me that I would likely plow it before the next crop anyway.

Another irrational worry overcome, I released a grunt of contention and felled another sweep of oats. With little to distract me, I made steady progress in both the cuts and stacking. This field thankfully lacked any monster plants, and so I lacked the need to slow down and carefully work around them. All of the seeds the an had given me had been spread into a single field.

With a frown, I cast my mind back and attempted to remember something, anything. An expression that only deepened as I attempted to come up with any sorts of features or look. Nothing. Less than that, there was a void within my memory, one that troubled me. I had never been good with names, but I could remember a face for a lifetime. But here, not a single thing about the merchant that had sold me this farm and these seeds could be recalled.

A raven cawed at the treetops, almost as if to mock my concentration and lack of results.

Sour was the expression I leveraged at it, yet it only laughed harder. One of Tehaliss eyes, here to keep watch on her daughter? If so, it was situated terribly for that. It seemed intent to gaze upon me rather than Ishila who remained hard at work across the entire yard. A brown, puffed-up body made it larger than any sort of darker-feathered raven I had seen before, and yet the mix of features was unmistakable.

Large, dull wings rested against its body and calloused claws dug into the branch it imperiously perched upon. Straw covered its body, jutting out from between feathers. It seemed, in every way, at home on a farm.

A slight tilt of its head brought one gleaming eye towards me, and for some godsforsaken reason, I found myself having staring down a raven, refusing to blink. Neither of us moved, eyes locked upon each other as sweat ran beneath my coat of short fur, teased out my the suns heat. A droplet ran directly across my eyeball, and it demanded willpower supreme not to blink.

Heartbeat after heartbeat marched on, each one slower than the last. I did not quite know how I had wrapped myself in this foolishness, but at this point, I refused to leave.

A thrown-back head and sharp, raucous caw signaled my victory. Wings spread wide and flapped overhead were all the congratulations I received. Even then, it simply sat on high, content to watch me as I shook my head and got back to work.

And yet, the Gods Above were not content to simply let me continue on with my life.

The first signal I received was the raven. Wings spread into an upright fan, it began to caw incessantly. I glared at it in annoyance, debating on trying out my rock-flinging skills. I stopped that train of thought as my eyes dipped down from the treetops and saw the forms that emerged.

Stonemongers.

They came in small groups, weapons in hand. Long, sinous forms that broke from the forest in silence, slinking from the undergrowth towards me.

With no weapon in hand, I was caught flatfooted. But I was a minotaur, and they were small, frail things. My hands would be enough. If it came to that.

Without the armament of choice close by, I hefted the scythe and watched them approach. A shout back across the yard caught the others attention, and Gols snarls quickly sounded through the area.

And then they stopped, the scattered groups coming to a halt as a singular, larger Stonemonger approached.

It knelt before me and offered up what looked to be gems in hand, knees buried in the dirt and clawed hands held outstretched.

For my part, I simply stood there, dumbfounded. This was not at all what I had expected.