3. Winter

Jun. 6th, 2012 09:24 pm
clare_dragonfly: woman with green feathery wings, text: stories last longer: but only by becoming only stories (Default)
[personal profile] clare_dragonfly
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boys get discovered as winter melts
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Unfortunately, passing through that village seemed to mark the entrance to civilization. Juniper began to notice footprints in the dirt, and the path was wider here as well, better maintained.

She whispered to the trees, and they told her there was no one on the path for a ways, but she would meet people later. They told her when the person was a half-mile away, and she quickly found herself a place to hide, just off the path so she could see who it was.

Before long a young man came along the path, going to the village she had just left, whistling and glancing from side to side as though he expected to see something interesting. He paused for a moment where Juniper was, and she made herself as small as possible, but then he went on, whistling again. She did not recognize the tune.

Once he was out of sight, she let out a careful breath and crept quietly back to the path—she could hear him, and she didn’t want him to hear her. She glanced back to make sure he was still out of sight and then continued on the path, checking with the trees to make sure she was still going in the right direction. If the man had come from this way, then there must be something there—unless he was simply hunting or woodcutting; she had not been able to see what was in his pack. She kept hoping that the trees’ direction would take her away from the villages, but it did not seem to be so.

They found her a warm cave to sleep in that night, and she ate her rations not bothering with a fire. There was no need to go to that much effort—the trees were, it turned out, good at finding her places to sleep that were warm enough for her, and with everything around her so damp, fires were not so easy to make.

Juniper woke in the dawn thinking she had heard something, and then confused by the quality of the light. After a moment she remembered that the cave’s mouth faced west, and she had certainly slept past sunrise. She scrambled about putting her things back together, anxious for no reason she could name, wishing to get back on her journey—she did not want it to take any longer than it had to. Then she heard the sound again.

She froze, crouching in her warm, dirty cave, trying to place it. Not the trees. Some animal? No… that footstep belonged to something heavy, but with a wide, flat foot. Not like a deer. Like a human.

She wondered, baffled, why the trees had not warned her, but did not dare ask them. Whoever it was might hear her. She would have to just keep herself still and silent until they went away.

She was trying to calm her heartbeat when a face appeared above her. She cried out and stumbled back, farther into the cave, not that there was much of anywhere to go. The face was upside-down—someone on top of her cave?—and had bright blue eyes in a brown, winter-tan face, topped by curls that hung down now toward the ground. It smiled widely, teeth showing white against the skin. “Hello, miss. Are you lost?”

“No,” she answered, quickly, automatically. What was this person—man—doing here?

The grin didn’t fade. “Are you sure? You could have just gone another mile and you would have gotten to town. I know we’re too small for an inn but somebody could have found you a space better than that cave.”

She couldn’t think of anything to say, just stared back at him. Of course, even if she’d known that there was a town just a little ways ahead, she would not have gone forward to it. But she knew that if she told him she wanted to avoid people, he would think she was strange, and that was one thing she wanted to avoid.

He reached out a hand toward her. “Shy, are you? Come on, my mother could feed you up. You could certainly use it.”

Her stomach, and the lightness of her pack, told her that she should take him up on the offer. But still, she didn’t understand. Could she trust him and his mother? Would they hurt her—wouldn’t they think she was strange? That was certainly what she had always been afraid of with the people in the village near her home. But she was far from her home now. Perhaps the people here were different. Her father had certainly never ranged far enough to find out. And if her mother had come this way… Juniper shook her head. “Do you mean it?” she asked. Because she could truly not fathom why this boy or his mother would want to feed her.

“Of course.” He waggled his hand at her. “She would never forgive me if I let somebody get past without offering any hospitality.”

Hospitality. She didn’t know the word. Perhaps it was a kind of fruit that didn’t grow where she lived. Whatever it was, the syllables sounded tangy and delicious, and her stomach reminded her, again, that it was nearly empty. “I… suppose.” She half-crawled, half-walked out of the cave, ignoring his outstretched hand, and stood up. He was indeed lying on top of the cave, on about a level with her shoulder. His grin finally faded, and he pulled his hand in slowly, then jumped to his feet and joined her on the ground.

“Fantastic!” he said. “I’m Filt, by the way.”

She nodded, then realized, from his hopeful expression, that he wanted her name in return. “Juniper.” It didn’t feel as strange as she’d expected, giving a stranger her name. But perhaps he wasn’t a stranger anymore. She knew his name—Filt. And he’d offered to feed her. Some small part of her certainly insisted that he not be a stranger.

He glanced at her pack, but didn’t say anything about it, only skipping jauntily along the path. She followed a half-step behind him, not wanting to let him get too far ahead of her, and certainly not wanting him at her back. As they walked, she glanced furtively up at the trees, and they waved their branches gently at her, but said nothing. Perhaps they did not want Filt to hear.

The end of the trees and the beginning of the village once again took her by surprise, and she shrunk in on herself, away from the brightness of the light, but Filt didn’t even seem to notice, so she hurried to keep up. He led her past a number of fields, and then turned toward a small cottage, one that was thankfully not within the village proper. Most of the people she had known throughout her life had been farmers; she should be able to deal with other farmers.

“Hello, Mother,” he called as he pushed the door open. “I’ve brought a friend.”

“Who is it?” came a warm, rich woman’s voice.

“Someone new,” was Filt’s response. “Her name is Juniper.”

Juniper hardly had time to react to Filt’s casual assessment of her as his friend. She was looking around, half in awe, half in fear, at the house. It was, indeed, built much like her own beloved home—so much that she felt the pang of loss, looking around at the strong, square form. But the structure was the firm end to the similarities. Where her house was light and clean, this one seemed small, cramped, and dirty. It was not really dirt, she discovered as she looked around, still hanging back in the doorway, but simply the mess and work of many people.

For there were many people there—more people than she had ever seen in her life. There was a middle-aged man in a chair by the fire, his feet on a stool, whittling. There were two children beside him near the fire, playing with a wooden horse and carriage. There was a girl at the table, a teenager, sewing a patch on a dress; there was a boy across from her, a little younger, who seemed to be doing nothing but singing a loud song to annoy her. The sound of all these people, though the girl and the man were quiet, seemed to expand and fill the room, even spill out through the open door. And there in the corner, bent over the stove, was a plump woman—Filt’s mother, she had to be. As Juniper watched and contemplated backing out and running away before Filt could notice, she turned from the stove with two huge, laden plates—one covered in cakes of some kind, one with strips of sizzling bacon. The smells wafted tantalizingly to Juniper’s nose.

“Who’s this, then?” she said, smiling broadly as she walked to the table with the plates. “I don’t recognize you, girl.”

“I found her in the woods,” Filt said, giving Juniper a tiny push in the small of her back. She stumbled forward. “Right outside the village. I think she’s a traveler.”

“That so?” The woman set the plates down on the table with a smack. “Well, you’re welcome in our home, Juniper. Breakfast is up, all of you lot. Gara, get that dress away from the bacon grease.”

The girl snatched up her dress and hurried off with it. The boy snatched up a cake in one hand and a slice of bacon in the other and began to shove them into his mouth. The children abandoned their toys and ran to the table, and the man took his feet off the stool and sat up with a groan. “Filt, close the door,” he said in a small, complaining voice. “You’re letting the cold in.”

Filt obeyed. Juniper didn’t turn to see the door shut, but she felt it behind her, the cutting off of the air. She felt as though the thickness of the room was filling up her lungs, all the way up to her throat, choking her. At home she’d always felt safe when the door was shut, the walls between her and the world. But here the world was inside the house, not outside. And her only friends, the trees, were cut off entirely. Was this what they had meant when they had said that her mother was somewhere that they could not speak to her? Had she gone into one of these dark, full houses and never come out?

“Come on,” said Filt, taking hold of her elbow and pulling her toward the table. “There’s plenty for everyone.”

“And what were you doing in the woods, boy?” asked the man. “Did you get the milking done?”

“Of course I did, Father,” Filt said, sitting down at the end of one of the table benches and grabbing a strip of bacon. “And then breakfast wasn’t ready, so I went into the woods. Good thing, too.”

So this was Filt’s father. Juniper looked at him with curiosity and respect, even as she shook in reaction to Filt’s hand on—and removed from—her arm. He, too, had a cake in one hand and bacon in the other, and she realized this was how they were all eating, though most with more decorum than the boy, who now had a face all shining with grease.

“Ef, Zu, make room,” the mother said sharply. “We’ve a guest.”

The two children stared up at Juniper then, as one, scooted over, leaving a space at the end of the bench. Juniper understood that she was meant to sit there, but still hesitated, until the girl—Gara—said, in a loud, friendly voice, “Better get some of the food before Filt eats it all.”

This seemed quite unfair to Juniper, as the younger boy was the one who seemed more likely to eat everything in front of him, but the pleasure the family seemed to take in having her there let her relax enough to sit down and carefully take a cake in her hand. She nibbled at the edge. It was very tasty, made of what seemed to be oat flour, and fried in oil. Her stomach reminded her again of why she was here, and she began to eat more quickly.

It was strange, how these people seemed to accept her with no question. She hadn’t even spoken to any of them except Filt. But here they were sharing their food with her. Could they be trusted? Her father would have said they were just trying to lure her away from him, to get her to join in their decadent life. But her father was not here.

After several minutes the older boy got up from the table and ran off, and then the two children did the same, and there was more space and less hurry. Filt nibbled on a piece of bacon with a smile that made his face glow. “So, Juniper, was it? A traveler?” said the mother, turning to Juniper and fixing her with blue eyes that matched her son’s.

Juniper swallowed her bite of cake and nodded. Questions. She could answer questions. Dared she tell them the truth? The trees had certainly avoided speaking to her while Filt was about. And who would believe her that the land was under a curse?

“Where are you headed?” Her voice still sounded friendly, but Juniper wondered what her goal was.

“South.” She would answer as concisely as possible, she decided. Then she would be able to understand the woman’s interests by the direction of her questioning, and perhaps she would come up with her own explanation for where Juniper was going. Her father had always said that people believed the stories they told themselves better than anything anyone else could say.

Filt’s mother nodded. “And what’s there?”

“Many things,” Juniper answered, puzzled for a moment before she realized that the question had meant to ask what her goal was, not literally what was south. But she did not have to correct herself—Filt’s mother was already laughing and giving her own answer.

“So, want to see the world, do you?”

“Not the world, perhaps,” said Juniper. “But… some things I have not seen, yes.” Was that true, she wondered? The answer had come so easily to her tongue. But if given her full and honest choice, she would certainly return home, to her safe house and her healthy cherry trees.

“And how will you travel so far? Do you have coin?”

She did, yes, but the question made her instantly suspicious. “I will work, or trade, if I must. I am an able hunter.” She took a breath. “In truth, I could not afford to stay at home. My land is dying.” She shot a glance sideways to Filt, wondering if his mother was asking for payment of any kind for the meal—she would be happy to work or hunt for them, but he had seemed to indicate that the meal would be free.

Filt only smiled at her, and her next response came from his father instead. “Ah, yes,” he said. “There’s many been making that complaint, lately. And it’s true, we don’t grow as much as we used to.” He stood up with a creaking groan and shuffled back to his rocking chair by the fire.

Juniper felt a flush come to her cheeks. Of course, the curse laid on the land did not only affect her home. She turned to Filt’s mother, her hands spread to show her earnestness. “If there is anything I can do to repay you—”

“Certainly not!” she interrupted, her eyes wide with shock. Filt, too, made a tiny noise of protest. “This is hospitality, girl, and nothing less. We still have plenty for all, and I could not turn away a hungry person. Please, eat all you want.” She cast her eyes down to the two plates, each of which still held a small portion of food.

Juniper no longer felt hungry, but she knew that opportunities such as this were few and far between. Ignoring the guilty twisting in her stomach, she took another cake and more bacon. She had been told to eat, she reminded herself, and if they had originally had an ulterior motive for inviting her into their home, well, so much the more reason she should eat their food.

The odd thing, indeed, was that they had not asked where she had come from, nor pressed her for more information on her goals. As she continued to eat her fill, the other members of the household returned to other activities; the girl went back to her sewing, the man to his whittling, and the woman to her corner, where she pulled out a basket of what must have been laundry and left with it.

Only Filt remained at the table, and he jumped up when Juniper did. Unsure what he wanted, she asked, “Are you sure there is nothing you want? I have worked on a farm all my life, and if you wish any assistance, I can provide it.”

He shook his head, laughed, and took her arm. “If you have worked on a farm all your life, then you know that nothing is fruiting yet, and it is still too early to do much planting. The snow may be melting, but under the surface the ground is still hard.”

She had to admit that she knew that was true, and let him lead her out of the house and back to the road. Together, they walked south through the village, passing more and more buildings. Juniper could think of nothing to say, and so she said nothing, and they walked in silence. Several people looked at them as they went by, but no one tried to stop them, or even spoke to them.

There was a strange fluttering in Juniper’s stomach. She was nervous, yes, that these people wanted more from her than they would reveal; indeed, their very openness and generosity made her more nervous. And why else would Filt be walking with her like this, touching her arm? But she had left the house with a full belly, and she had made repeated offers that had been turned down. The warnings her father had always given her about strangers, she realized, had not been very specific. He had feared what a handsome young man like Filt might want from her, but she had never understood what that would be.

They reached the woods. The trees waved their branches, budding leaves making a slight susurrus, and she thought that they were greeting her. She longed to be alone with them again, but she also felt—and it was a strange feeling—that she did not wish Filt to stop touching her. He stopped in the path as the canopy of the trees closed over them, and turned to her. “Though there is little enough to do at the farm, I should return,” he said. “There are eggs to fetch, and little siblings to watch over. You understand.” She nodded, though, never having had either eggs or siblings, she did not entirely understand. He paused, looking into her eyes, then added, “You travel south?”

“Yes,” she said, puzzled. Had they not already had this conversation? What information did he want from her?

“Well,” he said, taking a deep breath, “do you think you will ever return this way?”

“I hope to.” She thought of her farm, and how, if she was successful, she would be able to return there, plant many more cherry trees, and live out her days in peace. “Yes, if I can.”

He smiled, then, bent close, and before she could understand what he was about, kissed her. The pressure of his lips on hers was so startling that her eyes flew open and she did not know what to do. But his lips were soft, and he had his eyes closed, and there was something very pleasurable about this strange affection. So, after a moment, she closed her eyes as well and softened her lips, kissing him back.

For several seconds she let herself simply enjoy that. But then he put his arms around her and pulled her against his body. His arms were warm, and the embrace sweet, but the pressure of his lean, muscled body frightened her, and she pulled away, gasping at the sudden cold of the air on her lips.

He stared at her for a moment, then his lips twisted into a strange smile. “Perhaps I will see you again, Juniper,” he said, then turned and walked back into the village.

She stood still, struggling with an urge to run after him and apologize—though for what, she was not sure—until she could turn and continue on her way. There was a tingling throughout her body, and her face felt flushed. It was some time before she could even speak to the trees again.

-
drifts get deeper
-


Juniper asked the trees why they had not warned her about Filt, though she was no longer certain that she wished she had been warned. We tried, they told her, but you were asleep and did not hear. And when he came close, he would have heard us as well.

“Why don’t you want him to hear you?” she asked.

He would have been afraid. Here, they do not like magic.

That seemed strange to her, but it confirmed her instinct to avoid telling anyone about the quest the trees had given her. As the day wore on, she decided that she was, in fact, grateful that the trees had been unable to warn her about Filt; she would certainly have hidden herself from him if she could, and then she would not have had that hearty breakfast. It was late afternoon by the time she felt the urge to eat, and then she did not need to eat much, nor at supper, which was held, as usual, in a small cave that the trees found for her. She was surprised by the number of warm dirt caves that seemed to be accessible to her, but did not question it.

She slept well that night, not even the tiniest pang of hunger bothering her, nor any word from her father or her conscience. But in the morning there was another obstacle: it was snowing, and must have been for several hours.

She gasped and crawled quickly back from where she’d crept up to the mouth of the cave. Thankfully, the wind seemed to be coming from the opposite direction, so the snow hadn’t drifted inside, but it was piled up outside in a way that she knew would prevent her from moving on for several hours—and if it didn’t stop soon and warm up, then she wouldn’t be able to go anywhere all day.

The sight of all that whiteness was beautiful, but it made her feel sick nevertheless. She knew the weather, and she knew the patterns of the season. Winter should have been over. The snows had nearly all melted, and spring’s warmth was progressing apace. If there was any part of her that doubted the truth of what the trees had told her, it no longer did.

She shivered, then crawled up to the mouth of the cave again. “Is there anyone nearby?” she asked softly.

No, came the trees’ reply. All is quiet.

“It is the curse that brings the snow now, yes?”

It must be, they told her, their voices overlapping in agreement and difference as they always did. This weather is wrong. Our sap should be flowing more swiftly by now.

Juniper nodded and crawled back into her cave, unable to think of any other course of action. As she rummaged through her bag in search of food, she was suddenly struck by the thought of Filt and his family. First, she wondered how they were dealing with the snow, and supposed that the small house and large family would at least allow them to take advantage of one another’s warmth. It brought a pang to her heart, remembering how she and her father would huddle together under blankets on the coldest nights; since his death, she had lived through those nights by sleeping next to, and nearly under, the wood stove.

Then she began to wonder what it would be like to be a part of a large family like that and then, as she nibbled at her food, whether they would have let her spend the night with them, if she had wanted to. They had been such generous people, and though no one had invited her to stay, she had been clear that it was important for her to travel.

Part of the thought made her gut twist with anxiety; part of it made her heart swell with longing. She told herself firmly that they would never have let her stay—their resources must have been stretched thin as they were, and while they could feed an extra mouth for one meal, she could not have asked them to support her for a full day.

Still, as she leaned against the back wall of her cave in order to keep as much warmth to herself as she could, her mind kept returning to Filt’s smiling face, and she wondered what it would be like to spend her time with him.

-
things are gonna change so fast
-


The snow stopped falling a bit before noon, and while it began to melt almost immediately, it was still the next morning before Juniper felt it was safe to move on. The ground was still all mud and slush and wetness, but she had waterproof boots, and she felt it was more urgent than ever to keep moving, to find the source of the curse and fix her world.

It was only another day’s travel to the next town. She discovered it almost as suddenly as she had the last two, and retreated into the woods, her heart beating a fast patter. The cave the trees found for her was larger this time, and she convinced them to let her build a fire inside. Then, while there was still just a bit of light in the sky (for the sun was still reflecting against the massed clouds), she went hunting.

The buck she took down was old, and would probably be stringy and difficult to chew, but once she had sighted him, she chose him on purpose. With the increasing intensity of the winter, the deer would be having even more difficulty keeping their numbers up than usual. She had to make extra effort to take only deer who were not breeding.

The buck did not fit into her cave, but she skinned him and cut him into pieces by the light of her fire. The head and offal she threw into the brush to attract any predators who might smell the blood and keep them away from her. She took most of the meat and the skin and tied them into a bundle, with the buck’s own sinew as cord. The rest of the meat made up her supper, and a rich, hot supper it was. She slept that night with her stomach full once again.

In the morning she packed away her things, braced herself, and walked into the town.

This town was built along much the same lines as the previous ones; there were outlying farms, and houses that clustered closer and closer together as she came closer to the center. She passed an orchard, pale green leaves barely beginning to emerge from its dry branches, and smiled at it, but there was barely a rustle in return.

Finally, she reached the town square. She was able to relax infinitesimally when she found it; it was almost familiar in its similarity to the square of the town nearest her home. There were, as always, women drawing water, standing about and talking, and making small trades. However, no one seemed to be sitting beside the fountain with wares to trade away. Would that be the right thing to do? How would she know where to sell?

As she hesitated at the edge of the square, though, a woman in a thick, stained apron walked up to Juniper. She smiled, and it lit up her round, freckled face. “Looking to sell?” she asked, her voice brusque but her manner friendly as she nodded toward Juniper’s bundle.

Juniper had to swallow against dryness in her throat, but she found her voice after a moment. “Yes. It’s, ah, most of a buck. Meat, sinew, and skin, though I haven’t done anything to the skin.” She didn’t mention how old the buck had been. Her father had taught her that it was always best to claim the highest point you could in any negotiation.

The woman nodded, though her smile seemed to have faded somewhat. “No antlers, of course. Pity. I’ve a fondness for them.” Juniper simply looked back at her, having no idea how to respond to that. How could one have a fondness for antlers? What were they good for, except to be made into tools or handles? After a moment, though, the woman beckoned. “Take them into my shop and we’ll have a look.”

She turned, and Juniper followed. The woman led her into, as expected, a butcher’s shop. It was liberally festooned with various parts of animals in several different stages of preparation. The sausages draped in one corner of the room made Juniper’s mouth water. There was no one else here, which surprised Juniper; did this woman run a shop all on her own? Of course not, she decided; the woman’s husband or father must be out at a farm, making bargains.

The woman stepped behind a counter and rapped on it, raising her eyebrows to Juniper. She understood and laid the bundle down on the counter, then unwrapped it swiftly. She took a step back so the woman could inspect the meat. She did so, with a thoroughness that impressed Juniper and convinced her that she had been found by the right person to buy the meat. Eventually, the butcher woman looked up and nodded. “I wouldn’t normally buy the skin, but as it happens, I’m in need of a new coat and it’ll be cheaper and easier for me to have Magrit work with a hide I own. What do you say to twenty-six gold?”

It was more money than Juniper had ever had in her life, at least, to herself; it was far more money than she would have gotten for a similar buck near her home. But clearly such things were worth more here. She tried to keep the surprise off her face and offer a counter. That was the point of bargaining, after all. “Throw in one of those sausage links, and you’ve got a deal.”

The woman laughed, seeming pleased by the offer, but naturally, she countered it right back. “Twenty-five gold and the sausage.”

Juniper didn’t want to haggle any further for fear of not selling the buck at all—and she was really looking forward to that sausage. So she stuck out her hand and they shook on it, then made the exchange. The butcher woman poured the heavy gold coins—most plain, a few stamped with faces Juniper didn’t recognize—out onto a different, and cleaner, counter, and Juniper counted them carefully before stashing them away. Then she took a link of sausage and left.

It was only when she left the town square and was on her way, though still within the town limits, that she realized her legs were trembling. She had never haggled with a complete stranger before. It had gone so well she could hardly believe it. Now she had sausage, and plenty of money. Though, she realized, she would have to be careful with the money; if it was worth less here, she might not be able to live off it for days, as she hoped. At least the sausage meant her food stores would last to the next day’s breakfast.

She was relieved. It was a strange feeling.


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