Crone Ch. 01: Healer and Lass

He finished with one spool and rolled the other to the stump, squatted and heaved! His buttocks bulged with the effort; his back and neck like a strong horse, muscles working together to lift the spool.

She was strongly affected by this virile boy, a man really, his naked exertions releasing her desires.

When he turned to take the axe again she saw his furry chest and limbs damp with sweat. His cock, compact and fat between his legs, nearly hidden in the hair there.

Did he look her way? She backed from the window, suddenly shy.

My my. She wanted very much to take this further.

Once the wood was split and stacked, Jordan tested his clothes - not really dry but cleaner. He put them back on.

Knocking on the door, there was a delay then the door cracked open slightly.

"I'm with a client!" she lied. "Make it quick!"

"I need to do some wood-working to make a sledge. For drawing wood from the forest. Are they any woodworking tools to be had? A drill perhaps?"

She pretended to think, then shook her head No!

"Could one be found nearby? Borrowed or bought?"

This she answered in the positive. "There is a smith in the next village but one. He should have one, or be able to make it. Wait a moment."

She went away from the door, returned with a silver coin.

"This should pay for it. If you need something else, use what remains of the silver to purchase it!"

He was impressed - in his life he'd never had a coin so valuable. He tried to say his thanks but she'd shut the door.

So! A trek to the village! For a drill, perhaps a chisel! And rope should be easy to find and cheap.

The day was young, the immediate chores done. He resolved to set out at once.

Vaulting the wall he turned in the direction that customers approached. No village was near the other way; that's how he had come his first day.

It took but an hour walking in the pleasant wood, to find the first village. He passed but two women on the way.

One was a farm wife, strong and pleasant. She returned his nod without stopping.

The second was nearly a lass, dark and angry. She did not acknowledge him.

The crone would have her work cut out with that one!

Entering the commons of the first village, he stopped at a public well and pulled up some water. Drinking deeply, he surveyed the buildings.

A baker. A tanner. Some shops - chandler, shoemaker.

But no smith.

A girl ran past, and he hailed her.

"Ho! Where can I find a smith?"

"Oh not here sir! The last smithy burned and the smith moved to Jagersford. Two miles sir!"

She pointed across the commons where a path could be made out winding off through the hills.

"Thank you young woman."

She grinned, and dashed away on business of her own.

Taking a last large drink, he stretched and started off.

Not half a mile on he entered the hills. Low and gentle, they bothered him not at all. From the tops he could spy smoke ahead, probably the village and smithy he sought!

Another half hour brought him to the outskirts of Jagersford.

Before he entered the commons he relieved himself in bushes by the side of the path.

Noticing a red winterberry bush, he plucked a berry or two and chewed them.

Winterberry could make you sick if you ate too many - they made the mouth pucker like green apples.

Yet they gave vigor for a time when chewed! He spit the pulp and seed once the juice was gone.

Arriving, the smithy was obvious - smoke from the chimney, the smith at the forge in the hot shed on the side. He approached.

"Ho! Smith! I have need of carpentry tools."

The smith glanced at him, continued pumping and hammering.

"Pump for me, and I will finish this sooner?" the smith said without looking from his work.

Jordan took the lever from him, and began slow steady strokes. The iron glowed hot, and the smith took it from time to time with tongs and shaped it on an anvil.

Clearly a dung fork, in a few minutes the center tine was welded to the bow. The smith bade him stop, plunged the fork into a bucket of water.

Cleaning his hands on a rag, he turned and looked Jordan up and down.

"You don't look a carpenter. More like a farm boy? What do you need with carpentry tools?"

Jordan nodded. "I'm no master nor even apprentice. Yet I can jury-rig a sledge or pump handle as required on a farm."

The smith nodded. "So, a drill? A chisel? But no plane nor joiners jigs, nor probably even a square."

Jordan agreed. They discussed dimensions and material, then agreed on a price. It would take most of the silver coin!

Having some time to spend while the smith finished his request (as a good smith had blanks of tools at the ready), he wandered the square.

A shopkeeper hailed him good day, and he stopped to chat.

"You from around here?" he asked genially.

"No, I was born Draeger's farm."

The shopkeeper's face lit. "I knew old Draeger! Would buy candles, rope and the like."

"My grandfather! I knew him a little, as he passed with a fever when I was very small."

"A sad passing! He was a fair man, and quick with a joke."

Jordan looked at his wares, and spied some rope. "I also need rope. How dear a rod?"

They discussed the matter and came to a price for that small length, just a few coppers, easily in Jordan's budget.

Rope coil over his shoulder and change in a pouch he also bought for a farthing, he set out to find some lunch.

The largest building in the village proved to be an inn. Humble, with just a lean-to for a stable, it had two rooms over the kitchen and great room.

The stout lady who ran it offered lunch for a copper, and Jordan easily agreed.

Sitting at a trencher table and eating rabbit stew from a wooden bowl, some weak sack for drink, he considered his state.

Money in his pocket, an employer who trusted him, respect for his skills, food in his stomach - this was all he really needed! A life of his own!

Of course one day, perhaps a farm or a trade. But for now he was content.

Thanking the innkeeper and washing at the commons well, he returned to the smith.

His tools were cooling in a bucket of water. Pulling out the chisel he found it serviceable but rather dull.

"I can sharpen that for a copper, if you have no stone?" the smith asked.

It would use all his remaining coin, but well worth it. He'd later have to find a honing stone at least, among the creek pebbles.

The drill was coarse but well made, suitable for his farm duties.

The tools purchased, the chisel ground on the smith's great stone, bound to his waist with some of his rope, he set off on the return trip.

He met the dark angry woman, no longer angry but seeming determined. She scowled at his greeting, continued without a word.

Arriving back he passed the house and went behind to his wood pile.

Finding a short, smooth stick he placed in on the stump. With his chisel he roughed out a square hole in the center, fitted it to his drill.

It formed a crossbar that would serve to twist the drill, a handle of sorts for the tool.

Taking apart his skid he put each part to the stump and bored holes near the ends with his now-serviceable drill.

Carving another suitable stick from chunks of firewood, he fashioned pegs.

Pounding them with his hammer, the skid was soon reborn. This time, strong and stout!

With the chisel and hammer he crudely planed the runners, removing lumps until they were relatively flat.

Boring two more holes in the runners, he attached a length of rope in place of the twisted cord he'd made from brush.

To try it out!

He harnessed himself, pulled the skid around the yard. It worked well! A little fat to slicken the runners would be welcome, but no matter.

Trudging off thru the woods, he skirted the herb patch (no need to crush valuable plants) and found his downed tree.

This time he piled three spools in a pyramid. The joints held but creaked!

Pulling back, he had no spills and no sudden failures. It went as well as could be expected, given he was not a mule!

She saw him pull into the clearing through the back window. His torso rippled with the effort of pulling; his legs pulsed with flexing muscles.

Pull around the well! she begged in her mind. Just a glimpse of the fabulous butt and she would be content. But it was not to be.

Still, he again stripped and doused himself with well water. That was worth a look! It sheeted through his fur in rivulets, making his body shine and the muscles stand out in relief.

Oh to be that well water! Touching him everywhere, caressing his skin! But such transmogrifications were beyond her herbalist skills.

She made an impulsive choice.

Opening the back door, she caught him stropping water from his bare limbs.

"You have done well! Your tools performed as you'd hoped?" She leered at his nakedness, which to him appeared a snaggle-toothed grimace.

Started, he dropped the bucket.

"Ma'am! Pardon me! Let me get decent."

He turned his back! Bent to pick up his shirt! His fabulous ass on full display, muscled and moving to make her heart skip a beat!

Too soon he had his pants on, turned back as he tied his shirt.

"I don't mind you washing here; you must do what you must to stay clean and cool."

He nodded, relieved at her clemency. He brightened.

"I've built a sledge, which should help keep us supplied with logs for the axe!" He was proud to show his work, tipping the sledge on one end to show the runners and pegs.

She approached, pretended to admire it, but really just admiring his strong arms.

"Money well spent! I enjoy the look of a well-built machine." She smiled her horrible smile.

He was clearly gratified at her praise.

"The rope and the tools left me but little. I spent that on a pouch and vittles. I can pay you back!"

She considered. "We have not agreed on your pay. Certainly it must be sufficient to feed you, to provide you with necessaries.

Consider those things compensation for your first week?"

He smiled, glad to have that much settled.

"The afternoon is well along, and your journey was work too. Let's retire to the bench and talk."

She led the way around, bade him sit, sat herself.

"Have you plans for further improvements?" She was genuinely curious.

He nodded. "I can split rails, make a fence to keep livestock. We could get milk, wool, sell it or use it.

"A plow can be made from oak and a bit of iron. Oats would feed the livestock, fatten them better than grass. Make meal for gruel."

"Would you pull the plow, as you pull the sledge?"

She realized she'd given something away, that she'd been watching. He seemed not to notice.

"No, but a cow could be put to harness. Not as good as a horse, but we have only a little need - a few rod of oats will be harvest enough."

She put a hand on his knee, withdrew it. He didn't flinch, didn't seem to mind this crone being so familiar.

"I had no idea you could do so much. The last boy could not find his ass with both hands!"

He smiled, but didn't laugh.

"If you're not born to the farm these things seem difficult."

Impressed that he hadn't boasted nor mocked his predecessor, she found herself liking him more than she should. More than a servant; more than a pretty ornament.

"Any other plans?"

He nodded again. "A cover for the well. A rack and spit for a kettle! It could be outside near the well, to make heating water convenient. Fat could be cooked to soap in the kettle, with the addition of a little ash.

"And the spit could roast meat, game, piglets and the like."

She found her mouth watering at the thought of roasted game. And to make soap! With her herbs, more cures could be integrated with that, and made portable and long-lasting!

"I like all of that. Do it as your duties permit! And tell me what you need to make it work."

"A kettle! A pot hook will be needed in time. An iron spit. A plowshare. Some nails would make construction faster than pegs, though pegs are sturdier."

"And all this could come from the smith?"

"Well it would be hard to carry all that back the miles between. Perhaps a cart." He was lost in thought.

She left him to his planning, went inside to make a little supper.

Coming out with a platter of baked vegetables and cheese, she heard him banging in the cowshed. She called to him, and he emerged, saw in hand.

"Supper! Such as it is!"

He waved, went back inside, came out without the saw.

Coming to their bench, he brushed sawdust from his shirt, sat.

"I'm glad for the vittles! I've had to do my own cooking these last two years, mother being ill and then dying."

"I'm glad to do it! Though I'd not be reluctant to sample yours. Always good to taste someone elses cooking. It tastes the better for all that!"

He took some hot tubers in hand, jiggled from hand to hand and blew on them.

"I felt her passing. A great woman, and a bitter loss to the community!"

He flushed, gratified to hear his mother described so. And not a little surprised to know, this woman could feel the passing of another.

He changed the subject.

"Perhaps a kitchen garden would be helpful? If there was a cool place to store the produce..."

He didn't ask, but she could tell he was fishing for more about the house.

"There's a basement of sorts. A little damp but cool. With a table or shelf, we could store what we like there."

"Oh! And I'm making a table! Cutting a slice of a log, then I'll bore holes to fix legs. Portable! Handy for anything! Like eating outdoors." He smiled.

She marvelled at his ingenuity.

"I've lived here for... for years, and it never occurred to me, I needed a table outside. Of course, it will be wonderful!" She clapped her bony hands in childlike pleasure.

They ate in silence for a while, alternating baked roots with chunks of warm cheese.

Satisfied and the platter empty, they sat back and admired the rapidly darkening yard.

"A lantern." He put that out there.

She was puzzled - she had a lantern.

"Oh! For the cow shed! Yes, we can manage that I think."

She went inside, came out with a little pierced pottery jar and a skin of oil.

"You pour the oil onto the lint in the jar, then pull up a bit for a wick..."

He smiled. "Yes I know this kind. Thank you! I shall be able to work these dark evenings, and fill some quiet hours."

He took her offering, bade her goodnight, and retired.

She sat a time longer, thinking. What to do with this strange boy? Some of her customers were leery of a strange man about the place; that would need working out.

A flickering light appeared in the cow shed. How had he done that? With no flint nor steel nor ember?

What a curious man, this farm boy.

She went inside.