Out of the Bag

My palms sting and my arms are sore. The trip with the jugs took more out of me than I thought, but I also had some surprise cargo to hoist. It's to be expected, I suppose. Not necessarily wanted, but I like drinking. I like water. I also like swimming and fishing and most other water like activities. Not so much the pumping. The screw handle is getting loose, but I don't have the tools to fix it. I'll have to go back to the village and let Leann know that she has to get out here and do her thing. This is her little baby from an idea some traveler gave her and now she won't shut up about it. Granted, it's much easier than wading in the water and filling the jugs manually. Now, I put the thing down and turn the handle and water starts coming down the spout. It is rather handy. Her next project better be a thing to carry the water back to the village for me. That'd be nice.

I roll one finished jug out of the way and move on to the next. My arms are tired. They burn and sing so beautifully. Carrying them back is going to be terrible. That's fun. I can do it. Don't want to take multiple trips, so one on my head and two on the staff and I'll be fine.

I stop turning the handle and let my arms rest. I'm going soft. Too soft. Leann and Mionn and Koenn are never going to let me hear the end of it. I'm already taking too long with this and that's a whole avenue of ridicule waiting. Mionn could do this trip three times over with three times the weight and three times the weather. I'm not sure what the last one means, but that's what she always says. My ears twitch. They sense the reason I've been somewhat leisurely with my task.

A head pokes above the water and smiles at his hands. He gazes down at the handful of mussels he's pried from the river rocks. He wades to the bank with the rest waiting for him in a tight wicker basket. The water drips from his hair and cuts down his slight frame. He's pale, ice pale and gentle and soft. The water runs down him like snow melt and I keep turning my handle. He's counting. I think he should do one more trip, just to be sure. Then maybe one more, but with me because I am very good at getting clams. I think. I usually just get the water. My foot is cold, and I don't know why.

"Niann," Simo calls out, "That one's full."

It is, I think. It would explain my cold foot. I look down and it seems to track. I stop turning the handle and the screw pump slowly dies down. I move it out of the way, and I think that's all of them. Three, three full jugs of river water that had all manner of fish and clams and Simos swimming in them. It should be fine for the rest of the day or so. Then it's someone else's problem. Hopefully Mionn, so she won't try and fight me.

Simo waits for me. I have a bit of set up before we can go. We should probably figure out a better way. Rollable barrels maybe and then I can stand on one and just jig my way on top until I get back. It's smart, but I don't know if the others would go for it. These are very good jugs, and they should probably be used as much as possible. One goes on my head and the others are on their yoke. Together with one last little bit of strength. I am up and I am moving. Simo has his basket of clams and I think that's everything. I take a moment to set everything aligned and he takes the lead. Such a gentleman. He moves a big rock out of the way for me. I appreciate it. I really do. So much better than what happens when I'm on my own. Or with Mionn. She actively tries to trip me.

Simo is fun to watch. His tail swishes and bobs and bounces. His ears twitch and dance and move with every little sound. He picks up a bird to the south a moment before I do. We let it go. We are working. There will be time enough to play later. I still pick it up and fight down the urge to go after it. We're not children anymore. His ears twitch again, and it shakes the rest of his hair down. I watch his back move. Slender and slim and lithe, built for the water and made by the river. His legs pump and move, and I watch those too. I watch everything he does. It makes the work much easier to deal with. He's not watching me. He will do that later. I move the yoke and the water sloshes. I stumble a moment, but I keep moving forward. I blame Simo. He is distracting. And he didn't get that rock. I don't know what else I can do. I am only one woman with her hands full.

A playful growl comes from the trees. Simo takes it upon himself to respond. We are home. Terrible, wonderful home with our hammocks and our hearth and our tools. And the others who look at us as we walk by and snicker. I don't know why. I guess they don't want clams and water and whatever else we bring.

"The amours are back," someone calls. I growl a bit and keep moving. It's not my fault we had the same duties. It's not my fault we have to keep walking together. They put the cistern by the cookfires. We didn't. My tail straightens and holds. We keep walking. Simo blushes and keeps his head down, with his adorable ears flat. The yoke puts mine down, but my ears are still up and twitching. More snickers and points and laughs. I ignore them. My water is still heavy and there are still many, many steps to take me there.

Simo peels away and that's terrible. Work and duties and the fact that I turn right is what separates us. He turns left. I am alone now, next to the cistern and ready to end this all. The yoke comes off first and then the one on my head. I stand and stretch and feel my entire body tear back open. Burning and ripping and singing under my movements. It's all so wonderful.

"Only three this time," Mionn purrs, "You're losing your touch."

The growl starts in my throat the moment I hear her voice. Everything on me stands on end. She's here to poke and needle and prod and annoy. I take the first jug and empty it into the cistern. It's a little over halfway. I take the next one and keep working. That one's empty too and then the third.

"Really," she says, "that's all you got. I thought, maybe, just maybe they were packed tighter, y'know. Made up for the lack of jugs."

I ignore her. It's hard, but I do. I have the last of my chores done. I put them all back down in their right spot and start walking away, being the bigger woman and all that. I am the bigger woman, maybe half a head over her dark ears and short hair, and broader in the shoulder. She might have the chest on me, but that's depending on the day, what we ate, how excited we are, the weather and if the stars align really. Out of my control. Hers as well, even if she doesn't think so.

"Move," I say. She's blocking my exit. I have other things to do. Like lying in the sun. And napping in the field. Maybe even dozing in my hammock. She's grinning at me, little fang biting into her bottom lip and I wish it would bleed. It looks like it's bleeding, but it's just jam from a pie she stole.

"What were you doing out there with Simo," she asks, "I mean, you are strong. Not as strong as me, but still. You had to be doing something to get all tuckered out."

"Move," I say again with an edge creeping in. The worst of us deserve a second chance, and this is hers. She doesn't take it, so I am now morally justified in whatever I do to her.

It's a simple shove, but she only sways. Rooted to the ground like a grand tree. She laughs. So quick to anger, so quick to let it all boil over. Really quite unbecoming. The young ones have problems with their temper. I am past my nameday, so I am supposed to be something a bit more composed a bit more communal. She doesn't make it easy.

"So testy," she hums, "I'm just curious. The Burning Moon is coming up and I just want to make sure your first is special. Can't have you ruining the tradition so close to the day."

She blocks the way for a moment more. I glare her down. She just sits and smiles, her left fang biting her lip. I could do it. I could let that little bit of temper seep out and guide my hands to glorious fury. I do not. I am tempered. I am calm. I am one with the wind and the forest. She chuffs and giggles and darts away, chuckling all the while. It takes a moment, but I think I figure it out. I'm blushing. The Burning Moon is coming, and I am blushing at the thought. That's just natural. Everyone blushes when they think of the first time when the sky burns and bleeds and cracks open into insanity. Or something. I just remember the ever-trailing smoke and the blood red sky as the meteors came down. I remember the almond cookies I got to eat. I hope they have those this year as well.

---

Simo darts around a tree and the pair of young ones squeal in delight. One of them darts up the trunk, quick as lightning and dangles safely from the branch. The other isn't quite as lucky. She's caught and wrestled to the ground. She wriggles free and climbs to safety as well, laughing and flailing and brimming with energy. Simo stalks back and forth on the ground, trying to look intimidating. He does a very bad job. His ears are perked up and tensed, tail quivering and a fun smile on his face. Both fangs are breaking into his lips.. Not me. I'm just dozing in the sun, stretched out and long and almost liquid. I shift and stretch and roll over a bit. Then I move the other way. I don't like this way or that way, but some way out there I can find will suit me perfectly. Maybe. Probably. I'll keep turning and tossing until I find a way. I'm on my back now and that seems to work rather well. I'll stick with this for a while. A cloud passes over and suddenly none of this works. I need a sunny spot. It's back and all is right with the world.

The kids laugh again and it's nice. They're having fun. Simo's having fun. There is a part of me that wants to have fun. Sleep is fun. I get to toss and turn and stretch as much as I want. I'm on my side now and that works ever better. The lay of the land fits my body and my curve and my legs. My tail drapes over my stomach lazily swaying back and forth like an exhausted metronome. I crack my eyes. He's gone up the same tree and the kids have gone even higher. He's laughing now, all pretense of a threat gone. I smile. It's nice background noise to the meandering doze I'm having. I need more of these. I need endless dozing and the occasional hunt to lift and set down. That's all I need.

"Niann," Simo calls out, "Help."

I bolt up. His voice isn't scared, but the words are. That's enough to get me moving. It's from the tree. I will tear it down and turn it to mulch and light the ashes on fire so it can never hurt anything I love ever again.

He's up in the canopy. The kids are with him, holding onto him from on high. They're a bit scared. They've made a mistake and they will learn from it, but first they have to get out of this one.

"You can get down from there," I sigh.

"Probably, but not these two and definitely not if they want to cling to me. Do you want to cling to me," he asks the kids. They nod once and he shrugs. It is quite a pickle to be in, but I know the best way to solve it.

"Toss them down," I say. The kids cling tighter to him. Not the smartest move. He will be doing some tossing soon and I would want to be as far away from the tossing as possible.

"Will you catch them," he says.

"I'll try."

"You'll catch them."

I shrug. I will, but I also will try to catch them. Or not. The flowers are soft. They'll spring back and start bouncing merrily along like little pumpkins. I hope we're having pumpkin for dinner. Stuffed full of venison and roasted with herbs and now I'm salivating. I hope that conveys my willingness to catch the falling kids. I think it does.

Either way, ready or not, Simo picks up one and tosses them down. They yelp a bit but stop once they find themselves in my arms. Hefty, this one. The markings have gotten all smeared with play, so I'm not sure what to call them. Either way, I set them down and ready for the next. No hesitation now that the test has gone through. This one jumps and lands in my arms and goads the other back into a fun game of tag and chase and wrestle and whatever else the kids decide to do with their time. Simo starts to clamber down and that can't be.

"No," I say, "You jump too."

He tilts his head and everything bristles. It's a long way down. But I am there at the base with open arms. I've handled two young ones, so a Simo should be fine. Probably. Maybe. He can jump and I can catch him and he's being a scared little kitten for no reason at all. I smile. He sees something safe and caring in there and I don't know how. The kids are watching and goading him with large doe eyes that want wonder and splendor. Simo takes a moment to gather himself. And he jumps like a good boy.

He doesn't scream or yell or thrash about. Everything's tense when he lands in my arms. My knees take the weight and give it to the earth. I bounce back up and hold him close. He is warm and sweaty. Too much play and not enough rest. But he squeaks a bit and laughs and looks into my eyes. His are amber and glowing and shining and they are looking into my burning coals. He glances to the ground, and I have to let him go. Shame. I could have carried him off somewhere quiet and we could have been together. Maybe. I think that's how it works. But the Burning Moon, we have the Burning Moon to contend with. I set him down and he brushes himself off. There's a twig stuck to his back, and I pull it away. There's sap on his shoulders and I have to wipe that way as well.

"You don't have to help," he mutters, "I can get this."

"Probably," I say, "But I'm here. So, I'm helping."

I work down his back and there's a twig in his tail as well. I trace down his spine and he freezes in place and that's fine. He's fine. There's a twig there and I have to remove it, so I do. I take it and toss it. The hair needs a good combing all over and I think I can make that happen. I have one of those somewhere back in the village. My fingers are not nearly enough. He shivers. No shirt, but it's much too warm for those.

He finishes and nudges me away. We're done. It's all done. The kids are off to play somewhere else. The chance we had together has passed and it is someone else's duty to entertain wherever they end up. Simo starts yawning and that means we have to lie down again. That's fine. The flowers are still matted over there with my form, and I could go for another round of dozing. He could as well.

We lie there together under the warming sun and feel the days soak through our skin. He shuffles and moves as I used to and finds a more pleasing arrangement. I find it pleasing as well. His head uses my stomach as a pillow, and I welcome the pressure. His hair is soft and fine, tickling my tummy as he presses into me. A low hum escapes his lips and I join as well. It breaks into a soft chuckle from him and that infects me after a moment. He has a wonderful laugh.

"Just like us, huh," he sighs.

"Hmm?" I grunt. I'm not really paying attention, but I like the sound of his voice, like the wind through the fields and the rustling of flower petals. It's soft and soothing and dancing.

"The kids. I swear the same thing happened to us. Same tree too."

"No, it was that one, over there."

"Really? How can you tell?"

"I can't. But it feels right. And I was still there picking out sap from your tail."

"What was I doing then?"

"Getting twigs out of my ears." They twitch at their mention. A passing bird visiting a branch. I hear the kids deal with it and I want to join them. Simo had his fun and I want a turn. But that would require me getting up and moving from this spot and that's a whole ordeal I would rather not go through. I got water today. I had a run in with Mionn. I watched Simo play. That's enough. My stomach growls and I want dinner. Simo just laughs.

"Are you nervous about the Burning Moon," he asks. There's a silence in us now and I don't want it to hang. I don't want to break it either.

"I am," he whispers, "everyone says that it's not this big deal, but they've done it already. We haven't."

"There are others that haven't done it," I say. I don't think it makes him feel better. It doesn't make me feel better either, but it's something to say.

"But there aren't any others that are doing it for the first time soon."

He's not wrong. An odd little quirk of timing, really. The only two first timers this year. We'll have to wear some special markings with red paint. We'll have to dress proper and sit in front of a fire while the smoke burns our eyes. We won't get almond cookies. We'll have the big cauldron and heady vapors burning down into our throats. His hands wander up and start floundering for something. I take it in mine. He squeezes and I squeeze back. A simple call and response. I squeeze and he squeezes. Simple, easy. Nothing to be called for there. Nothing to be greater or less that. It's easy.

"It's going to be fine," he says.

"Yeah," I sigh, "It might even be fun. Who knows?"

He grunts some noncommittal noise that means something to someone. To me, it means he appreciates the effort to try and bring the mood up, but it didn't quite work. I'm right, because that's what those words did to me.

---

I shiver as the touch traces across my stomach. Red paint made of berries stains my skin with swirls and lines. There are more lines across my ribs, almost like a bird's claws. My breasts are next and there will be stars and moons and the ever-burning sun across them. I am allowed to do my face with whatever I want, but I haven't thought that far ahead. The wrinkled hands tickle lower, and I shiver again. The crones laugh amongst themselves before going back to their work. I know there's some on my back, but I'm not sure what they could be. Mostly straight lines and I think the connect to the ones below my breasts. The crones chuckle as they go down to my legs.

"Remember when I had muscles like these," says the one on my left. There's a good divot in her ear that I admire.

"You still have them," says the one on my right.

"Don't pander. Everything's gone soft and drooping. She's going to have to beat them off with a stick after the imbibing."

"Not this one. There's a male she's already sunk her fangs into. They're going to attach at the hip within moments of seeing one another."

I chuff and they laugh again. I wish they wouldn't. My heart is drumming against my chest, bruising bone. I think something's going to break if it keeps this pace. Tension in my legs, in my hands, I want to hurt something. Not these two women, Overall, they've been quite nice. A bit overeager, but I appreciate it in a way. It makes the work go quick. One of them creeps to my breast and I freeze. I don't like them being touched like that. The paint is cold and sticky and even when it dries, I can feel it crack on my skin. It smells sweet. I do like that part. I kind of want to taste it.

"Moons?" the one on my chest asks. Her partner considers it for a moment, then nods. I am getting moons painted on my chest, full and bright. I look out the cracks in the door. The world is smoldering. Everything is turning ruby red. The air carries gray cinders from the heavens down to settle on the earth. The smoke started in the morning. It only got worse as the day went on. By midnight, it will be choking. Beautifully choking but choking all the same. I want my cookies. The young ones have been shuffled off to the river huts for the night. They get cookies and some of the old ones making sure none of them die. They got to stay up late and play in the river.

My breasts are done and the crones cackle one last time as their work finishes. Everything's sticky and cracking and I shiver one last time. They both rise, switching their sides and presenting me with the last of the paint and a polished brass mirror. There is something to the lines. I cock my head and that gives me a better picture. Maybe. It's growing on me. The paint cracks are melting with my heat and solidifying once again. I'm not sure how all of this works, but it is working. I take a finger in the bowl and finally get a taste. They both laugh again.