(no subject)
Written as I go.
The change in status that the fourth cow had brought the Haapari family had come accompanied by greater responsibility. There was a third again as much shit to rake, and a third again as much hay to cut for winter; there was a third again as much milking to be done.
But with that extra milk came butter and cheese, and those were such wild luxuries that Inakka didn't mind that she now had to churn the butter in the evenings. With the fourth cow and the chickens, the Haaparis were a prosperous family, and so they ate eggs in the morning and bread with butter at night, and rutabagas and potatoes cooked with salt and pepper.
Press, press, press, the churn rocked between Inakka's knees; she smiled at her brothers as they squabbled over the stewpot and let her wrists guide the churning while her mind lingered still on the grey, chilly morning.
There are no wolves in our woods who don't take human form in the morning, she told herself firmly. Takka was cutting a thick slab of salted venison into shreds for stew, and the rhythm of his knife was half a beat away from his sister's. She shifted her churning to match his chopping, and then Riiri began to hum a Deitish song--it was the first time that Inakka had heard a Haapari sing or hum anything from their new country, and the thought made her miss a stroke.
My love has eyes of willow-green,
And hair like withes a-weeping,
And how I love my willow-love,
When she's my heart a-keeping!
The butter churn matched the beat of the song; Inakka glared at her traitorous hands and forced them offbeat, which made the churn lurch and thump.
He would have been trapped in human form if he were one of our kind, so he must be a real wolf--but I've never been watched like that by a real wolf. Not even the starving wolves in Ikikonnen looked at men with that kind of focus; they understood that paying attention draws attention to you.
The paddle of the churn rocked up and down, up and down while Takka turned from the venison to a pair of potatoes; he rubbed the worst of the dirt from their skins and began to slice them into chunks as large as the upper joint of Inakka's thumb. Uri would have peeled them first, because he cared for such things as dirt and the texture of cooked foods, but his brothers and sister stood on no such ceremony in his absence. There would be buttered bread and thick stew in which to dip it, and then, when the last gravy traces had been mopped from the sides of their bowls, there would be a few soft chunks of potato and meat waiting for them. It would be a better dinner than most families in the farming country got, and if there was a little dirt in the stew, there was a little dirt in everything that was real.
Could a human be looking through the eyes of the wolf? The Kiikia tell stories of powerful shamans who can spy on their enemies through the eyes of an animal . . . but the Kiikia are no better than the Pojokeppa they hunt, and they might lie as easily as they breathe. Inakka dismissed the Kiikia with a particularly hard thump of the paddle; it was hard to forget that smooth wood in her hands did not always mean a weapon. She could smell that the bread was almost done, and soon enough Riiri would be tapping the bottom of the breadpan to hear the hollow ring.
Takka carried the stewpot outside to dip it in the rain barrel, taking advantage of the blessed watter that the otherwise unfortunate storm had given them, and when he returned to fill the pot the rest of the way with potatoes and venison chunks, Inakka could feel that the consistency of the butter had changed. She would still have to churn for another hour before it became proper butter, but at the same time, she felt a sense of accomplishment that her pounding and pressing would bring cows' milk to become butter.
Tonight.
When Takka had opened the door, the light had been half-gone. The trees had suggested shapes; the sky had been scattered with stars.
Tonight, I hunt him.
The paddle pressed again and again between Inakka's knees, the milk slowly thickened in the churn, and Inakka's eyes were made of steel.
The change in status that the fourth cow had brought the Haapari family had come accompanied by greater responsibility. There was a third again as much shit to rake, and a third again as much hay to cut for winter; there was a third again as much milking to be done.
But with that extra milk came butter and cheese, and those were such wild luxuries that Inakka didn't mind that she now had to churn the butter in the evenings. With the fourth cow and the chickens, the Haaparis were a prosperous family, and so they ate eggs in the morning and bread with butter at night, and rutabagas and potatoes cooked with salt and pepper.
Press, press, press, the churn rocked between Inakka's knees; she smiled at her brothers as they squabbled over the stewpot and let her wrists guide the churning while her mind lingered still on the grey, chilly morning.
There are no wolves in our woods who don't take human form in the morning, she told herself firmly. Takka was cutting a thick slab of salted venison into shreds for stew, and the rhythm of his knife was half a beat away from his sister's. She shifted her churning to match his chopping, and then Riiri began to hum a Deitish song--it was the first time that Inakka had heard a Haapari sing or hum anything from their new country, and the thought made her miss a stroke.
My love has eyes of willow-green,
And hair like withes a-weeping,
And how I love my willow-love,
When she's my heart a-keeping!
The butter churn matched the beat of the song; Inakka glared at her traitorous hands and forced them offbeat, which made the churn lurch and thump.
He would have been trapped in human form if he were one of our kind, so he must be a real wolf--but I've never been watched like that by a real wolf. Not even the starving wolves in Ikikonnen looked at men with that kind of focus; they understood that paying attention draws attention to you.
The paddle of the churn rocked up and down, up and down while Takka turned from the venison to a pair of potatoes; he rubbed the worst of the dirt from their skins and began to slice them into chunks as large as the upper joint of Inakka's thumb. Uri would have peeled them first, because he cared for such things as dirt and the texture of cooked foods, but his brothers and sister stood on no such ceremony in his absence. There would be buttered bread and thick stew in which to dip it, and then, when the last gravy traces had been mopped from the sides of their bowls, there would be a few soft chunks of potato and meat waiting for them. It would be a better dinner than most families in the farming country got, and if there was a little dirt in the stew, there was a little dirt in everything that was real.
Could a human be looking through the eyes of the wolf? The Kiikia tell stories of powerful shamans who can spy on their enemies through the eyes of an animal . . . but the Kiikia are no better than the Pojokeppa they hunt, and they might lie as easily as they breathe. Inakka dismissed the Kiikia with a particularly hard thump of the paddle; it was hard to forget that smooth wood in her hands did not always mean a weapon. She could smell that the bread was almost done, and soon enough Riiri would be tapping the bottom of the breadpan to hear the hollow ring.
Takka carried the stewpot outside to dip it in the rain barrel, taking advantage of the blessed watter that the otherwise unfortunate storm had given them, and when he returned to fill the pot the rest of the way with potatoes and venison chunks, Inakka could feel that the consistency of the butter had changed. She would still have to churn for another hour before it became proper butter, but at the same time, she felt a sense of accomplishment that her pounding and pressing would bring cows' milk to become butter.
Tonight.
When Takka had opened the door, the light had been half-gone. The trees had suggested shapes; the sky had been scattered with stars.
Tonight, I hunt him.
The paddle pressed again and again between Inakka's knees, the milk slowly thickened in the churn, and Inakka's eyes were made of steel.