sweater weather!
Scorpio Races fluff below the cut, please beware
Thisby women have a long history of battling the elements with handicrafts. Though not as famous as Fair Isle sweaters, Harris tweed, or even Irish mohair, Thisby wool is known for being so durable it can be worn for years and passed down through families; from jumpers to scarves and hats without the dyes fading or the threads fraying.
Even if Puck had the skill for the spindle and knitting needles, there was no one to teach her after her mother passed. The Maud women ran a crash course in pottery painting for the Connolly youngsters when it became clear that they needed the cash, but the sisters didnāt have time for the feminine arts (unless you counted flirting). They had sight enough for two out of three, and patience enough only for one.
But needs must. Tradition demanded tiny booties and hats and blankets, as baby Kendrick was well on its way already.
Puck rests her work on her belly, which has a healthy swell to it. The biggest hardship of pregnancy so far has been giving up riding, but trying to cast on is a close second. Her fingers are still strong and calloused from Dove's reins, but knitting is less about strength and more about witchcraft it seems.
Finn had found her a knitting primer in Fathom & Sons years back and given it to her as a joke, because Puck knitting was like seeing a barn cat walk on hind legs. Less funny now that sheās actually trying to make a go of it, however.
Her patience runs out. Sheās made stitches so tight she can barely get the needles out of the loops, so she decides to get some air.
Corr and Dove are happy to see her as she approaches the paddock Sean fashioned on the old Kendrick farm.
Dove nudges her shoulder with her nose and Puck feels a deep pang. āSorry, I miss our rides too.ā
Her horse snorts back, Corr clucks. Then the baby kicks and Puck feels ganged up on.
āI know, I said Iām sorry!ā
Dove is placated by Puckās hands stroking her withers, but Corr has other ideas and makes to sniff at her coat pockets.
āI donāt have any scraps to spare, Iām afraid.ā
Corr thumps a hoof on the ground and turns to smell the sea, always nearby on misty days. Itās not quite mid-October but the capaill uisce have already been spotted in the currents, hunting.
Dove rests her nose on Puckās belly, seemingly to investigate.
āThe doctor says itāll be a while before I can ride again even after the baby comes, because my womb may wander. Which sounds like utter nonsense to me.ā
The horses donāt disagree, but then again they donāt have the power of words either way.
Puck feels the baby againā a flip near Doveās nose. This child already loves horses and it hasnāt even been born yet.
Dove accepts a cheek pat in lieu of a mount, but Corr gives her a look.
āNext time Iāll bring something for you, I promise.ā
āYou already have.ā
Puck whirls around, nearly stepping on a deposit left by Dove. āYou dirty sneak!"
Sean Kendrick has a gift for approaching quietly and scaring the daylights out of his wife. He must have walked Dove and Corrās yearling to the far barn already, quieted by the foggy weather. Sure enough, Sunriseās tail is twitching at the water trough.
āI didnāt want to disturb you.ā
āOh, you would never,ā Puck smiles.
He hugs her and rests his hand where everything is happening-- where their future is percolating.
āHow is our family today?ā
āAnnoyed, mostly. Malvern kicked me off duty, and Holly agreed. Just because I canāt ride, doesnāt mean I canāt still be useful. Apparently itās unseemly for a woman in the family way to be seen mucking out stalls. Iāve also given up on knitting, and this one wonāt stop kicking.ā
Sean kisses her cheek, thinking. Always thinking.
His eyes twinkle. āYou can muck out the stalls here as long as you like. We can wipe down the baby with fresh hay when sheās born, just like with the foals.ā
Puck mocks disgust, but canāt keep up the ruse and laughs. Sean making a joke needs to be cherished and savored always. āWhat makes you so sure sheās a girl?ā
āJust a notion.ā
They walk back to the gate of the paddock, holding hands.
āPeg Grattonās pendant says itās a boy.ā
āShe finally cornered you?ā
āWe were out of Corrās meat, and I needed a walk. I had to sit down to catch my breath--ā
Seanās hackles raise. āWhat do you mean, catch your breath?ā
āCalm yourself, weāre fine. Itās just quite a walk up the hill from Malvernās yard, you know. And Iām no longer fighting fit.ā
He answers by sliding a protective arm around her shoulder, as if he might carry her across the threshold, or anywhere else she needs to go.
āYou worry too much.ā
He blinks at her like Finn's trusting cat Puffin. āI just love you, thatās all."
After three years married, surely she should be used to it. But her throat still bobbles at his earnestness, his troth to her for the race and at the church: Ā that he would always be at her side.
āI love you, Iām sorry. Iāll be more careful.ā
He looks like heās formulating a reply when they hear a distant honk. Finnās dusty truck is pulling up the drive, a gift from George Holly a few Novembers back when Finn fixed it for him.
Sean waves and turns back to the paddock to put Dove and Corr through their paces, probably also to give the siblings privacy.
Finn climbs out of the front seat, an old box in his hands.
āPuck!ā
"Hello! You can join us for supper if you donāt mind cooking.ā
Heās a scurry of excitement, barely listening. "I was in the cellar, trying to find some twine to fix a window sash and I found this.ā
A flurry of dust is disturbed by him pushing the boxās lid aside to revealā impossiblyātiny homespun wool garments, baby and toddler-sized and dyed a simple gray.
āOh, Finn!"
He smiles, proud of himself. āI found it in a crate of Fathom & Sons catalogs and fabric scraps."
Puck is completely overcomeā she has no memory of baby Finn, because she too was small. But of course these would have been saved. Only Gabe would have known these existed, and heās not here to testify.
She canāt help herself, she begins to cry. Curse these weaker pregnancy moments.
Finn looks panicked, at sea in any kind of display of emotion. āOh dear! Whatās wrong?ā
Through tears, Puck says. āNothingās wrong, everythingās perfect.ā
Finn visibly relaxes as Puck picks up the tiniest bootie, somehow preserved in the cellar for all of those years. Thisby wool knitted by her ancestors, and saved by her mother in hope for the future with all of the sacrifice that entails.
Sean looks over to them from across the yard, and she has everything she needs to move forward.








