#farm6

[conversing in Northern]

Grimaz: "Erknabalthaz. Who would've thought."

Erkna: "I ... uhm."

Grimaz: "A farmer, huh. You've certainly moved up from stealing, lying, and cheating at dice."

Erkna: "My wife tells me you want to see the village. I'll happily lend you our pony, although I fear it might rain."

Grimaz: "The way you talk, one might think one is to melt when rain falls. Like the most delicate snowflake."

Erkna: "I'll fetch the pony. I only ask that you don't upset the wife. She is a kind soul."

Grimaz: "Afraid I'll tell her of your adventures, thief? I don’t speak their tongue as well as you, but they seem to understand me fine."

Erkna: "She is a kind soul, Grimaz, not a weak one. What you call adventures, she is aware of. If you are a good guest, she shall be a gracious hostess, and I will be faithfully by her side. I ask that you don’t upset her by dragging up past grievances. You may speak of what you like, but don’t tell her about how little you think of me just to hurt her. If you don’t think travelling on foot with no shoes, water, or food, is punishment, then I urge you to try it sometime. In winter, as I have. You might’ve whipped me half to death, instead I froze half to death, or ... maybe it was starvation? I can’t tell. I have been punished, as is right, and the Gods have chosen to give me another chance. Their. Gods.”

Grimaz was too stunned for words, not used to such self-assured language by a man he only knew as a useless drunk, and dishonest thief. He was even more curious about the people of Harduz now, if they had wisdom and patience enough to turn a worthless lout into an honest farmer.

She looks like something painted. A tiny girl of ash, with coals for eyes, and soft pink where her delicate skin can’t face the sun without inflammation. She doesn’t look anything like the raging white she-wolf the survivors from Erknastainaz described. They’ve spoken of a laughing terror that slit open a man, then kicked him hard enough to make his entrails spill into the snow. White stained with blood, drinking blood, dancing through blood. They are still waking up at night, screaming, because they think they hear her howl in the night. I thought she’d be taller ...

Grimaz: “You are Fri of the Hill? You were the one to lead the attacks against Erknastainaz?”

He looks profitable. Useful. Pawn him off to auntie, let her fawn over this foreign warrior like the idiot she is. I’ll sing a little lullaby for them. Make nice. Keep the family safe. Convince them that I’m what’s best for the tribe and then find a good death for auntie. I’ll be chieftess. Then I’ll decide if I need Skirmizhagô.

Fri: “I am Fri, yes. But ... I don’t know how to answer. I was with my people when they took revenge for my father’s death. Any good daughter would have been.”

Grimaz: “Not any, no. Most would’ve stayed home, and helped their mother with the children.”

Fri: “My brothers are well behaved, I don’t think she needed me. We were simply making sure that no second murderer could come and succeed in killing another chieftain ... or chieftess.”

She smiled at him. It was a sweet, knowing smile that nearly made him shiver. He looked into her coal-eyes and for a moment, she seemed like a wolf in human form, baring it’s teeth. 

He wondered if there was truly a mystic force at work, some spirit of a wolf possessing her, as others claimed, or if she was simply utterly insane.

Erknabalthaz: “Are you ... okay?”

Wil, mumbling: “Chieftess Wysha spent all evening chatting up fu- ... flr ... freaking ... Grimaz of Skirmiwhatever.”

Erkna: “So you decided to ... sleep out here?”

Wil: “At least the sheep like me.”

Aisa: “How did you like Harduz?”

Grimaz: “You’ve certainly been busy. Your temple is especially impressive, and the shaman is a very interesting man.”

Aisa: “It must be very different from Sk- ... Skir- ...”

Grimaz: “Skirmizhagô.”

???: "Are you the kuningo of this island?"

Wysha: "I am chieftess Wysha. You come here with dangerous assumptions."

???: "I'm not a man of words. Forgive me."

Wysha, staring at his weapon: "A man of the sword, more like. You wouldn't even part with it when meeting the leader of a people that is not your own."

???: "A fighting man I am, but I am not come here for battle, or to slaughter a lone woman. I hail from Skirmizhagô, to the Northeast. Grimaz is my name. I come to see if we will have war, or peace."

Wysha: "Why would we have war with Skirmizhagô? I haven't heard of it."

Grimaz: "No, your battles were with Erknastainaz, which is to the South of Skirmizhagô. Yet, we have cousins who live there. Or lived. What refugees from that place have come, we have taken in. I am here to determine whether you are our foe or not."

Wysha: "... you are welcome here, Grimaz. I don't know what other proof you desire. We have no quarrel with your people, they have not sent murderers as guests into our midst, and have not slaughtered my brother in his bed, with his pregnant wife next to him, and his little children all present."

Grimaz: "No. We have not. If you please ... I should like to stay a while, and talk to your kin. I want to know what happened, and for what reason. If you've fought justly and with good reason, I could easily see Skirmizhagô and your island of Harduz becoming connected by friendly trade, instead of more fighting."

Wysha: "The farmstead isn't far off, and they will have a warm bed and food for you. You can stay there if you like, and go about your day as you see fit, but be warned. I have tried to keep the peace and I was not successful. This island has suffered much, and some of my people mistrust strangers. Especially my niece ..."