#sofe

⚜ Happy birthday @sugaaz ⚜

I posted two more chapters and didn't post here because I'm so good at social media

Chapter Five

Sofe is restless.

Dinner is over. The kids are going to bed. The evening stretches out ahead of her, and if she has to sit here and spend it watching Leta tinker with something incomprehensible again she’ll scream. She wants a drink – well, no, she doesn’t want the drink, she could go to the inn and get a drink, she wants the bar, the bar full of friends and acquaintances and potential, the first stepping stone to – well, she didn’t know, and that was the point. If she felt like this when she was in the city she’d put on a short skirt and a low-cut top and skip out of the door calling ‘Don’t wait up!’ over her shoulder and a million possibilities would be open before her. Here…

She could go to the inn and have a drink. Leta sure wouldn’t mind. Who would be there? Hassian’s mom, probably. The old innkeeper guy, he never says much. The chef – but he doesn’t seem to be there in the evenings these days, weirdly. Badruu and Delaila, who are nice enough, but Sofe knows Delaila and Leta are really only friends because they’re the only people in town with kids, and Sofe doesn’t want to talk about kids. Nai’o Daiya and Kenyatta Bahari still are kids, in Sofe’s mind. The tailor has kind of a weird vibe. Starting to run out of people, now.

Her thoughts wander across the Bay. 

[cont]

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Chapter Six (this is the one where we start to earn the E rating! Here be Smut)

“The most important thing," Tish says, hefting her axe, "Is a smooth, even rhythm.”

“No problem,” Sofe says. “A smooth rhythm.” The axe she brought, from beside Leta's logpile, is smaller but definitely sharp. She'd given the Flow tree a test whack when she arrived; Hassian was right, the tree healed over within seconds. Crazy.

“Between all three of us,” Hassian adds.

“Nothing I ain’t done before,” Sofe says. “That was a good night.”

She'd meant to make Hassian roll his eyes but to her surprise, Tish giggles. Hassian just sighs at both of them.

[cont]

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Sofe is restless.

Dinner is over. The kids are going to bed. The evening stretches out ahead of her, and if she has to sit here and spend it watching Leta tinker with something incomprehensible again she’ll scream. She wants a drink – well, no, she doesn’t want the drink, she could go to the inn and get a drink, she wants the bar, the bar full of friends and acquaintances and potential, the first stepping stone to – well, she didn’t know, and that was the point. If she felt like this when she was in the city she’d put on a short skirt and a low-cut top and skip out of the door calling ‘Don’t wait up!’ over her shoulder and a million possibilities would be open before her. Here…

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