#wegs

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The little valley was cut through by a river that had carved out a sandy, pebbly ravine. On the far side, trundling along like little bundles of fuzz in the wind, was a drove of wegs. Their piggy snouts were turned up in caution to the wind, and their robe-clad drover strode among them with a bent crook. The drover stopped and stared when Ruyak came into sight, letting the drove shuffle past along the grassy hill.

Kaelin waved in greeting, and after a hesitant moment, the drover raised the crook in return.

It was a sizable drove, at least two dozen head, and probably large enough for two drovers, or at least a drover with a rodi for help, but the wegs were led obediently enough by their singular drover, and seemed perfectly willing to continue on their way in the opposite direction Ruyak was heading.

“They’re going up into the highlands for the season,” Kaelin said to Ruyak conversationally. “The cold air makes the fleece thicker.”

Ruyak didn’t reply, just kept moving at a steady pace.

“Did you ever see droves in your family’s territory?”

“Sometimes,” Ruyak muttered, and his tone was startlingly bleak. Kaelin sensed an uncomfortable subject, and so steered away from it.

“We’ll be coming to the Dakatin valley soon. The finest wool in Kellabor comes from there. The blends and techniques to make it are a trade secret, supposedly, but I’ve heard the only secret is the silk they mix in. My new nightgown is Dakatin wool.”

“It does seem very nice,” Ruyak mumbled.

“Those wegs’ wool will go to make something quite fine. They look very healthy.”

“Are they harvested at the end of the season, then?”

“Harvested? Oh, wegs aren’t killed for their wool, no. They’re shorn once a year, sometimes twice depending on the breed, I think. Although, they do make for good meat, especially if they’re grazed in forests. And their skins make excellent cloaks. So they are sometimes butchered for those reasons. But most are just shorn.”

Ruyak nodded in understanding, then a moment later he shook with a derisive laugh. “If us Kanai were smart, we’d be making good trade with drovers. Safe grazing in exchange for a bit of wool every season.” Ruyak grew somber again. “I’ve heard drovers singing in the mountains. Sometimes their roden sang with them, and even the wegs would squeal along on bright mornings. Not good singers, wegs.”

“I don’t imagine so,” Kaelin chuckled. “Enthusiastic, though.”

“Very.” Ruyak glanced back at the drover again with a smile, and slowly came to a stop, watching that lone human figure among the cloud of white wegs. Ruyak’s face twisted into a pained grimace. Worrying? Imagining the drover walking into danger up in the mountains? Where the forest’s many guardians were ready to snuff them out at the slightest provocation?

“I’m sorry to say it, Ruyak,” Kaelin murmured, “but you’re going to frighten that drover staring like that.”

“Augh, you’re right.” He shook off, as though he’d been doused with water, then turned and continued on his way. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Obviously he’d been thinking quite hard, just then, but perhaps not about that in particular. Kaelin could sense his change of mood like a storm rolling in. She knew exactly why the clouds were gathering. It was entirely possible the last weg drover Ruyak had been so close to had not survived the encounter.

“Drovers are sensible,” Kaelin told him. “They know the places that are safe.”

Ruyak pinned his ears and said nothing. Not a good sign.

So Kaelin went on, “Humans that go up into the wild places don’t venture there ignorant of the danger. They know what they are risking.”

“Then why would they risk it?”

“For their livelihoods, seeking their fortunes. Money, I mean. Or food for themselves, but usually not. Not if they are going far enough into the wilderness to meet the likes of you.”

Ruyak thought about that for a long moment, and the drover and wegs passed out of sight into the trees, each white, fluffy weg quietly vanishing. “I… I truly wish I could believe that, but I don’t think all of them…”