envied
the lamb.
"I hear just one
person. Chopping wood, by the sounds of it." Kit combed her tail with her
fingers.
Timothy brushed at his
clothes. Little of the dried mud came free. "Well, I might as well see if
I can earn some food and some straw to sleep on."
"And a bath!"
"Aren't you going
to stop me or urge me to be careful?"
"Why? I want a
bath." She waved her tail at him. "My poor tail. Go. Go before the
mud turns to stone."
"Fine! Don't blame
me if hunters come riding out of nowhere."
Timothy spotted a
farmer some distance away. The grizzled farmer wore a handsome, graying beard
that extended to his chest. His bald pate gleamed with sweat, and his leather
skin creased into a grin. Timothy felt exposed crossing the field, but he
lifted an arm in casual greeting.
"Been climbing
through the trees, lad? I thought you were one of those wood fairies I saw in
me younger days." The farmer spoke in rolling, lazy sentences. It took a
moment for Timothy to understand the man.
"My companion and
I had a bit of an accident and got lost. I wondered if we could earn a meal and
a place to sleep for tonight." Timothy paused. "And a bath for my
companion."
"You mean the
muddy redhead over in the woods?" The farmer laughed at Timothy's
expression. "I may be old, lad, but me eyes still are sharp. She your
wife?"
"Uh, sorry she
didn't come with me. She is a little shy."
He held up a tree
root–like hand. "No need, son. My own wife, heaven rest her soul, was a
red. What they want to do, they do. Reds are rare, for sure. What you want to
do is only what she wants you to do. I could use a little help. Could use some
ditches dug for the rains that be coming."
Timothy looked at the
hot crystal sky. "Rain?" He caught himself and bowed his head.
"Thank you. Mind if I tell my companion?"
"No worries, lad.
She can bathe around back of the barn. Be a trough she can use while you earn
your bed. My sons are all off merchanting and have no time for farming. Hate to
admit it, but I'm not getting any younger." He offered a hand.
"Name's Abel."
"Timothy."
"Glad to meet you,
Timothy. Go get your lady settled. I still got more splitting to do."
Kit waited at the edge
of the trees. "The man's eyes are as sharp as my ears."
"You heard all
that?"
"Of course, shepherd.
You think my ears are only lovely to look upon?"
"Well, I will
leave you to draw your own bath then. I hope those hunters gave up. We need to
do something about your tail and ears—"
"So you don't like
my tail or ears. They are not pretty enough? They are not blond enough?"
Timothy held up his
hands. "We can't very well have you announcing you are a fox. Besides, I
like black hair." His tongue did have a mind of its own around her.
Kit frowned. She tore a
strip of cloth from her leggings and tied it over her ears. "There,
shepherd. Better?"
Timothy's gaze fell to
her bare leg and moved to her tail.
"Humph. Perverted
shepherd. Don't fret." She walked out into the sunlit wheat. "See?
The wheat is more than tall enough. Seriously, shepherd, you think me a
harlot?" She turned and cocked her hip. The muddy tail wagged. "It is
a wonderful tail, isn't it?"
"It is wonderfully
filthy and stinks of mud."
Kit glared over her
shoulder. "Did I say you could look? And you stink of mutton."
"Baa!" Cat
protested at the insult.
"I guess we are
even then."
"Not even close.
At least I can wash away the mud. You, on the other hand…" Kit turned
toward the farm. Her tail slapped Timothy's hand, and she grinned over her
shoulder. He ran his hand through his hair and trudged back to the woodpile.
Abel's axe neatly
split a log. The old farmer's gaze followed Kit as she walked through the tall
wheat and around the side of the barn. The rustling of the wheat behind her
suggested Cat followed. "She's a red for sure. My wife moved just like
her."
"She is a
handful."
"Women are that,
lad. Guess we are for them too. That ditch needs some work done. Shovel's in
the shed over
the lamb.
"I hear just one
person. Chopping wood, by the sounds of it." Kit combed her tail with her
fingers.
Timothy brushed at his
clothes. Little of the dried mud came free. "Well, I might as well see if
I can earn some food and some straw to sleep on."
"And a bath!"
"Aren't you going
to stop me or urge me to be careful?"
"Why? I want a
bath." She waved her tail at him. "My poor tail. Go. Go before the
mud turns to stone."
"Fine! Don't blame
me if hunters come riding out of nowhere."
Timothy spotted a
farmer some distance away. The grizzled farmer wore a handsome, graying beard
that extended to his chest. His bald pate gleamed with sweat, and his leather
skin creased into a grin. Timothy felt exposed crossing the field, but he
lifted an arm in casual greeting.
"Been climbing
through the trees, lad? I thought you were one of those wood fairies I saw in
me younger days." The farmer spoke in rolling, lazy sentences. It took a
moment for Timothy to understand the man.
"My companion and
I had a bit of an accident and got lost. I wondered if we could earn a meal and
a place to sleep for tonight." Timothy paused. "And a bath for my
companion."
"You mean the
muddy redhead over in the woods?" The farmer laughed at Timothy's
expression. "I may be old, lad, but me eyes still are sharp. She your
wife?"
"Uh, sorry she
didn't come with me. She is a little shy."
He held up a tree
root–like hand. "No need, son. My own wife, heaven rest her soul, was a
red. What they want to do, they do. Reds are rare, for sure. What you want to
do is only what she wants you to do. I could use a little help. Could use some
ditches dug for the rains that be coming."
Timothy looked at the
hot crystal sky. "Rain?" He caught himself and bowed his head.
"Thank you. Mind if I tell my companion?"
"No worries, lad.
She can bathe around back of the barn. Be a trough she can use while you earn
your bed. My sons are all off merchanting and have no time for farming. Hate to
admit it, but I'm not getting any younger." He offered a hand.
"Name's Abel."
"Timothy."
"Glad to meet you,
Timothy. Go get your lady settled. I still got more splitting to do."
Kit waited at the edge
of the trees. "The man's eyes are as sharp as my ears."
"You heard all
that?"
"Of course, shepherd.
You think my ears are only lovely to look upon?"
"Well, I will
leave you to draw your own bath then. I hope those hunters gave up. We need to
do something about your tail and ears—"
"So you don't like
my tail or ears. They are not pretty enough? They are not blond enough?"
Timothy held up his
hands. "We can't very well have you announcing you are a fox. Besides, I
like black hair." His tongue did have a mind of its own around her.
Kit frowned. She tore a
strip of cloth from her leggings and tied it over her ears. "There,
shepherd. Better?"
Timothy's gaze fell to
her bare leg and moved to her tail.
"Humph. Perverted
shepherd. Don't fret." She walked out into the sunlit wheat. "See?
The wheat is more than tall enough. Seriously, shepherd, you think me a
harlot?" She turned and cocked her hip. The muddy tail wagged. "It is
a wonderful tail, isn't it?"
"It is wonderfully
filthy and stinks of mud."
Kit glared over her
shoulder. "Did I say you could look? And you stink of mutton."
"Baa!" Cat
protested at the insult.
"I guess we are
even then."
"Not even close.
At least I can wash away the mud. You, on the other hand…" Kit turned
toward the farm. Her tail slapped Timothy's hand, and she grinned over her
shoulder. He ran his hand through his hair and trudged back to the woodpile.
Abel's axe neatly
split a log. The old farmer's gaze followed Kit as she walked through the tall
wheat and around the side of the barn. The rustling of the wheat behind her
suggested Cat followed. "She's a red for sure. My wife moved just like
her."
"She is a
handful."
"Women are that,
lad. Guess we are for them too. That ditch needs some work done. Shovel's in
the shed over
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