The Floodlands Jackpot

Three days later, the darkling could be spotted meandering through the soggy floodlands. She looked exceptionally drab; shining like an oil-slick beneath the October sun, and otherwise a mess of matted, twig-laden furs. She reeked of bog water.

This was a proving ground. Mag didn't enjoy her current state but, she reasoned as she sulked along, this was immeasurably better than life along the coast. Here there was freedom. Here, for the most part anyway, she could fish and feast to her belly's contentment without paying trade fees.

She kept her nose low to the loam, and snaked her tongue out for the occasional test of the stillwater all around. If a frog croaked she would slow and stalk after it.

he wandered.

it always came in quicker than he thought, but this time it was with a purpose. he slogged through the hinterlands in search of herbs, of traces of things and places to bring back home. only to discover how seemingly empty the hinterlands were beyond the reach of the saints.

in a way, this was good. easier to take things from wherever he pleased.

as he slogged through the marsh, his coat had lost some of its paleness. much more a splattering of a muddy canvas. markings far less prominent with his whole coat adapting such a dark, muck coloring. although he was not the only one who suffered this type of thing.

a moving oil spill up ahead, taken the form of a wolf. he could tell nothing more of them. too drowned by the bog, the rich earth ripe around them.

he hated being the first to speak but it felt vital here.

h-hey, he called out weakly. have you...seen anything that isn't just marsh grass?

The benefit of living out in the boonies came in the form of silence. There were no rabble rousers, no carnival of soothsayers, skeptics, or skirts; so when a voice did arise from the mire, Mag could find the culprit faster than she could spot a leaping frog or the dervish of a dragonfly.

He looked rough like herself: fur muddied and matted, with scant cream cropping the top line of an angular body. A rogue, perhaps.

Depends. You like the taste of lizard? Mag called back. One step was raised towards her ribs as he had caught her between strides, and as she observed him she planted it down in a pitch of black mud.

the taste of lizard.

what did — oh. did she think he was a hunter? his face grew hot, somehow flattered that she might think he was capable of catching such a small speedy creature.

i'm looking for plants. he softly corrected as his head hung low beneath his shoulders. nearly second nature by this point. i could...help your lizard searching? a trade? he blinked a bit owlishly.

She wondered a moment if he had tasted the wrong reptile. He looked confused, then concerned, and almost bashful. It wasn't food he was after.

Ah! A man after me own heart, bless. Since he wasn't after her victuals, Mag felt a measure of comfort and slackened her typically tense spine.

There's plenty here a'side the grass. I'll help ya look if we can split the winnings? Pale eyes focused upon the man's face a moment, the color of a blushing sunset.

after her — !

oh, he feared he wouldn't survive a moment more with her. nearly too skittish for even such kind words. yet she was prepared to offer actions just as kind.

he would be an idiot to leave.

oh, absolutely! he chirped a bit awkwardly. i doubt i could take everything with anyway so...glad to see somebody else have use for it.

he felt warm beneath her sunset gaze, roasting under it.

somehow the kindest faces were the hardest to deal with.

He wasn't the most confident of rogues, from what she could read of his angles and the eruption of surprised cheer; she saw how hastily the man stuffed his feelings down too.

Well lessee what we get first, aye? Best tell me what sorts you're looking fer, what ailments ya be treatin' . . . Then I'll know what ya need!

he had built up enough confidence to approach her, to discuss this.

now he realized he had not built up enough to expose a sudden lack of knowledge beneath his need. simply blurting poison might be a bit too much.

i'm looking for plants that are — he chewed at his cheek for a moment, fiddling words on his tongue. dangerous. which was horribly blunt!

i want to start a garden with...it.

She is describing American Speedwell, but originally I had it in my head as a poisonous sedge grass thing, so it kinda became a blend of both + I also made up the poisonous root on the spot! Whoops. Hope thats ok.

When he admitted his desire Mag's face twisted with an oh! Then a knowing glint entered her eye. My my, got somethin' nefarious in mind do we? Righto, lessees. . .

Herself a wandering wench of the so named Tidefallen, this was not Mag's first foray in to the realm of unmentionables. The women were known to brew concoctions to strip a girl of her phase, as they called it. Such medicine could be turned upon menfolk for much worse affectation.

The woman rummaged through the grass, paced along the muddy mire, and came to a puddle that was deeper than it was wide; there were stalks of something tall and white-dappled there, as well as various sedges, but these she passed on by.

Yew want seeds then, aye? Ya know the different values of the seed, the stalk, the root? As she hunted in this way for things to show off, Mag delved in to what the boy might know, both about the mire plants and his broader interests.

This 'ere, they look like barbs, see. Nettles. It's another grass what can be chewed for health reasons - but too much is a danger, she shot him a look. The roots be worse!

hot! scorching! he might melt beneath the hellfire (she was too kind to be such truly) that was her gaze.

but despite those things, he did not feel judged. instead she dove into a lesson for him. discussed the differences between the seeds, stalk and roots. seeds would be perfect — and i'm...only just learning. i know that the different parts of plants can have wildly different results. he admittedly softly. a wry smile on his features. aware that it might be seen as extra dangerous to sprout learning upon dangerous plants!

meanwhile he meandered (as much as one could through muck) to catch a look at what she showed off. nettles.

what does the root do?

She nodded to his explanation and moved on to another plant. The ground here was soft enough to dig but would easily fill with mud, water, or both if the wrong spot was cut free. If he wanted a sample he would have to find his own method.

Them roots make anyone very ill, in the belly and the throat first, all burnin' and such. Eatin' a lot makes a person ah... unable to pass dirt, see? She wondered if he got her meaning or if she'd have to resort to the crass language of her upbringing.

No idea how much it takes for permanent damage, though. Didn't experiment much with it. She said this as she scratched at the earth elsewhere, bothering some plants in to releasing orange dots of pollen. She coughed a bit as these sucked inside with a few breaths.

There's a patcha yarrow here, hmm.. and there, by them trees, a little spot of bear berry growin'. I don't suggest eatin' them with your dinner.

ill. burning. unable to pass dirt. he understood immediately with a sharp nod of his hunched head. examining the nettle for a moment longer, wondering how such a thing could be transported. maiken had used a fur to carry her herbs.

could the nettles be treated the same way? he would still need to root them up from the earth before they could be placed on anything.

yarrow. he was certain he had heard of it before. perhaps the easiest thing for him to transfer? or even obtain from other medics. but his attention quickly flitted to the berries.

are the bear berries worse than the nettles?

genuine curiosity as he turned his soft blue gaze onto her.

As she's gathering from the soil, she is distracted. Wot? Mag asks, but then catches on again and before the boy can reiterate she is answering: Oh, the berries themselfs are attractive ta bears, hence the name.

She's pulling at something rooted deep and can't speak for a minute or two, pulsing back over and over until the thing rips free. Thick garlic-stalk style fronds are tossed aside.

The leaves are a dia... deeo... they make ya piss! A lot! I'm sure mixing them with other plants would be more effective.

oh!

he felt embarrassed, all too keen to move along to other plants. the berries themselves were not bad, it was what they attracted.

while she rooted something out, he observed some of the yarrow she had pointed out. only to hear her voice chip out with something. a word he was struggling to grasp, that she was too. although whatever it had been was tossed aside in favor of directness.

piss a lot.

seemed like a petty poison! he imagined giving them to somebody one did not like would be comical at best. he wondered what they could be paired with.

hey, he offered a bit casually. where did you learn this?

perhaps if it was a nearby place, he could strike a deal.

The woman paused in her digging to cast him a look. Mag didn't want to give away all of her secrets so easily, but there was no reason to lie about her origins. In fact she was proud of where she had come from, and who.

Some from my ol' mum, some from wenches I grew up wit. Her shoulders heaved up and down. Picked up a lot by roamin' and tradin' fer specifics.

After a pause to rest her well worn muscles she went back to it, the blurted an aha!

Out of the earth came two bulbous white shapes streaked with mud. She spat these and let them roll close to the pooled water.

These're wild garlic. Cats hate 'em! Pretty sure most people do too. It's pretty potent tastin' but if you squash an' soak 'em you can bleed the flavors out.

family. roaming. trading. it all seemed so...whimsical? but he supposed there was no reason he couldn't roam the hinterlands. finding things the saints may need and flourishing in his own way.

maiken had planted a dangerous seed within him it seemed.

oh, like a tea. he said suddenly. he felt smart in that moment with such an observation. although i guess that would be a tea most wouldn't want. a bit of awkward tentative laughter.

i'm learning a lot from you.

his tail softly swayed as his nose twitched. an attempt to catch a whiff of garlic, as he eyeballed them skeptically.

Aye! A tea, she watched him venture close to the bulbs. Without undressing them from their bundles Mag couldn't tell how healthy they might be, or useful. She could recall one thing her ma would always say of it: Garlic requires too much paperwork! Which, as a child and even now, made no sense to Mag.

These things thin the blood. Stuff enough of em in meat and mix some-a that bearberry leaf in, watch what happens! Hah.

Mag let out a laugh that was closer to a croak, and then cleared her throat. Been a while since I've had good company. Last I saw was an ornery wif who thought herself queen of all these Hinterlands. she scoffed.

it was a wild thing to hear! yet he felt enchanted by it. even as he was struck with the realization that he would indeed need to test.

he wondered if he could find a private place, watch other animals. anything to keep one of his own from the harm of his work. especially until he learned better.

he laughed a little, perplexed by the description. he had not met anybody with such an attitude yet that his own pack did not dawn on him.

strange. his features scrunched in a mildly playful manner as he rolled one of the bulbs with a paw. are you, um, gonna stay in the...area? do you think...?

he still felt much too timid for a woman like her.

She scrutinized him with a look that borderlined bedroom eyes and then straightened, choosing the posture and countenance of a school marm keeping their lenses polished and neatly placed upon the bridge of the nose.

I suppose I could. It would benefit Mag to stick around if she could study her own interests, learn who lived where, and keep fed in the meantime.

If'n I did. . . What arrangement do ya propose? 'M quite fonda frog meat, but nobody can live on them little beasties forever. Who'm I to call on hennyway? And where?

She sank to her haunches and when touching wet mud to her rear, immediately regretted it.

it's veran and i'm with a pack, down south against the mountains.

he explained casually, albeit still borderline sheepish under her series of questions. beyond nervous that he might have ruined a good thing — or that he would soon enough.

we could keep splitting things. hunts and herbs. i could bring you things too. meet in the middle so no one has to do extra work? o-or i could just come to you whenever.

it would be abundantly obvious he was willing to bargain and trade as much as he needed to keep her knowledge around.

He's eager for her to stick around. Gives his name, a general location for his home - south, mountains. Immediately Mag remembers what the brat had said. There being one pack in the area.

Tch. You live with the angry ankle-biter, Mag makes mention of this as she stands up, shakes her shoulder furs and down to her tail, trying to diffuse tension only she is experiencing. The kid had been a giant (and a giant pain in the keester).

I dunno about a deal. What if I come callin' and someone takes offense? Naw, that won't do. She's checking the trees at his flank with a shift of her eye, wary now. But here's a counter offer: I'll keep far from there. You pick a place and call for Magda - that's me - and if'n I don't show by the next nightfall, you'll know I've skeedaddled.

She did want to stay. Learning with another person always went smoother. Plus, they'd had a good time so far - that was rare, except in cases of true trades and tithes, which Mag was pleased to have escaped from. Though this boy wasn't so hard on the eyes; he could've convinced her of a sweeter trade if he wasn't so bashful by nature.

She watched him a moment and then the garlic, tipping one bundle in to a roll that would send it spiraling close to him.

What say 'ew to that?

he was confused suddenly.

then convinced he had somehow suddenly ruined a very good thing thanks to somebody he had not even met. it showed in the soft wavering of his facial features, the way his head drooped again and his tail followed.

how could he blame her?

only she...counter offered. although he did dread the thought of not knowing if she had moved on or not until it was too late. it didn't seem very productive.

but he was without a spine, charmed by her knowledge.

i can do that. he nodded. magda she had said. it was an odd name, but she seemed anything but normal. not that that was a bad thing!

how often? or just whenever?

in an attempt to be charming — maybe? no, friendly, he was not a charmer — he rolled a bulb back towards her.

He appeared amicable to the compromise.

It was no skin off her nose if he refused; Mag could carry on with her quiet existence of frog hunting, avoiding anyone within the Hinterlands, or even vanish entirely from it - which held a strong possibility, given her reception so far with the locals.

Call on me when ya need more lessons, or if'n there's a discovery made that has ya wanting to share. I enjoy a good lesson, her smile was a little crooked as she added, giving or receiving.

Overall this had been a positive exchange. Veran would leave a little brighter of mind, and Mag had begun to spread her small but insidious roots.

Keep the lot, if ya like. Ain't much and ain't worth the split. Nice enough to exchange these findin's with a lovely person like yourself hennyway.

Tut tut, off with you then - or so she expressed with a motion of her nose, an expectant glow within her gaze.

feel free to archive! :D

his features were hot once more and he found himself eager to depart.

no, not because he didn't like her company! she just...made him feel funny. yeah. that was how he would describe it. funny.

o-oh! oh, thank you. thank you so much. he offered a bit like a dutiful worshiper before he scooped up the garlic frantically. attempted to garble some sort of departure message around it before deciding that was beyond useless.

so he only offered her one last warm but timid look, tail awkwardly wiggling between his legs.

then he was off.