Boartusk Heights i’m staying low, staying low, turning pages

a man patrolled in the gloomy afternoon.

the cold was a relief and not a worry. his walks could be longer when the sun did not strike down upon his back. his tasks more laborious and he would not tire so quick.

his path took him down towards the mouth of the heights. cutting along the villager’s district with the ease of any huntsman. at the end of his day’s work he would return here with meat for breaking down, he felt certain of it.

for now he only glanced around to see how other’s busied themselves before he’d make it to the entrance.

rawboned woman sliced fish and packed them into clay gathered just inside the borders.

paws smeared in her effort, she did not look up right away when karpos sent his strong eye scudding over the clearing.

such was the clay that it could be eaten and perhaps would comfort a sour stomach. upon the island she had learned such things from her mother, tutored long ago by royal physicians.

the woman had known everything.

agrippina passed a weary wrist across her brow and in her pause she saw the guardian seeming to watch her.

fish.

fresh enough that the scent was not pungent in a repulsive manner. the clay perhaps helped it too. he had never seen such work before and it only drew him closer. light, long strides. as if he meant to prowl in his watching.

finally her attention found him.

do you have everything you need for your work? his voice carefully level and his gaze filled with warm interest.

yes.

she tried not to stare at him, to catch his eye in any way meaningful. one low-ranked such as her did not deny those above.

this was what she had traded.

her work trembled in her grasp.

what is it you do? she inquired. they were both servants to this gothic realm, though agrippina knew he held more trust than she.

he wanted to reach for her work. to scoop it up in mouth and paw, but he refrained as a civilized person might. he did not want to take it for destroying, but for enjoyment.

perhaps after it all had been done and was fully prepared.

i am a huntsman. i guard, i fill the caches. simple work but important. he did not say this but perhaps it lingered in the silence following. granted he realized he found her work no less valuable than his own.

it was only their ranks that separated them.

so when i ask if you have everything you need to work…you may tell me no and we may walk beyond here to find it. perhaps if you feel daring you might send me alone to gather your needs.

karpos a guardian.

she a servant.

it felt odd to speak aloud to another. so much of agrippina's life had been spent in silence that she scarcely knew how to talk and to work together any longer.

clay coated another side of fish before she went on. if i have want of anything, i will ask. thank you.

now her eyes darted to where villager's realm lifted to the middle-homes. how long have you lived here in la muerte? paws moving over her work again.

did she not witness it as a kindness?

maybe she had no desire to go beyond their little kingdom. maybe she was only being polite in her own return. he would not seize upon the inklings of toxic masculinity to blame her for something that did not even exist.

not long, he confessed and found his self restraint waning to some degree. one nail sunk softly into a part of unworked clay. as if he held a child’s fascination with it.

there was a large hunt, many had gathered but i found la muerte to my taste. so why look elsewhere? your handiwork might have made a fine trade. it still might do so. idle praise.

it was a huntsman’s eye upon her work now. what could they trade it for? herbs and maybe fattier meats.

her eyes saw his talon there in the wet grey earth; her eyes moved along wrist to forearm until she pulled her gaze away.

so many words! so much speaking! her tongue already tired. but karpos spoke of things that gathered her interest and made it leap to her gaze.

trade? fish? another might have laughed, but agrippina did not show herself in moments of humour, not any longer. for what would you trade this? she inquired, choosing to gesture at the slabs of clayed fish rather than manage a glance into his face.

i might take this to a landlocked place or dry lands. i might offer them this as a delicacy and ask for herbs we do not have in exchange — or if they have their own delicacies to offer.

he told her all of this with a weighted certainty and an easy tone. it was good to inspire one and if she might feel encouraged to continue this, then they might make fine things out of it.

he tried to catch a glimpse of vibrant eyes and wondered if he ever would.

landlocked. dry.

agrippina imagined karpos had never been condemned to an island, let alone an island which had been formed by volcanic death.

three kilometers long. eight hundred meters wide.

a prison, open to sea air. landlocked was not a word she had ever known.

realizing too late that her paws curled with anger into clay, squeezing it, agrippina made a light exclamation and moved back. wiping palms on the earth, her stare trained down once more. if you think it can be traded, take what you desire from this store. i will make more.

all in service of those above. all in the end of preserving her own unloved hide.

i will see to it,

his head dipped to her and he would soon return to collect.

for now he wished to patrol, to layout a path in his mind that would be good for travel and trade. which meant soon he must push further beyond this place.

be well.

the only thing he had left to offer before he carried on and let her work in peace.

<3

agrippina did not allow herself to watch karpos go.

instead she bent over the clay and the fish again, and before some hours had passed she had eight such offerings.

carrying them from cache to cache among the villagers' dwelling, it was water sought next to wash her palms and her face, water and solitude.