Page 63 of Halfling
She nearly choked on soup hurrying to say, “I’m happy to help! Anything I can do.”
Cara nodded, pleased. “I’ll tell Anghus. How convenient the vagabond with an orc companion sleeping in our barn happens to know her way around horses.”
Cara laughed while Sorcha blushed, and they fell into easy chatter as Sorcha ate her meal. It was harmless talk, of the weather and the river and the coming harvest. Cara and Anghus didn’t have the largest farm, but a properly shod horse would make the work infinitely more doable. It was evident through their chat that Cara loved her land and her home and her family dearly.
An ache grew in Sorcha’s gut even as she filled her stomach past discomfort. She missed her family, missed their loud chatter around the dinner table, the squabbling over breakfast, the trips into town. Traveling with Orek, she’d been able to keep much of her homesickness and worry at bay, keeping focused on him and their journey.
But surrounded by familiar scents, forced by her exhaustion and circumstance to sit still, the heartache seeped down to her bones.
Cara stayed until Sorcha had scraped her bowl clean and left only crumbs behind. It was good to talk to another woman, and she let Cara’s calm and competence seep into her, too.
Her eyes were heavy, her vision gone blurry when Cara scooped up the tray and told her again to rest.
“What about Darrah?” she said, trying not to slur her words. “I can take him if he’s too much trouble.”
“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be getting him back from the children any time soon. They’ve been playing together all day. They made him a little bed out of a basket last night, and I suspect he’s all tucked in already.” Cara patted her shoulder. “So stop worrying and get some sleep.”
Sorcha nodded, forcing her worries back down into that pit of her mind. She imagined it was bottomless and dropped everything she didn’t want to feel or think on anymore into it.
Cara quietly left the stall, and soon the barn settled into the soft noises of content animals dozing after their dinner. The light had nearly faded, the sky outside the high barn window a deepening purple.
Jaw cracking on a yawn, Sorcha lay back, her stomach full. Unfortunately, so was her mind, but she closed her eyes against the world.
And if she pulled the furs up under her chin and rested her head in the hollow between Orek’s shoulder blades, well…it helped put her mind at ease and there was no harm in being cozy while she took her rest.
The next morning, Sorcha gave herself to the familiar rhythm of daily chores and caring for animals. The day began early, Cara bustling in again with breakfast and Anghus to discuss the day’s work. As she ate her sausages and biscuit, Sorcha and Anghus discussed how best to go about shoeing the dray.
All the while, Orek lay still beside Sorcha, his breathing even and unlabored.
Sorcha tried to be content with that.
But as the morning wore on, even after wrestling on a new shoe and mucking out the other stalls, and he didn’t even stir at the noise and hustle, her worry began to saturate every vein and pore.
The work helped distract her some, and she threw herself into it with such vigor, chasing away the worries, that Cara had to interrupt her almost frenzied raking to offer her the midday meal. After washing up, she joined the little family for lunch.
Cara and Anghus had a boy, Bram, about four, and a girl, Brigid, about seven. Both had their mother’s blonde hair and father’s brown eyes. They had cursory curiosity for her, this strange guest sleeping in their barn, but mostly they giggled and clapped at Darrah’s antics. The raccoon kit was happy to see her, chittering and climbing up her arm to her shoulder. He used her hair as rope to climb up and perch on top of her head. She only pulled him off when he made a grab for her forkful of meat pie on its way to her mouth.
The children were more than happy to entertain the kit, and their parents were more than happy to have them distracted and not underfoot as the afternoon chores commenced.
With the dray shod, they spent the afternoon preparing for harvesting tomorrow, which Sorcha readily agreed to help with.
After gathering apples with Cara from the small orchard, the family and Sorcha gathered for the evening meal and turned in early with the big day ahead. She laid down beside Orek after redressing his wounds and turning him onto his back.
That niggle of fear had wound into a rope of despair knotting round her chest and pulling tight. She knew he needed the rest, and so long as his breathing came easy and he wasn’t fevered, there wasn’t much to do or worry over.
That didn’t stop her from worrying, of course.
Getting comfortable in their bed of hay and furs, Sorcha curled close to him and took his much bigger hand in hers.
“Please wake up tomorrow,” she whispered into his shoulder.
She could have sworn his hand squeezed hers, and it was the only thing that allowed her to finally drift off into a fitful sleep.
The second morning was even earlier than the last, just as Anghus had promised. Sorcha performed her tasks with just as much determination, though her enthusiasm had sharply waned. Waking to an unchanged Orek had soured her mood, and she ate her breakfast quietly.
Cara suggested she do other chores around the barn, but Sorcha tied up her curls behind a kerchief and insisted on helping. Following Cara and Anghus into their fields, she spent the morning pushing rocks out of the way of the plow, hauling sheafed wheat, and spitting fates knew what out of her mouth. Her hands had gone red and chapped from dozens of little cuts and pinpricks of grass and her shirt had long since soaked through with sweat by the time they stopped to take the midday meal.
She took the cool cloth from Cara gratefully as they gathered around the well near the farmhouse. The water soothed the itch in her nose and down her back, and she nearly groaned in relief popping her neck and fingers.
