The Seven Swords: Ethindal

Chapter 5 - Loyal Subjects

The afternoon sun was at its zenith in the azure, cloudless sky, beating down its heat against Tristane's hunched back. The day was starting off with a nip in the air, with only the sky's bright eye to keep warmth in his body. The woolen cloak on his back held tight what it provided, keeping the frost from grasping at him.

He pulled the thick, golden stalk of dried corn slightly to the side, then sliced it off with a small hand scythe. The harvest was over, but a bit had been left to dry in order to give feed to their few chickens and one cow. And he was stuck cleaning it all up by gathering what was left and separating it accordingly. It was tedious work.

He tossed the crumbling stalk on the pile for the cow, and the hard corn cob in the old wooden bucket he had for the chickens. The corn would require him to sit down later and unlink the kernels from the cob, unless his uncle joined in to assist in his effort.

He rose with a hand on his hip, scanned the field, and released a steady breath through his nose. The field was cleared of all other crops except the corner he worked at. It was barely as large as four houses, but it provided for what they needed. His uncle hoped to expand the field next year if he managed to gather up enough coins for extra seed.

To be frank, Tristane didn't believe old Kicker had much fight left in him to be a plow horse to cultivate the new section of field that would be needed. The already turned soil was easier, but even then his uncle had to help push it along. They had owned the horse before Tristane was even born. It was time to let the gelding retire in peace and search for a new horse. Problem was, only two people had horses in Sourna; his uncle, and another farmer named Victor who lived on the complete other side of town. He knew for sure Victor wouldn't sell his only plow horse.

Gale had taken the family mare in order to travel to Terrinal, but he wouldn't return till gods know when.

"Tristane! You nearly finished or are you gawking off in the distance for no reason?" Uncle Herald's good humored voice called out to him from the house. "Come on, boy, I'd like to get the feed separated by the sun's setting."

"Of course, uncle," Tristane called back. "I'm working as hard as I can, I've been at it since the sun woke. Don't worry, I'm nearly finished with the portion left."

"I can finish that last of it, I have another job for you," Harold said as he approached the field. He took the scythe from Tristane and ran his eyes along it's steel blade before lifting his gaze. "I need you to gather some buckets, go to the stream, and fill them nice and full. Stars know we need fresh water before it starts freezing over. We can't have the same frost from last year repeat itself."

Last year, in the previous winter, the stream had frozen over nice and thick. Being in close proximity to the desert, it wasn't often anything froze up. But that didn't mean it never occurred. They had been stuck melting snow if they wanted a refreshing drink, and living on a farm, it wasn't always too clean.

By cause of the dirty water, Tristane had acquired a nasty fever that held him in bed for days. Thankfully, no one else had gotten sick from the foul liquid and they had pushed through till spring.

His uncle didn't want a repeat of that this year, and he wasn't really up for another few days of feverish torture.

"Yes, sir," Tristane said with a smile. With a nod to his uncle, he was off to find where the buckets were sitting by the front stairs of the house. He snatched the handles up in one hand, easy enough for their weight, but after he would have to use both hands to carry the water.

The sound of the scythe slicing through stalks sounded as he headed to the stream, located merely minutes away in a small wooded area. Uncle Harold was quick to work.