Page 1 of Bound

1. Tumble

Many orbital cycles later...

Market day.

It brought the promise of goods and coin, but also the twist of dread that inevitably stole her appetite the night before. And the morning too, even though she prepared it with all the reluctance of knowing it was good for her and yet she would manage little of it.

Chores had to be done earlier. There were animals to feed, after all. Who were never pleased to have their routines disrupted, no matter how she tried to explain that the reason was a good one.

Necessary.

She could only manage so much on her own. Grow so many crops, preserve it all. Tend to the animals that provided her wool and company.

It was easier, before.

When...

Well, when Mama had been alive.

But she didn’t need to think about that. Not today. Not when there was work to do.

She removed her hand from the satchel of grains, refusing to pretend she’d eat it at all. There would be a feast when she came home again. With vegetables she hadn’t grown herself. Herbs in braided bundles she hadn’t tied with her own two hands.

Two delicate paws reached up her leg, tugging downward with sharp claws that nicked at her skin as she bent the opposite way to avoid them. “Just because I am going without mine does not mean I will neglect yours.”

She was met with unblinking eyes of accusation before she laughed and reached down to pull the indignant creature into her arms. Merryweather was tiny, really. Beneath the thick pelt that had yet to shed fully from the winter. Even though she wriggled heartily, Wren kept hold of her, placing her upon the large worktable in the centre of the kitchen. It was a battle long lost, for Merryweather would go where she pleased and do as she pleased. She was a wild creature, after all. Her presence was bestowed, not owed from centuries of domestication.

There’d been a litter the year before. Tiny, mewling kits that lived by the kitchen fire for a full two months before they’d realised their legs were for more than coaxing milk from their mother’s belly.

All boys. She’d learned that when they preferred to hunt and wander off to find mates of their own rather than remain. Merryweather had watched them go with little care, seemingly pleased to have the house a quiet sanctuary yet again.

Wren tried to feel the same.

Minced meat in a bowl, a purr of acknowledgement. A tail that reached out almost of its own accord to curl about her wrist as she petted once down her spine.

Then out to the rest of her chores.

The stable doors opened with a groan. The hinges could use oiling. The floor could use a good sweep. But those would be other days.

Not market day.

She let the two hesper out into the field to graze, and she tended their stalls. That could also use some attention. It had been a wet winter, and a few of the posts had begun to show their ages.

The list felt endless, and if she dwelt too long, then...

Well. It didn’t matter. The list didn’t care how she felt. It would keep until it didn’t. And suddenly priorities would shift if it meant keeping Temperance and Calliope from escaping their pens.

She’d already had to fix one line when she’d found a male happily grazing in their midst. And was doing a great deal more than grazing to Temperance.

She was hardly in need of another, and he’d wandered away when he’d had his fill—of both sweet grass and of Temperance herself.

Typical.

The fence used quite a few of her last good nails. She’d need more, and they rarely wanted what she traded. They valued metals, after all.

Coin.

Not something she usually had in abundance.