Page 48 of Bound

It had been three days since Braum had left. And while she found herself looking rather wistfully at the tree nearest the pump, she could not say that she truly missed him.

She could sleep as long as chores would allow. Merryweather was her near constant companion, and the knot of anxiety in her chest since the entire business had begun had finally abated yesterday afternoon.

She wasn’t watched. Wasn’t judged.

She closed her eyes and allowed her head to drift backward, knowing there was plenty for her still to do, but sitting was nice as well. Her arms felt limp and fairly useless after her work on the carpet, and there was shade enough for the moment until the suns moved again and...

Thorn made a loud bellow, and she turned her head, sighing to herself. She should be glad for her father to visit. But he would ask questions. Marvel, at first, at work she had not completed, and she would have to tell him. Could not possibly take credit for what she had not done.

She shifted, brushing off the bits of vegetation that clung to her skirts, and went to greet him.

“Easy, Thorn,” she called, and he sat, but kept alert all the same. She adjusted her rug just once, and pointed an accusing finger at one of the young grimbles that ambled that way. “Let it be,” she insisted, one for its tail to wiggle and any semblance of a stern expression melting away as it always did. “It’ll be your fluff that fixes anything you eat,” she warned. A fruitless threat, in any case. It would be at least a full cycle of seasons before its coat was long enough to comb for fibre. But it did not need to know that.

She grimaced when a damp hand turned the dust on her skirt to a smudge. She should tend to her mounting pile of laundry. Soon. Maybe even today, if her father did not stay too long.

She turned the corner of the house, a tease already in her mouth about just how many days he’d let pass without coming to check on her, but it died just as quickly.

Braum stood by her door. A few paces back, as if he’d knocked but did not know quite what to do since she had not answered.

She cleared her throat. The peace that had settled over her spoiling with remarkable swiftness.

“Braum,” she greeted. “Fair...” she glanced up at the sky, trying to place the position of the suns. “Afternoon?”

The corner of his mouth pulled upward slightly. “And to you.”

She came closer. Her braid was untidy, she was certain. The hem of her skirts were still damp from her work on the rug, and she did not doubt that soap and dirt clung to her in equal measure.

“Did you forget something?” She could not account for any other reason for his coming, and the pause was grating on her.

He was the one that came. He should be the one to explain himself.

She swallowed back the flare of irritation. Wished it would take away the itching in her palms, the knot of anxiety that pushed at her throat.

But it didn’t.

“I did,” Braum affirmed, taking a step backward as she crossed to her door. To allow her room, she supposed. Or to collect whatever he’d forgotten.

“Sorry,” she offered. “I didn’t notice any tools, or I would have...”

What exactly? She had not enquired as to his lodging. She would not know who to ask about a woodcutter and his groves.

She’d have at least brought them in from the elements. Cleaned them, if she could be certain she wasn’t doing any harm in the process.

“No, Wren.” Braum shook his head, and she tried to be patient. “That is to say...” he glanced out at the pasture where Temperance and Calliope had come slightly forward to assess the newcomer. Perhaps suspicious that they would be banished now that he’d come back. “The fence. It will need oiling.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Is that at all? I’ll add it to my list.”

He raised his eyes skyward as if... as if he was trying very hard to keep his patience with her. “No,” he repeated. “I would consider this an extension of our original agreement.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Absolutely not.” And she meant it. “Braum. I’ve never oiled a fence in my life, but if you say that it should be done, I’ll get to it.”

He pointed toward Thorn’s pasture. “It will weather, yes. But it will also rot in the wet seasons. Better to keep it maintained or else we will need an entirely new bargain for its replacement.”

She tried very hard to keep from fidgeting. Wanted to ask if cooking oil was what he meant or... or something else.

That would be stupid, surely. Lamp oil?

She did not like not knowing things. Feeling inadequate and small and...