All of the World (ARCHIVED & LESS BAD)

Part Ten

It wasn't often that Frances remembered his dreams; they usually faded soon after he woke up. When he did remember them, they were nonsensical and strange, with nothing remotely coherent remaining. But after his first night in the cabin, his dreams became clearer.

There were four dreams that he remembered best; one on Tuesday, where he was taken back to his home, working the railway in Pine River. Two other engines worked there, Tabitha and Puddle. Their small railway was run by a man called Alan, who knew almost nothing about his job but loved the engines nonetheless.

Wednesday and Friday were incredibly similar, both involving him floating in the sea by Brendam, listening to Salty's stories from the water. He liked those two the best. But Thursday was the most important. The energy of that dream had felt different, more grounded in reality.

He sat on the cliff overlooking Vicarstown and the Mainland once again, this time at sunset. His head couldn't move, but he knew that Dawn was next to him. No words were spoken, but he was content nonetheless. He woke up still feeling their presence beside him. The mountain cast a shadow on the house, making him feel as though he had his own corner of the world, never to be disturbed.

Hank had lent him some clothes, which mostly consisted of denim and leather belt buckles. Jenny said he looked like a real catch, but advised him to start wearing more red. "You'll look as handsome as a fall day." He took her advice and began to wrap a strand of red cloth in his braids every morning.

"Do ya' need any help with breakfast, Jenny?" He asked, walking into the wood-panelled kitchen. "Why don't you make some bannock? I tried making it a couple of months ago, but..." She trailed off, pointing a finger at a blackened spot on the counter, cringing.

Frances dug through the seemingly infinite cupboards and found a large metal bowl, a sack of flour, baking powder, salt, lard, and sugar. He threw the ingredients into the bowl, ignoring the measuring cups and going on a whim. When he was covered in flour and there was lard smeared on the ground, he grabbed a mug and filled it with water, splashing it into the bowl intensely.

Kneading the dough, he saw a container of cinnamon out of the corner of his eye and grabbed it, pouring a healthy amount over the mixture. When it had been shaped into a ball, he removed it from the bowl and rolled it flat, taking out all his anger and hatred on the bread. After that, it stretched the length of the counter, and he grabbed the two biggest pans he could find and covered them with oil, heating them on the stove while Jenny wheezed with laughter.

Soon, the bannock was cut into strips and frying nicely, sizzling and popping. "And that is how you turn bannock-making into an extreme sport." Frances proclaimed, spatula in hand. Emma opened the study door and stared in astonishment at the mess Frances had made. "My god." Dennis gasped, completely immobilized by shock.

"I say Peter cleans up!" Frances shouted, earning a sideways glance and a grin from Jenny. Turning off the stove and grabbing a serving plate, he strategically placed the bannock across it, forming a tower of sorts. "See, kookum? Easy as pie." Frances said to Jenny, tensing with embarrassment when he realized what he had said.

Jenny began to tear up slightly, hugging him tightly as the others stood by, completely unaware of their exchange. "Kaaya aynket, nooshishim. Kiiya ki mitooni kwaayesh, aen zhenn nom." Hearing someone else speak Michif to him when he had been slowly losing it for the past four years was like an open fire in the middle of the winter, warming him throughout.

"That was sweet, Jenny," BoCo said, patting them both on the back. Frances smiled slightly. "Well, we don't want this perfectly good bannock to go to waste, do we?" Jenny carried the plate to the table and Frances grabbed the syrup and butter. "Today is already super weird, and it's only... eight o'clock."