anmo

I.

A lone thatched house in the middle of the swamp that can reached by a laid-out path made of dry coconut husks, sharing that sense of loneliness with her, scrawny figure covered with dried palm leaves weaved like a makeshift poncho to combat the upcoming storm. She has not eaten all day and the nausea is starting to creep in, but transferring the seedlings is of more importance than a growling stomach. Long-term solution than a temporary escape. The hail has long ended but another is on sight.

The world beyond the mountains and the grasslands are full of blinding lights, deafening sounds that would be the natural scene for someone born in the city but overwhelming for the country lass. She knows it is necessary to build bonds with the merchants, and her presence in the actual store is inevitable as she delivers some produce herself due to certain conditions needed to avoid damages. A piece of egg is like a gold-laden jewelry in her hometown, but there it is simply used, sold or even discarded like something invaluable enough to be forgotten.

And she hates it.

Those who do not know the process can look at the result with ease and not burdened with what actions to take. That's the reality she lives in.

Looking around upon hearing some rustling behind some unattended wild grasses, she's reminded of the torn wire fence at the part of the field facing the mountains, and though it's only the crops for rotation before the next planting season that are present in the area, it's still the only means of income as well now. Pulling herself together again after such thoughts, she quickly places the prepared seedlings in the plant incubator room before the official transfer and proceeds to the shed to get her tools.

Work has been her daily routine. With no family or nearby relatives, the only help she gets is during the planting season where farmers from the town also plants in the vast fields and become of assistance until the harvesting season. But they need themselves to walk or travel through their beast-pulled carts before they reach her place. Still, they do it because she doesn't ask for payment in having her lands used, after all, she'll be needing more hands in to haste the production.

Despite this, she still thinks she needs to live with it, and hopes for a death by old age in the future and nothing else.

"Elka! El- woah!"

"Can you stop being shocked every time you see me here?"

"Tell that to me when you're not holding something like that big hammer while walking around with that blank face of yours. Anyways, here's a box of Ragyon from Ama, she'd like to hear your opinion about the new product."

"Ragyon? The one she's trying to produce as a sweeter variant?"

"Yup, yup. One thing I can assure you though, it tastes as sweet as the nectar the flame bees collects."

"...That kind of convinces me to taste it. Thank you for this. Send her my regards. Remind her as well that she's not getting any younger so make her hire more assistants in your orchard."

"She'll probably answer you with tell that to yourself. With you being all alone in the middle of this nowhere."

"It's not nowhere, I just happen to be living a little farther than the rest of you."

"When will you ever transfer? It's not like the lands here will run away if you decide to change homes. We can still return here together every planting season, can't we?"

"Easier said than done Elisse. You do know that I've lived here all my life. I'd rather live here as a hermit than see these lands be barren for a period of time."