Puddles

Chapter 12: Close to Danger, Far from Harm

"Now remember, your crook you must use to lead back any strays. And do wield it gently, for Fador's sake; your title is goose keeper, not goose killer."

I had tried taking Mrs. Jinsi's advice, I really, honestly did. She was herself a goose keeper after all in her time. But those geese, who looked so perfectly innocent and docile from afar, were actually horribly annoying and crafty. The minute you think you've got them all rounded up, the gander decides he'd rather go the other way, and so you go off to fetch him back. And at that exact moment another goose makes a waddle for it-but they are fast with their little waddlings-and then you might as well give it all up. Who knew geese herding could be so difficult.

I extended my curved staff and curled it around the dissenter's neck ever so gently, but she let out a terrified squawk anyway. I threw my arms up frustratedly and plopped down upon the freshly cut grass. One of the geese waddled over to me and stared hard into my face. I could've sworn, if that goose could talk she would've said something like: 'She's always like that. Don't take it personally if you get an angry reply every now and then. Please don't give up on us.' And from that day forward, the little goose became one of my best friends. I decided to give her a name, and later the rest of my group, too.

"You do look like a Matilda. Yes, the name suits you very well, I think." I stroked her soft feathers, just now noticing how strange they all looked. Each feather was a dark, stormy grey, with a greenish hue at the tip. How odd.

A quack brought me out of my silent revelry to the situation of the stray. She had caught herself in a small thorn bush and was squawking angrily to get my attention. With a groan I set about impatiently untangling the poor thing, but no matter how hard I pulled and tugged, she wouldn't come loose. A hard beak nudged my left leg.

Matilda glared up at me....reprimanding? Was that possible? You're pulling too hard. Be gentler and take your time, I could almost see Matilda saying. Ok, I answered back in my mind, feeling strangely humbled. This time I carefully pulled each thorny limb away from the goose's feathers. Finally she struggled out of the bush, leaving a few green-tinged feathers behind. And before I had time to give future advice on avoiding prickly objects, the little viper hissed at me and waddled away presumptuously. Matilda followed her eagerly, picking out a few clinging thorns. She turned to me distastefully, motioning toward the flowing red spot on the stray's right side. The poor thing seemed to shrink now, and when it turned its head I saw only the well of pain in its jet black eyes.

I crawled over to the goose, picked her up gently and without a problem, and coddled her close to me. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "Let's get you home."

The Waddling Troupe, for so I later called them as a whole, enjoyed a cozy yard area at the back of the Gardeinya's during the night, while I took them out onto the hill during the daytime. I walked home, or what served as mine until the right time, but even before I reached the turn down Las Nimal, I could smell Mrs. Jinsi's delicious lemon carsing pies. They were renowned in nearly every Westmarkian town. The Gardeinya's, by the way, owned a bakery, and it, being the only one in the entire village, was naturally popular.

I reached up to unlock the gate and herded the group gently into the pen. Matilda led the pack over to a grassy patch peppered with seed. Closing the gate I walked over to the front door, stepping into the wide frame-to put it nicely, Mr. Gardeinya was well rounded- and strode to the small, square table. Mrs. Jinsi was busying herself with the silverware, hurriedly trying to finish supper before Mr. Gareinya returned from the bakery.

That would be in about an hour. At least.

Mrs. Jinsi, I'd come to learn, was quite the perfectionist: footware must be relinquished at the front door, the rug inside the door must be exactly straight, and the silverware must be exactly so. Mrs. Jinsi had been lucky enough to inherit her precious silver set from her great-grandmother; it happened to be the most expensive thing they owned. I suddenly remembered my new leather boots, slightly muddy from yesterday's rain, but Mrs. Gareinya caught me first.