Fields of Crimson

The Bucket and the Mutt

Little did she know that a wolffish smile was flashed before her by a boy just an inch or two taller. He looked mature, but not just old enough to be considered a man.

The boy have her a gentle nudge tapping her shoulder, "Akhira, I'm back!" He chuckled delightedly. Her eyes had opened very slowly to see the boy before her. She hadn't seen him for a year now- childhood friends. Her arms had already shot out and were tossed around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He had gone off with his father and a few others to sell some goods on the road... Farther than Whiterun..

"Where have you been-?" She chirped, "When did you get back!"

"I'll tell you when you get back, alright? But I'll have a leave soon.." He warned, his cocky little smile seemed to vanish just as quickly as it had appeared. With that, he turned up the path from where she had once come, meandering up the bumpy path. With an exasperated sigh he was gone, leaving her there with nothing but a damn bucket.

An empty bucket.

Soon the sun was high over the town, and the heat began to blaze unlike usual. Akhira had crossed town like usual to go finally fetch the water from the stream. Leaning over the mossy rocks and keeping her skirt well away from the icy water. The freshly melted snow made this the freshest nearby, wonderful. She skimmed the bucket over the rippling surface until it was plunged deep into the water, stirring up little designs that trickled their way down the stream until they soon faded away to nothing. Just like that, she pulled it away from the deeper water, observing the tiny consistent droplets that fell from the bottom.

With a brisk little skip in her step, hopping over a patch of unmelted snow and around a fallen tree that had been covered in mushrooms and moss for as long as she could remember, she padded up the path and back through the village. On the way to her cabin she could spot the few goats that grazed along the streets, eating just about whatever they could find. Akhira could even hear the 'clinking' and 'clanking' of the Blacksmith at his Forge, pounding away and sharpening iron swords. Glancing over to the large pit of flames, she could see the sparks illuminate his every rough feature in the dimmed light. His brows were distinctly furrowed and his nose was crooked. Almost as if he'd been hit, and his nose never healed in the right position. She could've only guessed. He had a few scars that ran slant ways along his face that she just couldn't put her finger on- she wouldn't want to anyways. The man works with damn swords everyday!

The girl let out a lazy yawn like a common house cat before making her way onto a small porch that led to her front door. She opened it up, holding the heavy bucket in her other hand as she did so. With a soft growl coming from beside the hearth of the lazing fire, she pushed through the entrance and inside. Only to hear the soft and excited whimpers of an old war dog that sat obediently on the sheepskin rug, warming himself by the fire. "Hey Natel, boy. Who's a good bud', Hm? I think you are?" Akhira mused, swinging the door shut behind her, "You've been good. Waiting here by the meal patiently." She laughed to herself as she passed the flames that just cooked the venison.

She reached out to the flames, pulled back at the sound of a popping ember, then went back to the meat. She tore off a piece for the mutt on the floor, tossing it in the air only to have him catch it. His tail beat against the floor appreciatively, and Akhira soon sat in a nearby chair with a book in hand, flipping to a page marked with an old piece of fabric. Her fingertips ran along the leather surface of the cover, feeling the ties that bound it together.

Now to relax~