Figurehead

five

"I always thought the grains growing in the fields were dancing in the wind," she laughs. "When I was growing up, I mean," she adds.

Osa and Fik trudge slowly down the narrow path, Nirs and Osa in front; the path doesn't allow the two horses to walk side-by-side. Tall golden grain-plants sway softly as we pass. The sun is bright above us, the sky pale, but the light brings no warmth with it.

"You grew up on a farm, then?" I ask, and she nods. That is no surprise; most of the Escatin people are farmers before anything else,  whether they own a farm or not.

"You didn't?" she asks.

I shrug, then remember she can't see me from behind. "No, my parents were tutors, although my afa helped other farmers when he could." She nods.

"What did they instruct?" I wonder if she is making conversation simply because the path through these fields is very long.

"Language."

"So you learned at a young age?" she asks.

"Yeah." There isn't much to say. I decide to ask her some questions, because I feel bad about her making the effort, only to be answered by single words. "What province did you grow up in?"

"Ronseluf-"

"Oh, right, you mentioned your family being there. Sorry." She doesn't seem to mind.

"That's alright," she says cheerfully. "I didn't expect you to remember."

"What was harvest like for you?" I ask, remembering what it was like in Hiustef when I was younger. Bonfires, late nights, laughter, smiles, people running amok.

"It was a lot of fun," she says distantly, probably remembering what it was like for her. "It was warm. Ronseluf felt most like home at harvest."

"Mm."

We fall into a companionable silence.

Harvest always tied everyone together, joining families and farms as one community, one city, one province. One farm, almost. Everybody was involved in harvesting crops for almost all of Res and some of Ke, in storing them for Kras and the next Dre to come. Weeds would be lit, forming a bonfire, with all the children gathering as much kindling as they could hold each night, adding to the fire that burned with dancing flames reaching high into the night.

"This should have been harvested already," Nirs says suddenly, jolting me from my thoughts.

I look around us, eyebrows furrowing. "Yeah," I say slowly. It is Eri now, almost Mif, and at least two months since Res. It is uneasy to see the field almost completely full.

"It must have been planted later or something," she says, trying to justify the crops' presence. The comment makes little sense, either way.

"We're stopping for the horses anyway," I say after a moment. "We can find out then."

She nods, still glancing around us, and I catch a glimpse of the concern etched into her creased eyebrows and green gaze.

We continue down the remainder of the path at a quicker pace, dismounting from the horses at the nearest farm, sharing a worried glance. There are farmhands milling around, some carrying milk, some carrying dried grass, others holding baskets of eggs. The gentle noise of murmuring chatter fills the air, but there is an unpleasant feeling about the place.

Nirs clears her throat and sticks a hand out, stopping a nearby farmhand in his tracks. He looks at her, eyebrows raised, dark eyes widened before his eyebrows crease. "Yes? What are you doing here?" Confusion, not hostility, laces his voice.