[Fic] "Harvest: The Comforts of Home" -- original, Ekanu
I seem to be writing the last third of "Harvest" in bits and pieces loosely inspired by 15_minute_fic words. I suppose there are worse ways to finish a story?
This is near the start of the vision quest Denifar is sent on by his fellow mechanists, which Ekanu has finagled her way into -- ostensibly to keep him serious, but really so they'll be forced to talk about their imploding relationship without being able to run away from each other or use other people as distractions. (400 words)
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Harvest: The Comforts of Home
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The first thing Ekanu did after wading to shore on the tiny island was climb the raggedly carved stairs from the black sand beach up to the green heights of the main plateau. Then she followed the overgrown path inland until she reached the promised spring. It was hardly worth the name -- a bare trickle of fresh water seeping from a crack in the ground and puddling in a rocky pool not three paces across and a bare handspan deep -- but Ekanu dipped her fingers into the spring and flicked a handful of droplets through the air by way of casual thanks.
She had spent too much time thirsty in Shimat-Mek and Vinaeo -- one because there was no water, the other because the water was unfit to drink -- to consider water less than a blessing.
Denifar found her a half hour later. He dropped his pack on a patch of bare stone, crouched down at the edge of the water, and drank from his cupped hands. "Hot day," he said. Then he looked up across the pool and frowned. "What in the Star's name are you doing?"
"Making shelter," Ekanu said shortly, standing on tiptoe and sawing at a leafy branch with her rapidly dulling knife. "Or to be more precise, making beds. You are going to make the roof -- you're the mechanist. Meanwhile, I will be down on the beach, catching dinner."
Denifar's scowl deepened. "I'm not your student. You can't order me around."
The branch's heartwood gave with a muted crack, and Ekanu began twisting it, straining the remaining fibers to their breaking point in an attempt to snap them without further ruining her knife. "True. But if you don't make a roof, we'll be very sorry when it rains tomorrow afternoon. So you're not following my orders. You're serving your own self-interest, yes?"
Ekanu carried the branch over to her makeshift beds and considered the two leafy piles. They were thick enough, she supposed, and if the weather stayed summer-warm, they could use their spare clothes as pillows rather than blankets. She'd grown very fond of pillows over the years.
She tossed the new branch to the ground and turned to Denifar, a deliberately sharp smile on her face. "I cut your first branch, as you see. The rest is up to you." She strode back down the path without waiting for him to answer.
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Inspired by the 8/31/09 15_minute_fic word #121: pillow
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In real life news, I need to get more sleep. Because I was tired and not thinking very clearly, I wrote a note on the daily list at work which was intended as a note to myself and therefore couched in the slightly disparaging "Do this, you idiot!" tone I use when reminding myself of assigned tasks. (I am not sure when I adopted that tone when addressing myself, but I am very unreliable about anything not directly work-related, so the disparagement is justified.) The trouble was, I wrote nothing to show that the note was intended for me rather than my coworkers, and I wrote it on the shared public worksheet rather than a sheet of scrap paper in my own box.
AO quite reasonably took umbrage (in a polite way, because she is a sweetheart) at what she saw as me ordering my coworkers around as if they were misbehaving toddlers.
*wince*
So I wrote her an apology, and will apologize verbally Tuesday during work. And from now on, I will keep my self-directed notes to myself, and make sure to watch the tone of anything I write for general consumption.
You can also read this entry on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)
This is near the start of the vision quest Denifar is sent on by his fellow mechanists, which Ekanu has finagled her way into -- ostensibly to keep him serious, but really so they'll be forced to talk about their imploding relationship without being able to run away from each other or use other people as distractions. (400 words)
---------------------------------------------
Harvest: The Comforts of Home
---------------------------------------------
The first thing Ekanu did after wading to shore on the tiny island was climb the raggedly carved stairs from the black sand beach up to the green heights of the main plateau. Then she followed the overgrown path inland until she reached the promised spring. It was hardly worth the name -- a bare trickle of fresh water seeping from a crack in the ground and puddling in a rocky pool not three paces across and a bare handspan deep -- but Ekanu dipped her fingers into the spring and flicked a handful of droplets through the air by way of casual thanks.
She had spent too much time thirsty in Shimat-Mek and Vinaeo -- one because there was no water, the other because the water was unfit to drink -- to consider water less than a blessing.
Denifar found her a half hour later. He dropped his pack on a patch of bare stone, crouched down at the edge of the water, and drank from his cupped hands. "Hot day," he said. Then he looked up across the pool and frowned. "What in the Star's name are you doing?"
"Making shelter," Ekanu said shortly, standing on tiptoe and sawing at a leafy branch with her rapidly dulling knife. "Or to be more precise, making beds. You are going to make the roof -- you're the mechanist. Meanwhile, I will be down on the beach, catching dinner."
Denifar's scowl deepened. "I'm not your student. You can't order me around."
The branch's heartwood gave with a muted crack, and Ekanu began twisting it, straining the remaining fibers to their breaking point in an attempt to snap them without further ruining her knife. "True. But if you don't make a roof, we'll be very sorry when it rains tomorrow afternoon. So you're not following my orders. You're serving your own self-interest, yes?"
Ekanu carried the branch over to her makeshift beds and considered the two leafy piles. They were thick enough, she supposed, and if the weather stayed summer-warm, they could use their spare clothes as pillows rather than blankets. She'd grown very fond of pillows over the years.
She tossed the new branch to the ground and turned to Denifar, a deliberately sharp smile on her face. "I cut your first branch, as you see. The rest is up to you." She strode back down the path without waiting for him to answer.
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Inspired by the 8/31/09 15_minute_fic word #121: pillow
---------------------------------------------
In real life news, I need to get more sleep. Because I was tired and not thinking very clearly, I wrote a note on the daily list at work which was intended as a note to myself and therefore couched in the slightly disparaging "Do this, you idiot!" tone I use when reminding myself of assigned tasks. (I am not sure when I adopted that tone when addressing myself, but I am very unreliable about anything not directly work-related, so the disparagement is justified.) The trouble was, I wrote nothing to show that the note was intended for me rather than my coworkers, and I wrote it on the shared public worksheet rather than a sheet of scrap paper in my own box.
AO quite reasonably took umbrage (in a polite way, because she is a sweetheart) at what she saw as me ordering my coworkers around as if they were misbehaving toddlers.
*wince*
So I wrote her an apology, and will apologize verbally Tuesday during work. And from now on, I will keep my self-directed notes to myself, and make sure to watch the tone of anything I write for general consumption.
You can also read this entry on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)