Timestamp 57th of Winter 519
Wa'Djinnabi was not really an animal person. He had lost the desire to have pets long ago. He naturally did not dislike animals or other people's pets; he was not immune to their charms. It was a lot of the ancillary problems that he had a drained away his desire for pets. Clean up and feeding these creatures that depended on their owners completely was something he only really wanted to see in a child, and he was on the fence about having children of his own. So this was a dilemma when he discovered that since he had little work to do on the fallow fields, he was being conscripted to help out with the chores regarding the horses, goats and hens. He was not adverse to hard work, he often preferred it when he wanted to think about something. But taking care of animals? That was something he held reservations with. Mostly it was the smell, if he was perfectly honest with himself. All other tasks except dealing with a latrine or an outhouse were fine. Honestly he did not know how humans stood it, they tended towards a strange ripeness that they seemed to ignore. He had never met an eypharian who had even remotely smelled as rotten as some of the humans he met.
Dawson wandered on up to Djinn as the eypharian looked on at the animal pens with a mournful gaze. "Eh? What's the matter, boy?" The older farmer clapped the taller man on the shoulder, following that same gaze. "Come on now, stables won't muck themselves." He gave the distraught look Djinn gave him a mirthful grin. Today it was just the two of them, Dawson usually roped some of the others to help, but they had the day off. He shook himself a bit and followed behind the farmer. With a distrustful look at the horses who snorted in greetings, he tugged on two pairs of gloves and brought along a shovel while Dawson rolled a wheelbarrow over. The process was pretty simple, Dawson let the horses out to pasture and Djinn would shovel horse droppings and dirty hay into the wheelbarrow which would then be taken over for composting. Then from their they would lay down fresh hay and top off their feed.
Resigned to his fate he dove right into his work. After all, it was a job that needed doing and he was the one who needed to do it. Luckily it was quick work, since Dawson ran his farm well, the daily chores were kept to at a minimum. Light was slanted through the doorway by the time all the stalls were cleared out and restocked, making it sometime before noon. Djinn was a hot, sweaty mess with stray bits of straw clinging to his bronzed skin. He scowled at Dawson's chipper mood and put his shovel away, though he kept the gloves for whatever other horrors the sadistic farmer had in mind.
Which turned out to be checking the fences of the different pens and pastures for damage. If they could catch any signs of wear early then it would lessen the chance that the animals would escape and get into trouble. For this they each equipped their belt with a pouch for nails and a hammer. Thusly armed, they methodically went down opposite ends of the pasture pens, testing for loose boards and posts. This job was not nearly as exerting as mucking out the stables were at least. If he could fix a board right then and there, he would do so, hammering nails into the post to reinforce the boards or marking the board with a nail for something that had to be replaced. It was like this that late morning turned to noon and noon into afternoon. He methodically went to each post, pushing or kicking them to see if they were loose or for any damage. Perhaps fate was playing cruel jokes on him or he was just that lucky, but one of the horses must have pushed one of the posts out of the ground which left a gap in the line. He squinted at the quadrupedal monsters who innocently grazed on some of the tall grass. He thought he caught an evil glint as one lifted its head and stared at him, as if to say, "Ah, I see you have found my handiwork" before contemptuously returning to its meal of whatever wild grass was out there.
Well, the post was completely unusable now. Whatever the horse had done it managed to shear off a portion of the wood. They had spares, but now he would have to make a visit to the saw mill. Though, he figured he could get away with not having to deal with the people who ran it if he went into the curing area and just helped himself to a likely candidate. He certainly did not sneak his way over to the shed, and he certainly did not make a surreptitious glance around before stealing away inside. The low hanging ceiling made Djinn stoop as he went about the different stacks of wood. This would have been fine for one of those short, broken isurs but at last his gift of height was putting him at a disadvantage. He gripped a piece of wood about the right size under three arms and stole back out of the shed as causally as he could. Somehow, he had made out like a bandit and no one saw him. Hopefully no one notice the long line in the dirt that dragging his piece of wood made.
The result was that he ended up with a proper post and spent a few minutes wrestling it into place, then a few more hammering the post into the ground with as much strength as he could muster. The blows left his hands numb and tingly by the time he was done. A few more hammers with some nails into some brackets recovered from the old post and he was on his way again. He would come back for the broken post which was probably only good for firewood at this point. Luckily he had no need for further large repairs. Just a few more cases of loose or missing nails.
Dawson smiled at him as they met in the middle. "So what's next?" Djinn asked. Dawson's grin grew teeth, "Chickens." He stated simply. Djinn despaired.
WC: 1050
My words
Their words
Wa'Djinnabi was not really an animal person. He had lost the desire to have pets long ago. He naturally did not dislike animals or other people's pets; he was not immune to their charms. It was a lot of the ancillary problems that he had a drained away his desire for pets. Clean up and feeding these creatures that depended on their owners completely was something he only really wanted to see in a child, and he was on the fence about having children of his own. So this was a dilemma when he discovered that since he had little work to do on the fallow fields, he was being conscripted to help out with the chores regarding the horses, goats and hens. He was not adverse to hard work, he often preferred it when he wanted to think about something. But taking care of animals? That was something he held reservations with. Mostly it was the smell, if he was perfectly honest with himself. All other tasks except dealing with a latrine or an outhouse were fine. Honestly he did not know how humans stood it, they tended towards a strange ripeness that they seemed to ignore. He had never met an eypharian who had even remotely smelled as rotten as some of the humans he met.
Dawson wandered on up to Djinn as the eypharian looked on at the animal pens with a mournful gaze. "Eh? What's the matter, boy?" The older farmer clapped the taller man on the shoulder, following that same gaze. "Come on now, stables won't muck themselves." He gave the distraught look Djinn gave him a mirthful grin. Today it was just the two of them, Dawson usually roped some of the others to help, but they had the day off. He shook himself a bit and followed behind the farmer. With a distrustful look at the horses who snorted in greetings, he tugged on two pairs of gloves and brought along a shovel while Dawson rolled a wheelbarrow over. The process was pretty simple, Dawson let the horses out to pasture and Djinn would shovel horse droppings and dirty hay into the wheelbarrow which would then be taken over for composting. Then from their they would lay down fresh hay and top off their feed.
Resigned to his fate he dove right into his work. After all, it was a job that needed doing and he was the one who needed to do it. Luckily it was quick work, since Dawson ran his farm well, the daily chores were kept to at a minimum. Light was slanted through the doorway by the time all the stalls were cleared out and restocked, making it sometime before noon. Djinn was a hot, sweaty mess with stray bits of straw clinging to his bronzed skin. He scowled at Dawson's chipper mood and put his shovel away, though he kept the gloves for whatever other horrors the sadistic farmer had in mind.
Which turned out to be checking the fences of the different pens and pastures for damage. If they could catch any signs of wear early then it would lessen the chance that the animals would escape and get into trouble. For this they each equipped their belt with a pouch for nails and a hammer. Thusly armed, they methodically went down opposite ends of the pasture pens, testing for loose boards and posts. This job was not nearly as exerting as mucking out the stables were at least. If he could fix a board right then and there, he would do so, hammering nails into the post to reinforce the boards or marking the board with a nail for something that had to be replaced. It was like this that late morning turned to noon and noon into afternoon. He methodically went to each post, pushing or kicking them to see if they were loose or for any damage. Perhaps fate was playing cruel jokes on him or he was just that lucky, but one of the horses must have pushed one of the posts out of the ground which left a gap in the line. He squinted at the quadrupedal monsters who innocently grazed on some of the tall grass. He thought he caught an evil glint as one lifted its head and stared at him, as if to say, "Ah, I see you have found my handiwork" before contemptuously returning to its meal of whatever wild grass was out there.
Well, the post was completely unusable now. Whatever the horse had done it managed to shear off a portion of the wood. They had spares, but now he would have to make a visit to the saw mill. Though, he figured he could get away with not having to deal with the people who ran it if he went into the curing area and just helped himself to a likely candidate. He certainly did not sneak his way over to the shed, and he certainly did not make a surreptitious glance around before stealing away inside. The low hanging ceiling made Djinn stoop as he went about the different stacks of wood. This would have been fine for one of those short, broken isurs but at last his gift of height was putting him at a disadvantage. He gripped a piece of wood about the right size under three arms and stole back out of the shed as causally as he could. Somehow, he had made out like a bandit and no one saw him. Hopefully no one notice the long line in the dirt that dragging his piece of wood made.
The result was that he ended up with a proper post and spent a few minutes wrestling it into place, then a few more hammering the post into the ground with as much strength as he could muster. The blows left his hands numb and tingly by the time he was done. A few more hammers with some nails into some brackets recovered from the old post and he was on his way again. He would come back for the broken post which was probably only good for firewood at this point. Luckily he had no need for further large repairs. Just a few more cases of loose or missing nails.
Dawson smiled at him as they met in the middle. "So what's next?" Djinn asked. Dawson's grin grew teeth, "Chickens." He stated simply. Djinn despaired.
WC: 1050
My words
Their words
