Winter 41, 516 AV
late morning
It had taken several forays outward from the lake, covering every direction but those where Endrykas' concentrated herds were cropping the grass down to stubble, before Khida finally accepted that there would be no hunting at this place. That the other hunters of the city seemed to meet equal failure only clinched her conclusion. Nothing but fish and fowl lived here... and not so many fowl that the hunters might pursue them with abandon for all the days of the moving city's rest.
It made for a distinctly strange feeling, being a hunter by both inclination and trade, yet having nothing to hunt.
Her mornings no longer started with the checking of trap lines and the quest for new placements. Instead, Khida turned her hands to other of their family's tasks. This morning, she had ridden out with their wife to where the herds waited, helping to milk the cows. Before even that, they'd spent half a bell thoroughly cleaning their hands and arms, the milk pail, and a number of large jars with soap and very hot water. Once there, they'd gone to each cow with milk in turn, cleaning the udders then drawing out the milk with a pulling motion that wasn't quite a true pull. It had only taken Khida one cow before her hands and arms complained of the activity; not to mention, she was rather slower at the milking than their wife. She had left the others to her, instead taking up the task of dividing the fresh milk into jars while their wife cleaned the cow that had just been finished and prepared the next.
When that task was at last completed -- and truth be told, it took almost as long to ride out to where the herds were being pastured and back as it did to actually milk their few cows -- Khida left their wife to the task of cheesemaking, or whatever else she felt appropriate to do with the milk. For her part, she'd taken to the air and flown out to perch on a willow bush at the lakeshore, contemplating the Drykas in the shallows, the anglers in their boats, the fowl floating serenely atop the water...
...the fish lurking somewhere in its depths.
The light glinting off the water sparked memories of a different place, a different time -- a sun just as harsh as that which now baked all traces of winter's ghost from the air, a shore more known for its sands than thickets of woody growth. She had halfway lived on fish then, the fruits of her dam's hunting; and while the Kelvic wasn't much given to nostalgia, the simple fact was that she liked fish.
Once upon a time, she had tried to catch a fish herself in the manner of her osprey mother, and failed decisively. It was something Khida hadn't attempted in years. Perhaps it was time she tried again.
Idea crystallizing into intention, the falcon launched herself out over the lake, much to the consternation of the fowl in the closest bay. She ignored them, climbing a few dozen feet into the air and beginning to weave a methodical search pattern from one end of the lake to the other, seeking signs of unwary fish beneath the water's surface. Silvery gleams not ascribable to the sun. Slim shadows darker than their surroundings. The ripples of a leaper snagging insects from the air.
She kept an eye on the people in the boats, too. It seemed a reasonable assumption that they knew something about finding fish.
late morning
It had taken several forays outward from the lake, covering every direction but those where Endrykas' concentrated herds were cropping the grass down to stubble, before Khida finally accepted that there would be no hunting at this place. That the other hunters of the city seemed to meet equal failure only clinched her conclusion. Nothing but fish and fowl lived here... and not so many fowl that the hunters might pursue them with abandon for all the days of the moving city's rest.
It made for a distinctly strange feeling, being a hunter by both inclination and trade, yet having nothing to hunt.
Her mornings no longer started with the checking of trap lines and the quest for new placements. Instead, Khida turned her hands to other of their family's tasks. This morning, she had ridden out with their wife to where the herds waited, helping to milk the cows. Before even that, they'd spent half a bell thoroughly cleaning their hands and arms, the milk pail, and a number of large jars with soap and very hot water. Once there, they'd gone to each cow with milk in turn, cleaning the udders then drawing out the milk with a pulling motion that wasn't quite a true pull. It had only taken Khida one cow before her hands and arms complained of the activity; not to mention, she was rather slower at the milking than their wife. She had left the others to her, instead taking up the task of dividing the fresh milk into jars while their wife cleaned the cow that had just been finished and prepared the next.
When that task was at last completed -- and truth be told, it took almost as long to ride out to where the herds were being pastured and back as it did to actually milk their few cows -- Khida left their wife to the task of cheesemaking, or whatever else she felt appropriate to do with the milk. For her part, she'd taken to the air and flown out to perch on a willow bush at the lakeshore, contemplating the Drykas in the shallows, the anglers in their boats, the fowl floating serenely atop the water...
...the fish lurking somewhere in its depths.
The light glinting off the water sparked memories of a different place, a different time -- a sun just as harsh as that which now baked all traces of winter's ghost from the air, a shore more known for its sands than thickets of woody growth. She had halfway lived on fish then, the fruits of her dam's hunting; and while the Kelvic wasn't much given to nostalgia, the simple fact was that she liked fish.
Once upon a time, she had tried to catch a fish herself in the manner of her osprey mother, and failed decisively. It was something Khida hadn't attempted in years. Perhaps it was time she tried again.
Idea crystallizing into intention, the falcon launched herself out over the lake, much to the consternation of the fowl in the closest bay. She ignored them, climbing a few dozen feet into the air and beginning to weave a methodical search pattern from one end of the lake to the other, seeking signs of unwary fish beneath the water's surface. Silvery gleams not ascribable to the sun. Slim shadows darker than their surroundings. The ripples of a leaper snagging insects from the air.
She kept an eye on the people in the boats, too. It seemed a reasonable assumption that they knew something about finding fish.
Khida space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi
