Solo A day in the life (part 2)

[Shem]

Winter 10, 513 “Hey, lovey. You got anything for me this evening?” The well rounded, middle aged woman, sporting a dress of deep blue wool and a head scarf of a bright yellow and red pattern, smiled at the Kelvic hunter, as he walked towards her stall. The crowd was much thinned, as the evening set in and Zintilla lit the first of the thousand and one stars that would soon litter the skies above. Many of the merchants in the market were packing up shop – stalls and barrows and even some just simple blankets spread on the stones – in preparation for making their way home and finding their dinner. The woman, who specialized in selling meat pies already cooked and ready to consume, was just beginning her own tidying up, though she had sold all her comestibles and so was really only having to clean off the already pristine wooden shelves that lined her small pavilion tent. The smell of her now dispersed cookery still lingered on the air, and Shem’s stomach growled in appreciation of what had been. He was one of her regular suppliers, and in turn one of her most regular and loyal customers as well. Dark eyes reflecting a momentary regret sought hers and he grinned – the expression truly somewhat wolfish, due to his very pointed canines, as reflective of his other form. “I always have something for you, my sweetheart,” he replied, his tone teasing, as he threw in a wink, at the same time plonking his pack down on the table that stood at the front of the stall. The woman eyed him in a flirtatious way, though she was old enough to be his mother – or grandmother for that matter, given he was only two years of age, chronologically speaking. But it was a pleasant game they played, and they both enjoyed the give and take. “Tis a pity the only meat you ever have on offer is dead and covered in fur – or feathers,” she joked, coming over to open the flap of his game pack and pulling out its contents. Shem laughed. “Your husband would have my fur – for a hearth rug – if I were to offer you more,” he retorted with a light laugh, his hand running over his jaw. It ached from where he’d slammed into the rock of the narrow ravine earlier, and a beautiful purple-blue bruise was blooming over the lower half of that side of his face. The woman, looking up to make her own sassy comeback, widened her eyes instead, with a look of alarm. “Gods, Shem! What happened to you?” she exclaimed, her face shifting swiftly from flirty to concerned, the matron in her shoving aside the sillyness. One chubby paw reached to almost touch his swelling jaw, but she held off. Shem still flinched, though, and grimaced with a deprecating snort. “Had a run in with some rocks. They won,” was the only explanation he was willing to give. It was a fair bit embarrassing to admit he’d been outdone by an elk. Though he was comfortable enough in his human skin, he sometimes felt his real human customers might prefer not to think about how he brought down the venison and mountain sheep that he brought in to the market. He waved a hand dismissively. “Next time I won’t let them sneak up on me like that.” The pie maker looked at him skeptically. But she didn’t press. She merely tsk’ed and shook her head, saying, “You young rogues. Fighting over the gods know what.” She did wag a fat, sausage like finger under his nose. “No woman is worth that, you know. Plenty of fish in the sea, as they say.” Shem let her think as she liked, and replied with a sly grin, “I can think of one – pity she’s already taken.” He threw her another wink – it was good business practice he’d found. Some of the female customers he sold to were hard as the rocks that had graced his face with this lovely bruise, and cold as ice when it came to trying to melt their all-business hearts with teasing words and winks. But others were quite happy to be charmed into giving him a good price. They knew it was all a joke. But they enjoyed it all the same. The woman’s lips came together in a silly pout and she flicked her fingers at him, dismissing his little compliment for the inanity that it was. “Go on, you,” she said coyly, but her eyes dropped back to the rabbits, hares, and birds – and the lone marmot, and she gave them a quick but thorough once over with eye and fingers, pinching here and there for fleshiness. “Not bad…” she mused, her eyes coming back to his. “I’ll have the rabbits, and the hares, if you’ll skin them. You can have the pelts. The birds….” Her eagle eye gave the partridges a closer scrutiny. “They’re only this year’s poults. So…I’ll have them but not for the price of an adult, understood?” He nodded. “Aye, that’s fine.” He was happy to be having her buy most of what he’d brought in. The bare nature of her shelves gave testament to the need for replenishing her cookery ingredients. “Shall I pluck them for you too?” he asked, already shoving the marmot back in the pack. It was small but had a nice pelt. He’d skin it in a bit and cook it for his own dinner – or just eat it raw, depending on how he felt. “No, I’ll do that myself. I’m saving up, for some new pillows. I’m embroidering some covers too – they’ll look quite lovely…on my bed….” She batted still lush, dark eyelashes at him in a come-hither way, and Shem felt that if he gave the slightest indication of taking her in earnest, she’d not turn him down. But he knew how to play this game. “I’m sure your man will treasure them – same as he treasures you, my love. What a lucky man he is.” He smiled, wolfily, and the woman simpered just a bit. “Aye,” she sighed, leaning closer to him – enough that he could smell the onions she’d had for lunch on her breath. “I do love him, more’n he deserves. Always been true, too – even though I’ve had any number of men ready to make it otherwise.” Shem returned that look but with an undertone of sad wisdom seemingly giving an extra sheen to his dark eyes. He said nothing, but only nodded, in a sage, philosophical manner. At the same time, he reached out, and grabbed the two hares and three rabbits by the ears, sliding them off the table, and holding them up. “Be right back,” he averred, as the good dame – eyes moist with the knowledge of what a constant wife she was – nodded and jerked up the partridges and shoved them in a sack. Not wishing to make a mess right in front of her stall, Shem went around to the back, where he knew she kept a butcher’s block. Handy too were her implements, and he picked up a sharp cleaver with a large square blade, and had the heads off the five varmints in a trice. Next came the feet. With his hunting knife, he slit each one from groin to gullet, and pulled the guts out, slicing through the fascia to drop the innards into a pile. All that was left was to cut the skin down the inside of the hind legs and then pull downwards. The pelt came away beautifully in one smooth piece, just like peeling an orange. These he folded carefully. His next stop would be the furrier down the way. Rabbit pelts didn’t bring a lot, but they made good lining for gloves and hats and boots. The offal he’d leave and he knew the pie maker would sell what she could to the dog meat knacker. The rest would be collected for fertilizer by some farmer or other. “Do you want me to leave these here?” he asked loudly, as she bustled about on the other side of the pavilion’s heavy canvas. “Yes, that’d be fine lovey,” she called back cheerfully. “My man will be by in about five chimes. He’ll fetch them back home for me. I’ll clean the block.” “Fair enough,” Shem replied, coming back around to the front of the tent, skins in hand. “You can give your hands a wash in that bucket,” the woman directed with a nod of her triple chin, towards a relatively clean looking vessel of water. Shem shoved the pelts in his pack, to keep the marmot company, and bent to slosh some cold water over his hands which were flecked with a bit of blood. When he straightened, the woman had his coins and in the other hand a nice pie, every bit as plump as she was herself. “Saved one of the good ones just for you, dearie,” she said with a warm smile. “You’re too skinny. You need to eat more. You need a wife!” she teased, poking him in the ribs. He laughed. “Well, you keep an eye out for a good one for me, alright? She has to be as pretty as you, though, mind!” With one last wink, he took the coins she dribbled into his still wet palm. Shoving them into a pouch at his belt, he nodded. “Thanks, my love. I should be back around in a few days time.” He raised the pie he now held in one hand. “And extra thanks for this. I could almost live off the smell, but my stomach will be quite happy to provide this with a new home.” She laughed and swatted at his shoulder. “Off with you now. And don’t be chasing those skirts all night.” Shem laughed and waved, as he walked off. “And don’t throw all your money away on those naughty girls!” she called after his retreating back, accompanied by a wistful expression. Shem grinned, waved one last time, and walked the distance to the furrier’s place. It was already closed, though, so he determined to head home. He could lay the pelts out for the night so they dried flat at least, and barter or sell them in the morning. Whistling softly to himself, he reached the first of many sets of steps to carry him upwards, to the Solar Winds.