12th of Winter, Cemetery, Midday
He heard the vicious rumors again this morning. There was a Vantha among them. He did his best to shuffle out of that gathering without catching too much attention. They said the pest was hiding amongst the sailors, so it seemed wise to stay away from that portion of the city for the moment. Every winter someone would claim they saw a Vantha and he couldn’t recall one ever being caught during the winter. There were cases where some stragglers were located and disposed of, but strangely enough, none during the winter. Realizing the Cemetery was a long way from the focus of their search, he decided to devote himself fully to his work and perhaps try to find some semblance of peace in the action.
He collected the tools he needed from storage and laid them out in front of him. He would begin with the scythe. It was strange how landscaping still had to be kept up. Without winter, the tough weeds would spring from the open ground as well as the cracks between the stones. Left unchecked, they’d soon consume whatever land they could. It was a cruel joke to have so many weeds in a place where other things would seldom grow. He had seen people attempting the action before, but when he swung the scythe, he instinctively moved his leg to follow. This caused his swing to lose some of its power, which was lucky since the blade also lost its alignment. The end result was more stabbing than slashing as the shock shook back through the wooden handle and into his hands. For the next attempt he planted his feet more firmly and made sure to keep them immobilized as he struck the weeds horizontally. His entire body redirected itself from right to left. Due to his feet remaining stuck, it was his core which felt the biggest strain. Looking at the cut growths, he could see the alignment still wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough for the moment. The action repeated grew more difficult. His arms felt firm. There was a sense of burden between his shoulder blades. The lower back felt like someone was squeezing on the spine. What at first seemed like a simple repetitive action grew more difficult with each coming swing. Luckily, the weeds gave out before his strength did.
With the weeds trimmed down, it was time to pick up a sickle and do finer work around the edges of the stones. Their unfortunate positioning meant a swinging of the scythe was highly unadvisable. He learned this on the first attempt. This portion of the work was a lot kinder on his muscles, and it needed but a firm hand and short chopping motions. As they fell apart, he felt the milky insides melt over his hand. The liquid stung and made his hands sticky. Perhaps he’d get some sort of gloves next time he needed to do this kind of work. The remainder of the stems fell down quickly and he decided to take a short break before he could get to raking everything into a pile to later bag. The repetitive motions and hunched over posture were anything but kind on his back. As he sought support from a stone behind him, he felt the air grow colder. He massaged his hands and got ready to receive another visitor.
He heard the vicious rumors again this morning. There was a Vantha among them. He did his best to shuffle out of that gathering without catching too much attention. They said the pest was hiding amongst the sailors, so it seemed wise to stay away from that portion of the city for the moment. Every winter someone would claim they saw a Vantha and he couldn’t recall one ever being caught during the winter. There were cases where some stragglers were located and disposed of, but strangely enough, none during the winter. Realizing the Cemetery was a long way from the focus of their search, he decided to devote himself fully to his work and perhaps try to find some semblance of peace in the action.
He collected the tools he needed from storage and laid them out in front of him. He would begin with the scythe. It was strange how landscaping still had to be kept up. Without winter, the tough weeds would spring from the open ground as well as the cracks between the stones. Left unchecked, they’d soon consume whatever land they could. It was a cruel joke to have so many weeds in a place where other things would seldom grow. He had seen people attempting the action before, but when he swung the scythe, he instinctively moved his leg to follow. This caused his swing to lose some of its power, which was lucky since the blade also lost its alignment. The end result was more stabbing than slashing as the shock shook back through the wooden handle and into his hands. For the next attempt he planted his feet more firmly and made sure to keep them immobilized as he struck the weeds horizontally. His entire body redirected itself from right to left. Due to his feet remaining stuck, it was his core which felt the biggest strain. Looking at the cut growths, he could see the alignment still wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough for the moment. The action repeated grew more difficult. His arms felt firm. There was a sense of burden between his shoulder blades. The lower back felt like someone was squeezing on the spine. What at first seemed like a simple repetitive action grew more difficult with each coming swing. Luckily, the weeds gave out before his strength did.
With the weeds trimmed down, it was time to pick up a sickle and do finer work around the edges of the stones. Their unfortunate positioning meant a swinging of the scythe was highly unadvisable. He learned this on the first attempt. This portion of the work was a lot kinder on his muscles, and it needed but a firm hand and short chopping motions. As they fell apart, he felt the milky insides melt over his hand. The liquid stung and made his hands sticky. Perhaps he’d get some sort of gloves next time he needed to do this kind of work. The remainder of the stems fell down quickly and he decided to take a short break before he could get to raking everything into a pile to later bag. The repetitive motions and hunched over posture were anything but kind on his back. As he sought support from a stone behind him, he felt the air grow colder. He massaged his hands and got ready to receive another visitor.