To Work Leather (Sama'el)

[Cardinal]

“Hrmph,” she snorted a little at the mention of something he said, though it was hard to tell exactly what. She turned her head to look at him. “Colt, you can’t just rely on a wife. They die too easy.”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"But that's the lucky thing about being born a man on the prairie," he said with a wicked twinkle to his eyes, that of a small child letting an elder in on his misbehavior, "there are always more wives to be had." He grinned, though there was a slight hitch to his shoulders as if he was preparing to dodge a box of the ears. "But you are right, of course. And I should find some skill to which I can apply myself over the winter when everything is slower. "Perhaps leatherworking," he mused, half to himself. "You wouldn't... ah, want to teach me, would you? I'm not the most intelligent, but I work hard and I listen well."

[Cardinal]

She snorted again, leaving with a bit of difficulty to take up more embroidery floss. She started to unwind it, giving him a dubious glance before smirking. “Spoken like a young man… Best you hope your sweetheart takes the same outlook should you take her as a wife…” There was amusement there, though. He reminded her a bit of her eldest son at that age. For a long moment she simply worked, not answering his question. The old woman had her own schedule with which to do things. She stood up then without much ado and said to him, “It can’t be learned in just one day, but… I suppose I could teach you until you decide you’ve had enough time with it. I could always use another hand about here. Though watch the weaselings, and mind you, I’m much too old to make a good wife to you.” She smirked then. Not waiting for his response, she started to move then, fully expecting him to follow.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

He watched her practiced old hands working while he mulled that over in his head, marveling at how there was a strange sort of beauty to such serviceable, knowledgeable appendages, dancing over the leather. If Dymphna were to demand polyandry, could he live with that? He wondered if the thought had ever occurred to her. There was nothing to be said about it just then, however; he figured it were better to be silent and be thought a fool than to open his mouth and remove all doubt. But he did scrabble to his feet to follow her, eyes narrowing and glancing about to track the movements of her weaselings in case they were up to some mischief. In any case, he followed whither she would leave. "Thank you," he said, "and I will just nurse my broken heart back to my tent when you send me away."

[Cardinal]

“Aye, colt, I break many a hearts to this day,” she said with a chuckle. “Tomorrow when you return, you will bring me a deer to teach you with. Be it one you bought or hunted yourself, I don’t care. But the first thing you must have when working leather is leather with which to work.” She gave a little groan as she bent down to start picking through a basket of extra tools that they had. His first day wasn’t going to be illustrious, but he’d learn a thing or two. One-by-one she started to hand them to him. “This is what you will need in your kit… A blade, sharpened to the edge of a razor for a smooth cut. Two awls – The knife blade end and a round-pick. A punch and mallet. A ruler…” She stood up with another groan and moved down to another basket, expecting him to follow, and not caring much whether he had large enough hands to hold everything she was giving him. “A piece of wood… Not the hard trees of the Run, mind you, but the softer trees surrounding the plains. Where the bluemen live… Ah! Here. This little bag contains needles – Harness and glover’s – beeswax, glue, and glassbeak oil.”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

He ticked the items off in his mind, trying to estimate their value and how much he would have to spend for this new skill. But one had to spend money to make money, or so they said in Sunberth -- when they weren't merely stealing or embezzling money. And it would be an important skill, both to make money and to be able to repair things when far from the safety of Endrykas. Luckily his hands were big, as were his feet, and his -- well, they called them the horseclans for more reasons than one, at least where Sama'el was concerned. All the same, he slung as many tools in the crook of his arm like a baby as possible so he could continue to take them and maneuver them with a free hand. Mouthing the words to himself as a mnemonic trick, he finally asked, "Is there someone in particular who makes or sells good quality tools without fleecing customers?"

[Cardinal]

“My son takes care of purchasing new tools, so I would have to ask him. I’ll sell you a leatherworker’s kit for 70 gold if you care to buy one,” she answered after a moment’s thought. It took her a little while to raise up again, but she was clearly too proud to ask for help. Rubbing at the small of her back, she began to move then towards a table that was stacked with hides. “Now tell me, Colt…” Motioning to the pelts and hides, she splayed out her fingers. “I will start you on a simple project. Perhaps a bag. Can you guess which of these pieces would be best for using?”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Seventy?" he asked, trying not to let it sound like a squeak. He simply nodded, telling himself that it was more important first to develop the skills to support a pavilion before purchasing the actual, physical thing. Besides, what sort of Ankal would marry a perfectly good girl knowing he would have to struggle unduly to support her, at least that part of the relationship that was his to support. And Denen, the horses, and all future children and adoptees who would depend upon him... "Seventy it is," he agreed. Shuffling around everything she had given him to hold, he somehow managed to free up a hand to get a tactile sense for the hides and pelts available. "For a bag?" he asked, then picked up a thick, sturdy piece of hide. "Well, this looks durable. It might not be fancy, but it will hold things."

[Cardinal]

Utine glanced at him; the sound of his voice gave the woman a little pause. It was a fair enough price, but she was aware that for a young man with no trade it would be steep. She felt for him, though, because she’d seen more than one young man struggle with their goals… And this one obviously had more than a few. Decidedly, she announced, “You’ll keep what you make with me. And if you have anything to barter, I’ll let you haggle with me – Another skill you clearly need to work on.” She looked over what he had, a hand reaching out to pinch the leather between her finger and thumb as she considered his choice. “Close, very close… A little too thick, perhaps, unless you’re using it for bags on a horse or cart. This is for utility. My fault. I should have been more specific. Here, let me show you a full buckskin hide… That is where we start, because it is most common in hunting.” Fingers danced down the pieces of leather until she could pull out a full hide. Beautifully tanned, the piece was a warm brown color that seemed flawless. She smoothed it down on the top of the table. “Deer leather has good stretch to it. It isn’t as durable as other animals, but it has many uses for us. This is the back of the hide. It’s the strongest piece of leather in the skin and has the least stretch, making it good for handling stress. I like making belts out of it, but in a pinch yvas can be made from it. Many use it for such. I simply prefer the stronger held of other larger creatures with thicker skins.” As she began to talk, she moved to point out the areas she was speaking on. “The bellies – Not good for weight-bearing. It is not so bad for facings as long as you don’t put too much stress upon it. It is the piece of a hide with the most stretch and greatest weakness. This is one of the many reasons you slit the stomach when skinning. You preserve the better pieces that way. If you’re buying leather, this will be the cheapest part, and you can practice for many seasons on very little money.” She glanced at him, making sure the look on his face said he understood what she was telling him – Measuring him to see if the young man was daft or perhaps a little slow, though if questioned she’d say it was a glance to see to his listening. When she found the answer she searching for, she went back to the hide at hand. “Once you remove the bellies and shoulders, you have the butt. That is your prize piece. Now the shoulders… Feel them. You’ll feel the unevenness in the grain that is about them. This is what I would use for a bag. “Then the sides… We cut the hide in half for this. Since it includes so much variety in texture and quality, it can be used for nearly whatever you want. You see?”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Thank you," he said with a slight flush, acknowledging what was said and what was left mercifully unsaid. He had learned to bargain for a thing, but had a hard time driving a hard bargain with his own people, so happy was he to have returned to them. He would have to grow out of that and act as his own father, his own Ankal, because nobody was going to look out for him all the time, except perhaps Dymphna, but she could only do that all the time when they were married. "It... seemed like a fair price, and... if not, well, extra thanks for showing me what you know, Grandmother." His eyes, always vaguely almond shaped, were wide as he watched, nodding as he absorbed everything she said. The old joke was that he could run down his prey on horseback with much greater ease than hitting them with an arrow, and his skinning left something to be desired. Perhaps this was the answer to the desire. "The facings," he said, when she gave him a moment, "those are... decorative?" It seemed to follow logically, the more supple but less sturdy belly skin would feel nicer to touch if treated properly. His hands ran over the buckskin pelt as she taught him about each part, learning tactilely as well as visually and aurally. Nodding to her question, he said. "I do see, thank you. But... why is the butt the prize piece?" He stifled laughter, though there was probably an off-color joke or two rattling around in his head. She had probably heard much worse.