Post by princesal on Sept 12, 2013 10:01:50 GMT -5
"Do -UNF!- think -Grrr- they've -sharding weed!- Impressed ye-ack!" With a yelp, the weed that Harri was tugging on finally loosed it's clasp on the Earth, and he went flying backwards, and landing flat on his back. Looking up at the summer sky, he winced a bit before sitting up, rubbing his shoulder, and looking at what he had just pulled up. Okay... so it looked more like dead root than a weed... but it still had needed to be pulled. Brushing the dirt from his hair, and shoulders, he threw the root into the pile and started working on the next section. It was a process, but at least the effort made to it showed. Summer always seemed like the easiest time for the Holdless, as long as they protected themselves, and the thread didn't cause too much havoc, but the harvests were usually plentiful in comparison to what they had been.
It seemed a wonder that nearly a turn had passed since the dragon riders had appeared and had Searched. Things hadn't gotten any easier, and actually had somewhat suffered because of the sudden lack of hands. Sometimes he found his eyes drawn to the sky, wondering if Dalibor Riders would return. It wasn't as if friends had really been truly made. Harri often thought of Sol and Eccolath, wondering how they were faring, hoping that they were in good spirits, and that things were settling down at the weyr. He hoped the children were enjoying their time, and that they were learning a lot of things.
Harri was, well, after that night (one that he didn't really remember that well), and after waking up like he had let his body be scoured all over by wher claws, and let his tongue be replaced by a cracked piece of leather, he hadn't gotten to that point since. By no means had he given up wine, not having any good reason he could think of to stop, but he had lessened his consumption. That was pretty evident by the fact that he was back to working on the land. "[They might have. Feeling sentimental you wherry brain?] That's rude. [You filled my mouth with dirt!] You don't have a mouth! [What do you call what I'm talking with right now?] My hand! [Well, one man's hand is another man's mouth!] Shhhh! [What, embarrassed? Hey everyone gue-]"
Feeling frustrated, and antsy, he clenched his fists and then stood up, only bending over a moment later to retrieve the pile he had been working on. Grabbing the corners of the canvas he had laid out, he bunched it into a bag he carried over his shoulders, and made his way to a general area where kindling would be kept, and gotten if needed. He always made sure to give to the community first, before taking for himself. He didn't care if others thought of him as weak for it, he was weak, and soft, hardened only by circumstances enough to survive. Dumping the kindling, he shook out the canvas and folded it back up.
"Why do you always have to be so rude. [Because you're a push-over] Thanks for that, Hand. [Everyone can see it.] I'm considerate. [Yeah, and when has anyone that's been shunned every gotten anywhere with be considerate and thinking of others first? They all probably think your a murderer or something.] I'm not a murderer! [Crazy then.] I'm not crazy either! [Says the man talking to me.] Well if you could keep quiet then I wouldn't have to. [You'd get lonely.]" Harri didn't answer, mostly because he was walking past people, hand swiveled upon his raised arm to watch the people go by, and would have had choice words for them, if Harri hadn't opened the door to his home and stepped inside.
It wasn't cleaner, not by a long shot. If anything it looked more or a mess, and had a collection of containers that he had dried out by swallowing whatever was inside. He was hoping that he'd be able to get a good ball of wax, so that he'd be able to bottle produce and keep it sealed for later. For some reason, he felt like the approaching Winter was going to be harsher. Even if it wasn't, being prepared for it wasn't going to hurt.
Making his way to his bedroom, trying his best to shift from the balls of his feet to the heal to avoid stepping on anything, once he was there, he gave his hands a quick rub with a cloth he wet in a wide mouthed stone pitcher that had a hairline crack running down the side. Every now and then a bead of water would form and drip down, but it was still pretty good, and there was no reason to get rid of something just because it had a crack in it. Giving a tentative sniff to his shirt, it smelled of dirt and grass. It would be fine for hunting, and any fear he had that his own scent would be caught, he'd take care of by staying downwind.
Changing his soft shoes for something thicker, he also retrieved gloves that helped him with his bow, and made it so that he could stay out hunting longer without his hands getting immediately overworked. Slipping those on, and unrolling his brown tunic sleeves to hide the purple cloth around his wrist, he headed back to the door. "How much do you think we should try for? [Well, we've been seeing a lot of wild fowl around. I think if we head into the woods we should make for the swamp.] It did just rain. [Which means it's going to be a hub of activity. Should we bring a net?] Won't bother, whatever we could catch would be put to better use feeding the birds." His hunting supplies were actually hanging on the wall, surprisingly, and the bow went over his chest, crisscrossing with the pack of quivers. Wrapping a belt around his middle, he fitted it with a knife, and a sack full of protein rich, yet incredibly hard beans. He'd eat bits of vegetation he knew of, and could gather as he went, but the beans were a safety net, in case the pickings were slim. He didn't want to think of how many people forgot something so simple, and then found themselves confused by hunger, frustrated, and then lost.
A length of rope went around his shoulder. If he took down birds, he'd be able to tie them up and sling them over a shoulder to bring home, and if he was able to get something bigger, he'd be able to pull it up into a tree before draining it. If he was on the search for bigger game, he'd also bring one of the containers he had drunk wine out of. When you used all of what you could, needing it to survive, a container of blood could make a good soup. Finishing getting ready, he was out the door before Hand had anything else to say. Making sure that someone saw him, he headed out towards the woods.
By the time he was engulfed by the foliage, his bow was strung, and an arrow was resting in the notch, ready to be pulled back and fired. Creeping along, he breathed softly out through his nose, and kept his ears listening for any crackle of noise that could reveal an animal scurrying about. A shift of summer wind, cooled by the shadows of the woods, had him retracing his steps, and taking a longer path around.
Hearing a rustling noise, and the sound of broken twigs under foot. Harris pulled back the arrow, holding it by his cheek, and preparing himself to grab another one. He wasn't the fastest shot, but if he startled some creatures, they'd come into clearing, and he'd hopefully have time to let loose a second arrow to take one. Taking a deep breath, making sure he definitely heard rustling, he let the arrow fly.
It seemed a wonder that nearly a turn had passed since the dragon riders had appeared and had Searched. Things hadn't gotten any easier, and actually had somewhat suffered because of the sudden lack of hands. Sometimes he found his eyes drawn to the sky, wondering if Dalibor Riders would return. It wasn't as if friends had really been truly made. Harri often thought of Sol and Eccolath, wondering how they were faring, hoping that they were in good spirits, and that things were settling down at the weyr. He hoped the children were enjoying their time, and that they were learning a lot of things.
Harri was, well, after that night (one that he didn't really remember that well), and after waking up like he had let his body be scoured all over by wher claws, and let his tongue be replaced by a cracked piece of leather, he hadn't gotten to that point since. By no means had he given up wine, not having any good reason he could think of to stop, but he had lessened his consumption. That was pretty evident by the fact that he was back to working on the land. "[They might have. Feeling sentimental you wherry brain?] That's rude. [You filled my mouth with dirt!] You don't have a mouth! [What do you call what I'm talking with right now?] My hand! [Well, one man's hand is another man's mouth!] Shhhh! [What, embarrassed? Hey everyone gue-]"
Feeling frustrated, and antsy, he clenched his fists and then stood up, only bending over a moment later to retrieve the pile he had been working on. Grabbing the corners of the canvas he had laid out, he bunched it into a bag he carried over his shoulders, and made his way to a general area where kindling would be kept, and gotten if needed. He always made sure to give to the community first, before taking for himself. He didn't care if others thought of him as weak for it, he was weak, and soft, hardened only by circumstances enough to survive. Dumping the kindling, he shook out the canvas and folded it back up.
"Why do you always have to be so rude. [Because you're a push-over] Thanks for that, Hand. [Everyone can see it.] I'm considerate. [Yeah, and when has anyone that's been shunned every gotten anywhere with be considerate and thinking of others first? They all probably think your a murderer or something.] I'm not a murderer! [Crazy then.] I'm not crazy either! [Says the man talking to me.] Well if you could keep quiet then I wouldn't have to. [You'd get lonely.]" Harri didn't answer, mostly because he was walking past people, hand swiveled upon his raised arm to watch the people go by, and would have had choice words for them, if Harri hadn't opened the door to his home and stepped inside.
It wasn't cleaner, not by a long shot. If anything it looked more or a mess, and had a collection of containers that he had dried out by swallowing whatever was inside. He was hoping that he'd be able to get a good ball of wax, so that he'd be able to bottle produce and keep it sealed for later. For some reason, he felt like the approaching Winter was going to be harsher. Even if it wasn't, being prepared for it wasn't going to hurt.
Making his way to his bedroom, trying his best to shift from the balls of his feet to the heal to avoid stepping on anything, once he was there, he gave his hands a quick rub with a cloth he wet in a wide mouthed stone pitcher that had a hairline crack running down the side. Every now and then a bead of water would form and drip down, but it was still pretty good, and there was no reason to get rid of something just because it had a crack in it. Giving a tentative sniff to his shirt, it smelled of dirt and grass. It would be fine for hunting, and any fear he had that his own scent would be caught, he'd take care of by staying downwind.
Changing his soft shoes for something thicker, he also retrieved gloves that helped him with his bow, and made it so that he could stay out hunting longer without his hands getting immediately overworked. Slipping those on, and unrolling his brown tunic sleeves to hide the purple cloth around his wrist, he headed back to the door. "How much do you think we should try for? [Well, we've been seeing a lot of wild fowl around. I think if we head into the woods we should make for the swamp.] It did just rain. [Which means it's going to be a hub of activity. Should we bring a net?] Won't bother, whatever we could catch would be put to better use feeding the birds." His hunting supplies were actually hanging on the wall, surprisingly, and the bow went over his chest, crisscrossing with the pack of quivers. Wrapping a belt around his middle, he fitted it with a knife, and a sack full of protein rich, yet incredibly hard beans. He'd eat bits of vegetation he knew of, and could gather as he went, but the beans were a safety net, in case the pickings were slim. He didn't want to think of how many people forgot something so simple, and then found themselves confused by hunger, frustrated, and then lost.
A length of rope went around his shoulder. If he took down birds, he'd be able to tie them up and sling them over a shoulder to bring home, and if he was able to get something bigger, he'd be able to pull it up into a tree before draining it. If he was on the search for bigger game, he'd also bring one of the containers he had drunk wine out of. When you used all of what you could, needing it to survive, a container of blood could make a good soup. Finishing getting ready, he was out the door before Hand had anything else to say. Making sure that someone saw him, he headed out towards the woods.
By the time he was engulfed by the foliage, his bow was strung, and an arrow was resting in the notch, ready to be pulled back and fired. Creeping along, he breathed softly out through his nose, and kept his ears listening for any crackle of noise that could reveal an animal scurrying about. A shift of summer wind, cooled by the shadows of the woods, had him retracing his steps, and taking a longer path around.
Hearing a rustling noise, and the sound of broken twigs under foot. Harris pulled back the arrow, holding it by his cheek, and preparing himself to grab another one. He wasn't the fastest shot, but if he startled some creatures, they'd come into clearing, and he'd hopefully have time to let loose a second arrow to take one. Taking a deep breath, making sure he definitely heard rustling, he let the arrow fly.
