14 Vhalar 722
Dan considered the pouch of seed he'd been supplied with. It was flax, this time. (A few trials earlier it had been buckwheat) Flax was an all round useful plant that you could use for multiple different things. The stems could be processed into thread and cloth, the seeds could be pressed for oil (which could then be used, apparently, for painting and woodwork as well as cooking. What was left of the seeds after the oil had been pressed out of them could also be used as a feed supplement for oxen and other cud-chewing animals. It was a bit too rich for other animals, including ponies, so if their feed was to be supplemented, it would have to be something like turnips or carrots.
Normally, a farmer held the seed with one hand and broad cast it with the other, but he was going to have to come up with an adaptation to that if he wanted to be able to carry his spear in the other hand. Somehow. He did prefer to carry his spear whenever he could. It was an ingrained habit that ensured that he was never unarmed in the wild. Even in camp, it had usually been close to hand, and although Rosebay was a little larger than a one man camp, he thought of it in much the same way. Besides, there were bandits out in the Stormwastes. They hadn't seen much of them yet, but they were definitely out there, and the knights had a lot of area to cover in their patrols. Rosebay couldn't rely on a patrol happening to be there at the right time to protect them, they had to be able to defend themselves at least long enough to get a message down to Storm's Edge. And for that, they could really use someone who knew how to run an actual fight. He himself wouldn't do, he knew weapons work, but he was a hunter of food, not a fighter of people.
He turned the pouch around on the table, examining it from all sides. There was a pull-cord that kept it shut, which meant that hanging it off his belt was just going to pull it tighter shut, and he really didn't want to have to stop and open it at every step. There was his other pouch though, the one that hooked to a belt. That one had a flap, not a drawstring. He dug it out of his bags and buckled it on, along with the belt. Yes, he decided, as a slow smile climbed from his mouth to his eyes, that one was big enough to hold the other, and he could reach it easily enough to broad cast from. He folded the flap back and tucked it down between his belt and his body to keep it out of his way, then loosened the string on the seed pouch and set that pouch inside his belt pouch. He checked the motion one more time, and then clapped on his hat, scooped up his spear, went out of the Hall, past the team working on the wall, and over to the bare field. The single sun still beat down on his shoulders, but it wasn't quite as bad as the double suns of Saun usually were. This arc, of course, the suns had mostly hidden behind rain clouds.
He made his way to the edge of the already ploughed land, then turned right and walked along beside the headland, past the turnip field, until he came to the first corner-marker that marked the boundary of the field he was working in today. Then he turned to face down the length of the field. He had to sow the whole thing, so he might as well do it in a practical, logical manner, from one edge of the field to the other. Since he was using his left hand, and carrying his spear in his right, starting on the right would mean that badly thrown seed would land further inside the field rather than outside it. He took a deep breath, let it out, and dipped his hand into the seed. He drew out a scant handful and swung his arm out and away from his body in an arc, letting the seeds fly through his fingers as he did so. The seeds landed on the turned soil in a wide semi-circle, not quite even, but that, he thought, would improve with practice.
He nodded to himself, stepped over the sown seed and reached for another handful. He tossed that in another arc, but he rushed the arm sweep and the seed landed in a clump rather than in an even spread. He grimaced, but it wasn't as if it was an irretrievable mistake. He had to come back over the field anyway to cover the seeds with soil so that the wild birds didn't eat it all before it sprouted. They had a harrow somewhere - a big ox-drawn rake to pull soil down over the seeds - but the draft animals couldn't be everywhere at once and it only made sense to take basic precautions. He could spread the clumps out then. He took another pace and another handful, tossing this one with more care, so as not to make more work for himself than he had to.
The arc of the seed was like the seasons of the arc, he mused, as he worked his way pace by pace and handful by handful across the field. It was supposed to run smoothly, but the trials clumped and clustered, a small knot here for Cylus, a long spread for Ashan - or Vhalar - a shorter, more balanced section there for Zi'da... And you buried them all just the same in the soil and moved on. Memories did the same, forming long stretches of sameness that blurred together, and then clumping bursts of many things at once into a few trials. But if trials were seed, who was the sower? He shook his head. Concentrate on the task in hand, he told himself as he reached the end of the field and turned to come back. Literally, the task, the seed, in your hand. He glanced ahead of him as he cast, and saw a settler hauling water up the path to the two rows of red cabbage in the vegetable field. Irrigation ditches were another task on the ever lengthening building list, but until the ditches were done, water would have to be hauled by hand or by cart. Those jutting sprouts next to the cabbages, he realised, would be the onions, growing more below ground than above. They'd be planting rows of beetroot and carrots in the next few trials, but those didn't take quite so long to grow.
Talking of planting... He chuckled, and went back to his steady working pace. As long as he concentrated, he was getting a nice even coverage of seed on the ground, and that woke a quiet satisfaction in him.
He finished in time to spread the clumped seeds out more evenly, rake the soil over them, and then hurry back up to the Hall to help prepare the evening meal. Agnes already had a pot of soup simmering on the stove.
"I don't suppose," he said, as he headed for the washbasin to clean up, "that you know anyone who's good at guard work? Who'd be willing to come out here?"
Agnes thought for a moment. "I might. I'll ask around." She pointed him over to where the makings for vegetable dumplings were laid out on a kitchen table.
Dan rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands, and got to work. There was dough, there was a cup of water, there was a filling made of turnip and carrot and onion. Everything he needed.
He sliced off a bit of dough and rolled it out into a rough circle, and spooned some of the filling onto one side of the circle of dough. Then he put the spoon down, reached for the other half of the circle of dough and brought it over the top so that the filling was covered. He smeared a little plain water along the edges of the circle of dough to make them stick together, pressed the edges of the two layers together, then bent to making the seal more permanent.
He folded the edges over on themselves at the corner and pressed down to make it stick. Then he folded the next bit of edge over on top of itself, and the next, and the next, until the whole edge was crimped down in a pressure sealed fold. With the seal complete, he set that dumpling aside and took another bit of dough to roll out into another disk for the next one. Once they were done, they would cook in the soup pot.
Filler Text, Filler Text
"Signed words" Spoken words
Dan considered the pouch of seed he'd been supplied with. It was flax, this time. (A few trials earlier it had been buckwheat) Flax was an all round useful plant that you could use for multiple different things. The stems could be processed into thread and cloth, the seeds could be pressed for oil (which could then be used, apparently, for painting and woodwork as well as cooking. What was left of the seeds after the oil had been pressed out of them could also be used as a feed supplement for oxen and other cud-chewing animals. It was a bit too rich for other animals, including ponies, so if their feed was to be supplemented, it would have to be something like turnips or carrots.
Normally, a farmer held the seed with one hand and broad cast it with the other, but he was going to have to come up with an adaptation to that if he wanted to be able to carry his spear in the other hand. Somehow. He did prefer to carry his spear whenever he could. It was an ingrained habit that ensured that he was never unarmed in the wild. Even in camp, it had usually been close to hand, and although Rosebay was a little larger than a one man camp, he thought of it in much the same way. Besides, there were bandits out in the Stormwastes. They hadn't seen much of them yet, but they were definitely out there, and the knights had a lot of area to cover in their patrols. Rosebay couldn't rely on a patrol happening to be there at the right time to protect them, they had to be able to defend themselves at least long enough to get a message down to Storm's Edge. And for that, they could really use someone who knew how to run an actual fight. He himself wouldn't do, he knew weapons work, but he was a hunter of food, not a fighter of people.
He turned the pouch around on the table, examining it from all sides. There was a pull-cord that kept it shut, which meant that hanging it off his belt was just going to pull it tighter shut, and he really didn't want to have to stop and open it at every step. There was his other pouch though, the one that hooked to a belt. That one had a flap, not a drawstring. He dug it out of his bags and buckled it on, along with the belt. Yes, he decided, as a slow smile climbed from his mouth to his eyes, that one was big enough to hold the other, and he could reach it easily enough to broad cast from. He folded the flap back and tucked it down between his belt and his body to keep it out of his way, then loosened the string on the seed pouch and set that pouch inside his belt pouch. He checked the motion one more time, and then clapped on his hat, scooped up his spear, went out of the Hall, past the team working on the wall, and over to the bare field. The single sun still beat down on his shoulders, but it wasn't quite as bad as the double suns of Saun usually were. This arc, of course, the suns had mostly hidden behind rain clouds.
He made his way to the edge of the already ploughed land, then turned right and walked along beside the headland, past the turnip field, until he came to the first corner-marker that marked the boundary of the field he was working in today. Then he turned to face down the length of the field. He had to sow the whole thing, so he might as well do it in a practical, logical manner, from one edge of the field to the other. Since he was using his left hand, and carrying his spear in his right, starting on the right would mean that badly thrown seed would land further inside the field rather than outside it. He took a deep breath, let it out, and dipped his hand into the seed. He drew out a scant handful and swung his arm out and away from his body in an arc, letting the seeds fly through his fingers as he did so. The seeds landed on the turned soil in a wide semi-circle, not quite even, but that, he thought, would improve with practice.
He nodded to himself, stepped over the sown seed and reached for another handful. He tossed that in another arc, but he rushed the arm sweep and the seed landed in a clump rather than in an even spread. He grimaced, but it wasn't as if it was an irretrievable mistake. He had to come back over the field anyway to cover the seeds with soil so that the wild birds didn't eat it all before it sprouted. They had a harrow somewhere - a big ox-drawn rake to pull soil down over the seeds - but the draft animals couldn't be everywhere at once and it only made sense to take basic precautions. He could spread the clumps out then. He took another pace and another handful, tossing this one with more care, so as not to make more work for himself than he had to.
The arc of the seed was like the seasons of the arc, he mused, as he worked his way pace by pace and handful by handful across the field. It was supposed to run smoothly, but the trials clumped and clustered, a small knot here for Cylus, a long spread for Ashan - or Vhalar - a shorter, more balanced section there for Zi'da... And you buried them all just the same in the soil and moved on. Memories did the same, forming long stretches of sameness that blurred together, and then clumping bursts of many things at once into a few trials. But if trials were seed, who was the sower? He shook his head. Concentrate on the task in hand, he told himself as he reached the end of the field and turned to come back. Literally, the task, the seed, in your hand. He glanced ahead of him as he cast, and saw a settler hauling water up the path to the two rows of red cabbage in the vegetable field. Irrigation ditches were another task on the ever lengthening building list, but until the ditches were done, water would have to be hauled by hand or by cart. Those jutting sprouts next to the cabbages, he realised, would be the onions, growing more below ground than above. They'd be planting rows of beetroot and carrots in the next few trials, but those didn't take quite so long to grow.
Talking of planting... He chuckled, and went back to his steady working pace. As long as he concentrated, he was getting a nice even coverage of seed on the ground, and that woke a quiet satisfaction in him.
He finished in time to spread the clumped seeds out more evenly, rake the soil over them, and then hurry back up to the Hall to help prepare the evening meal. Agnes already had a pot of soup simmering on the stove.
"I don't suppose," he said, as he headed for the washbasin to clean up, "that you know anyone who's good at guard work? Who'd be willing to come out here?"
Agnes thought for a moment. "I might. I'll ask around." She pointed him over to where the makings for vegetable dumplings were laid out on a kitchen table.
Dan rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands, and got to work. There was dough, there was a cup of water, there was a filling made of turnip and carrot and onion. Everything he needed.
He sliced off a bit of dough and rolled it out into a rough circle, and spooned some of the filling onto one side of the circle of dough. Then he put the spoon down, reached for the other half of the circle of dough and brought it over the top so that the filling was covered. He smeared a little plain water along the edges of the circle of dough to make them stick together, pressed the edges of the two layers together, then bent to making the seal more permanent.
He folded the edges over on themselves at the corner and pressed down to make it stick. Then he folded the next bit of edge over on top of itself, and the next, and the next, until the whole edge was crimped down in a pressure sealed fold. With the seal complete, he set that dumpling aside and took another bit of dough to roll out into another disk for the next one. Once they were done, they would cook in the soup pot.
Filler Text, Filler Text
"Signed words" Spoken words
