My arms feel as if they're going to be pulled out of their sockets any second now as I drag myself along the road leading back home. The reason why it's so hard is because I'm carrying two buckets full to the rim with water. The situation isn't made any better by the fact that the heat is suffocating if you have to wear skirts. I'm just outside the village, I have about a quarter of a mile to go until I'm home, but it seems like a thousand miles to go right now.
The forest doesn't give off any cooler air, it's completely wind- still. I'm just walking past the courtyard belonging to the stables and house of the village's carters. Why they built their home outside the village, I don't know. Maybe for the sake of privacy.
A curse escapes me as I stumble over a chicken that darts out from the courtyard, almost dropping the two buckets. Damn the carters, they always have their animals running all over the place, with no control over them whatsoever. Blast the idiots who built this village and my ancestors - they were rich enough, why couldn't they just have built an own well in our courtyard? They probably never even thought of those who came after them. It would have made my life a whole lot easier, though.
I stand there, in the middle of the road, fuming. I have spilt water all over myself, thanks to those idiot birds. Now I remember why I prefer wearing men's breaches and boots; I probably would have avoided my little accident here had I the possibility to step over the chicken that ran into my path. I can't do that with the full skirts, the bird would get caught.
Setting the two now-half full buckets down, I kick at the hen. She makes an odd squawking noise, beating her short wings and raising a lot of dust by doing that. She hisses - a cat-like sound, and very vicious - and obviously wants to attack me. I smirk. "Come on, do it," I tell the bird.
She is just about to run at me when a thin rod hits her across the back, giving off a sickening smack!, and one of the carter's sons appears. He is the youngest, I believe; can't be much older than seven winters.
He stoops down and picks up the struggling hen, then gives me a sheepish grin. He's a sweet boy, fair-skinned like his father, with freckles dusted over his tip-turned nose and his blue eyes sparkling out from under long bangs of curly copper hair. "I'm sorry, she got away from me." His cerulean gaze wanders and he notices the large dark spots on my skirt where the water splashed me. "Oh!" he says. "Was that my fault?"
I shrug, but have to avoid calling him by his name because I forgot. I don't know the carter family well; the only names I remember are the ones of the twins. "Sort of. The hen crossed my path while I was carrying those buckets -" I break of when I see that the water in the buckets has turned a murky brown, with dust floating in it. 'Damn!" The stupid hen stirred up too much dirt. Now I'll have to do the trip all over again. Why does this have to happen to me, of all people?
The boy looks very guilty now, as if he'd committed a real crime. I feel instantly sorry for giving him the fault, but it is true. If he'd watched the chickens more closely, this wouldn't have happened. But I can't really blame him, the carters have at least ten chickens I know of, and chickens are horrible to take care of. I should know, there was a time I was stuck doing that at home.
"Look, it's just fine. Walking never does any harm, and I -" I start.
"Jonse? Where are you?" someone calls, interrupting me. It's an older- sounding voice, older as in a bit older than I. It belongs to a man; I hear footsteps and prepare to be ready to defend myself against jokes at my expense.
I nearly jump, startled, when a tall man simply seems to appear on the road like a spirit. Then I realize how stupid I am; I heard him approach, didn't I? And yet I am startled by it? Somewhat skeptically, I observe him.
Tall and slim - almost lithe -, with some resemblance to Jonse, though not too much. His hair is a coppery blond, more on the reddish side, and straight, his eyes a brilliant green flecked with gold instead of sapphire blue. The way they glitter with mischief and the confident smirk on his lips irk me, to a certain extent. But that's probably because I look rather unfit to meet someone right now.
Jonse lets out a little squeal and flings himself at the man. "Daaney! You were gone all day! Where were you? And Mum's been looking for you!"
"Has she now? Aw, come on, she should know her nephew doesn't get into trouble at all." Daaney, which apparently is this man's name, ruffles Jonse's hair, but his gaze rests on me. I glare back, lifting my chin a bit in defiance. Daaney bends down to meet Jonse's eyes. "Well," he says, "won't you introduce me to the lovely young lady here?"
The compliment leaves me cold. I don't really consider myself lovely. I have sun-bleached blonde hair that goes just below my shoulders so I can tie it up, the color often glorified to "gold" by suitors, my eyes are a steely-gray and flash nastily when my temper's up. I can pack a punch that equals with that of a blacksmith, my body is sleek, and I am too tall to meet the expectations of a really pretty woman. Yet I have suitors at our door quite often. I don't really understand it.
Before I know what has happened, the young boy has grabbed my hand. "Her name's Aerlene and -"
"And I would rather be called Lene, thank you very much," I calmly cut in, holding out my hand to Daaney. I am quite surprised to see the carters' son even knows me, but then I don't know what interesting rumors have been spread. "My father's the ranger here, takes care of sick animals and everything."
He looks fairly amused, this stranger, as he sweeps a gallant bow. I don't fail to miss the merry twinkle in his eyes, though. "I can see what your parents were aiming at when they named you," he tells me. That one does take me aback. Not that fact that he gave me yet another compliment, because it means "elfin", but because he knew the meaning in itself.
"Maybe," I reply, ignoring the new praise and picking up the buckets of murky water again. I'll have to dump it out, somewhere, and then fetch it anew. But I won't go back to the village to do that, though, otherwise I will end up running into some of the carters again. I have to go home, I can't go waste more time than I already have. "I have to leave now. My parents will be waiting for me," I explain more to Jonse than the man. "It was nice meeting you, sir, and nice to see you again, Jonse."
"Here, let me help you." Daaney reaches for one of the buckets, but I pull back in a rapid motion. I'm not weak. I can do this myself.
"No, but thank you." I take a step backwards like one of those hurt and frightened does that my father brings home once in a while. "Good-bye."
At first Daaney looks skeptic, but then his expression turns to amusement. "Lunaris," he says and winks at me. I shake my head and turn to leave. Lunaris indeed, whatever that is.