The sun still stood high as Luna, the old man and the two long-nosed hounds arrived at the supposed location. To her, it resembled any other patch of the swampy mire - wet, soggy and overgrown with moss and decay. Her boots had already begun to gnaw at her heels as the material wettened and felt disgustingly stuck to her skin.
“Right. So, this right here’s where you’re gonna put up some stakes. If the meat don’t skewer on ‘em, it’ll give the wildlife somewhere to run and hide.” Jorn’s confident smile of golden teeth felt uncomfortably bright to look at in the high sun.
“I’m all on board for helping out, Jorn, but please. I-”
“Oh, if the swamp don’t recover soon, I’mma have to start cullin’ the flock. That’d be a dang shame - these are good hounds. Right, Braille?” The hound looked to Jorn acknowledgingly. The choice of words made Luna’s stomach upset.
“Wait, what do you mean, cull?” She knew very well what that word meant. It’d been used to control the populace of the subwater stations in ancient times - a barbaric procedure that involved butchering people in the hundreds to save resources.
“Well, I mean killin’ em. But that ain’t gonna happen if we save the wildlife, so best get to it, lil’ girl.” There was a flicker of pain to his otherwise confident grin as he spoke of the horrific procedure with such ease.
She had no relationship with these beasts - in fact, so far, every hound she’d met had hated her guts, at least as far as she was concerned. But the fluffy coats, the big, wide eyes- the thought of them being butchered simply for the control of numbers made her nauseous and uneasy. During the Famine when she’d first met Guy, Mars and her father had talked about it in hushed conversations, but it had never gone further than a hypothetical suggestion. This… this was something far more advanced than hypotheticals. These were calculations - possibilities.
And so it was that she’d remained silent as Jorn had led her to one of the sparse, dying-or-dead trees around the mire, bringing with him nothing but a curious weapon - an aged, rusted thing of iron she’d never seen before.
A long shaft of wood led into a massive brick of iron. On one end of the brick, it resembled any big, flat warhammer - just like she’d seen during the defense of Anza.
But on the other, it reminded her more of a farming implement she’d seen in some of the books - a scythe. From the back of the brick of iron, a long, curved blade glistened threateningly in the sun.
What further puzzled her was how easily the man wielded the massive thing. He was not a big, muscled man, nor was he particularly tall. But the weapon glided through the air at his behest and with a single swing, he cut cleanly across the tree with the sharp edge - landing it next to her on the moss.
“You ain’t seen one o’ these before, have you?” He asked. Luna shook her head at the unwieldy thing.
“This here’s a weapon for killin’ big-meat. Toofy’s still usin’ ‘em swords. Always told ‘im, a real slayer uses the proper tools, but he keeps usin’ them flimsy things.” She stared at the tool with awe.
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“Give it a swing, lemme know what you think.” Without another word of warning, the massive thing soared through the air, striking her chest with the hilt before it fell into her hands. She’d have expected dislocated shoulders or at the very least falling as she gripped it, only to find that it was far from as heavy as she thought it’d be.
Make no mistake, it was still heavy… but she found that she could, in fact, swing it. Albeit with some difficulties.
“Close enough, kiddo. Let’s go - take that and the stick and come with me. Daylight’s burnin’ and we’re not gettin’ any younger.” She blinked with disbelief and voiced a protest: “Jorn, I’m not gonna be able to-”
“Oh, quit yer protestin’. And it’s ‘Pa’. As long as you fuckin’ my kin, I’m gonna be treated like kin, y’hear?” He hurriedly danced away over the mire, followed shortly by Braille. To her comfort, Pupper remained still, staring his empty gaze at her. She’d like to think he was cheering her on, but imagined that, more than likely, he just hadn’t picked up on the others leaving yet.
“I guess it’s me and you, Pupper.” She muttered and slung the weapon over her shoulder, still impressed with how manageable it was. This impression would soon drain away as she lugged the handfuls of stuff over the mire - suffering under the scorching sun frying her now-pink skin. The tree’s coarse bark was digging into her left hand and it felt like any grip only worsened the sensation of getting her hands impaled on small barbs of pine.
When she’d finally arrived to find Jorn sleeping, crouched down at an unnatural angle, she felt a moment’s fright that he’d died on the short journey. But no sooner had Pupper strode over to lick his hair, he awoke with a start and seemed impressed… or rather surprised to see that she’d made it back.
“Oh f- hey there. Yeah, you got good muscles. Meat’s binding nicely to yours. And you and that weapon are gonna get to know each other intimately over the next days - don’t worry ‘bout that. Now, c’mon. Cut them sticks off and jam that sucker into the moss.”
She couldn’t tell whether it was due to the dehydration, the confusion or her desperation, but he now spoke surprisingly understandably.
Finally, as she used the unwieldy implement to cut the branches of the trees, she saw her change to ask: “You said the meat’s been binding with mine. What does that mean?” She wiped her sweaty brow and got to work, standing atop the disheveled pine to swing the scythe-hammer down onto the moss- cutting off one branch at a time.
“Well, you ain’t just any ol’ girl. You think you’re alone liftin’ that? You got her helpin’ ya.”
She was surprised to hear it. She knew she was stronger than most the women in Sitabee - most of the men, even. But she hadn’t really thought about why outside of lineage and good eating. But she had begun to like the idea of it, though it had disgusted her at first. The brief conversation inside the metal coffin had allowed her to explore the thing wrapped around her brain and simply sensing the kindness - the good will towards her, had gone a long way in dispelling her disgust for it. At least until he continued: “Yeah, she got her meaty lil’ arms in your meat, too. Digging into them muscles…” That bothered her enough to shudder.
“Now, c’mon. Less talkin, more cuttin.” Had been his motto for the rest of the procedure. Under the sweltering heat, she’d cut away every branch and under his instructions, she’d blunted the tip of the tree.
Then, still under his guidance, she’d slammed the thing into the ground at an outwards-facing angle and embedded it deep within the moss. Next, he’d taken the implement and swung it four times - almost too quickly for her to see. But the result had been a lethally frightening spear stuck in the moss, ready to shield the wildlife from the Monstrum.
She looked to her product with pride, soon joined by the two hounds. “Aight, now… about a hundred more should do. I’m gonna do the same to the East. I ain’t sure where the Hive is, so we’re best covering all our bases.”
“A hundred!?” Pupper looked about as worried and upset with the news as Luna was, but a different mode of upset. Her eyes were wide, whereas Luna had narrowed eyes of seething fury.
“I’m almost dead after just the one, Jo-... Pa! At least get Abraham to come help me out - I. Please don’t go. Pa!” But he seemed determined not to listen as he danced over the mire, followed closely by the gracious Braille.
“I hate this family.”