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Dystopia
Dystopia Pt 3

Dystopia Pt 3

Chapter 12

Markem sat, cramped and nauseous, in the rickety carriage as it lumbered its way through the city walls of Dallas. He couldn’t wait for this abominable ride to end. The stench of unwashed bodies were bad enough by themselves, but he doubted the torn and stained fabric covering the three person bench that now supported five sets of ass had ever been cleaned. Markem grit his teeth as he was sure that never in the history of gouging, had anyone ever been charged twenty silver pieces for such meager accommodations.

Trying hard not to lose his temper and kill the man sitting next to him for his insanely loud breathing, Markem instead focused his gaze out through the windows, taking in the sights of Dallas. There were your typical shops in various stages of disrepair, and a variety of wares being hawked by stubborn, ill fed shopkeepers. Ladies huddled near a three story building that had obviously been built by the ancients, displaying as much skin as they dared in attempt to lure in a paying customer with promises of warmth...in more ways than one.

A new and unique odor entered the coach as it rumbled by a tannery a few blocks later, with many animal skulls festooning the walls and a single stretched hide as a sign indicating the shop specialty. In a place like this they were probably the only ones who weren’t starving. Markem wondered what could drive so many people this far north, and then realized that most were probably like him, outcasts on their last hope. A wretched hive of scum and villany. He would have to be cautious.

Just as he was beginning to wonder what his last silver and two coppers would buy him, since he hadn’t eaten for two days, when the miserable thief of a driver pulled off the main road and into a post station. The mules pulling the cart came to an abrupt halt, throwing the already overcrowded passengers against each other. Having had enough of this misery Merkem kicked the carriage door open, snapping the lock frame, and tumbled out into the slushy street. The driver must not have heard the door slam open, but Markem didn’t wait around. Turning he stormed off towards the brothel they passed a few streets ago. Even if he didn’t have enough coin to rent a girl for the evening, he would still enjoy looking at them as he came up with what to do next.

Markem trudged his way down the street keeping an eye on the alleyways that he was sure sheltered many a waif, and looked for an area that wasn’t occupied and relatively warm. Just in case.

He stopped briefly in an inn, and asked the grimly looking lady behind an equally grimy counter if she knew where he could find work. The barkeep ran her fingers through her tangled and matted hair, tucking the errant strands back into the grease that seemed more a part of her scalp than her hair did, and eyed him up and down.

Subconsciously Markem straightened and adjusted his once pristine coat that was now more rag patches than blue military dress.

“That’s a cute coat you got there pretty boy. Matches your nose real nice like” the bartender said with a sneer. Markem touched his crooked nose self consciously, ‘heh, could have been the other guy’.

“The tanners always need a hand cleaning out the barrels of piss, though I’d hate for you to get your pretty boots dirty. If you’re looking for soldier type work check with the sheriff on the north side of town. There might be work guarding caravan.”

After a quick set of directions Markem set off to find the sheriff. ‘Fuck you if you think I’m going to clean up piss and entrails. I was a captain in Lord Aldridge’s personal guard. I could kill everyone in this god forsaken backwards town without even breaking a sweat.’

It took him nearly a hour of walking to get to the north side of town where rickety wooden facade on a leaning stone building was labeled as “Sherrif”. A faded and poorly depicted badge was painted on the roof, completing the pathetic ensemble.

‘Wow. The fucking people are so stupid, I’m surprised that they don’t forget how to breathe. Wouldn’t surprise me if they beg me to be sheriff after I show them what I can do. I’ll be running this damn town in a week.’

Markem swaggered over to the front door and threw it open with a bit more force than he intended, slamming the handle into the wood paneling that constituted the inside walls of the rather unimpressive and dingy office. A series of small desks lined the walls, and a typical iron bar cage sat at the back, empty of any guests.

The only desk that was currently occupied had a small female hunched over several sheets of paper rubbing her temples as if to stave off a migraine.

Marching over to her desk, he looked down and saw the sheets were filled with numbers separated into columns with small neat notations having been added in the margins. ‘Must be a secretary’ Clearing his throat, in case she missed the door slamming open, he said “I need to speak with - “

Without ever looking up from her papers, the lady extended a single finger telling him to wait. Markem glared daggers at the top of her brown hair, and considered briefly grabbing her by her ponytail and forcing her to look at him. She continued making small corrections and notes on the sheets before her, occasionally referencing a ledger book.

After nearly five minutes Markem was incensed. Slamming his hands down on the desk to get her attention he shouted, “Look, bitch…” but he didn’t get any further. Before he could continue his tirade, he quickly found himself staring down the barrel of a hand cannon the lady seemed to summon as if by magic. It was inches from his face, and had a barrel that a small pony could get lost in. She never even looked up from her writing.

“Ok listen, maybe we got off on the wrong foot.”

The distinctive sound of the hammer being cocked back on a double action revolver convinced Markem that perhaps she was busy, and it would be polite to wait for her to finish. Slowly, he lifted his hands off the desk and stood back.

‘I should give her some space. She seems tense. Probably on her time of the month, and me without sweets. Yeah, back here is probably best.’

Several more minutes went by without the woman looking up from her work or lowering the cocked pistol from its position, until at last she nodded to herself and in one smooth motion, swept the papers into a neat pile for later sorting, and made the gun disappear in a mysterious lady hiding spot.

Looking up she finally met his gaze. Her brown eyes narrowed at him and her already pinched face formed more frown lines. She looked at him as if he was something stuck to her shoe.

“What didya want?” She said in a hoarse voice, probably from years of screaming at...well everyone probably.

“I need to speak to the sheriff. I’m new in town and looking for work.”

“Ain’t got no work. There’s the door.”

“I’d prefer to speak to the sheriff if you don’t mind. I’m sure I can impress him with my qualifications.”

“Oh? You can impress him can ya?” A small smile crossed her face as she looked him from sunken eyes to soiled boots. “I don’t think I want to waste the sheriff’s time with some two bit has been soldier. No matter how many ruffles his coat has.”

‘Damnit Lord Aldridge!’

“Look miss,” he started slowly conscious of the gun she had somewhere, “I really need to talk to him. Do you know where he is or when he’ll be back?”

“Oh I imagine he’ll be back soon. If you wanna wait, you can sit over there,” she said pointing to an interview chair closest to the door.

Markem walked over to it and sunk into the rough uncomfortable surface. ‘Maybe he’ll appreciate my patience,’ he thought as he adjusted his coat trying to sit on as much as possible. The chair hadn’t been sanded or made well, and felt like it was about to fall over backwards, forcing him to sit up ramrod straight.

Minutes passed as he mentally reviewed everything he’d say in the interview and thought of every possible response he could, and how he would reply to those to make himself look good. Though honestly, as soon as he told the sheriff about his years of service to a titled and landed lord as captain of his personal guard; he was as good as in. He doubted there was anyone in this brackwater town that could match him in strategy or combat efficiency.

The first hour passed as Markem prepared, and the secretary scribbled notes. Then the second. The shadows grew long a he fidgeted in what was honestly a torture device turned chair. Eventually the woman stood, put on her coat, and walked over to him.

“I’m heading out for the day. If the sheriff isn’t back by now, he ain’t commin back. Best try your luck again tomorra.” She ushered him quickly out of the door and into the street were the mud was beginning to harden in the cold night, before locking the heavy planked door behind her with a large padlock.

Left with no other options Markem wandered back down towards the center of town and towards the inn. He couldn’t afford a room, but maybe he could sit by the fire for a while before they kicked him out.

There were only two buildings on the street still lit and lively, the whorehouse where girls were still showing their wares under lamplight; and the inn directly across from it, in case anyone wanted company for longer than a single night.

Markem was stuck at a crossroads of vices, and for a second fantasized about his old life where he wouldn’t have to choose between them. Sighing mournfully, he wandered into the inn and tried to sneak over to the fire without the waitresses noticing him. Like a well trained ferret, though, the waitress was on him in seconds.

“What’ll it be love?” she said with a flirtatious smile and a stoop to grab her dropped pen.

A smile crossed his face. ‘What the hell, couldn’t hurt to flirt right? Who knows, maybe I can charm her enough to get back to her room. Worth a shot,’ he thought to himself.

Aloud he said, “Depends. What’s on the menu?”

Rolling her eyes at the line she must have heard thousands of times, “Tea is five copper, rotgut is eight, rum is twelve, and whiskey is twenty. Food is eight silver for soup, twenty for steak. Food comes with a whiskey.”

Markem was surprised that the prices were so reasonable, back home it wasn’t unheard of to have meals cost all the way up to several gold. Then again, this wasn’t the Carlton restaurant, and he very much doubted their silverware was actually silver.

“Just the tea for now thanks, but swing by in a bit and maybe to can talk me into more,” Markem said with a sly smile, completely oblivious to the sudden flexing of the waitress’s stomach as it revolted against her.

Instead, she grit her teeth in a semblance of a smile.

“Sure thing love, be right out,” then she fled to the next table to get refill orders.

Markem watched her go and enjoyed the view of a woman who wasn’t starving. A little bit of a handful, but he’d make do. A sudden bray of laughter captured his attention over in one of the booths where several men were slapping the table and crying tears. Listening in, he tried to catch a bit of the joke. Heaven knows he could use a pick me up about now.

His attention focused like an arrow when he heard the word “sheriff”

‘He’s here!’ Probably had been here the whole time, getting drunk instead of doing his job. Markem couldn’t wait until he took that job from him and got to enjoy the same perks.

Quickly he rose from the tiny table and walked over to the booth just to hear the punchline, “so I told him to wait and the sheriff would be back soon!”

‘No.’ he whispered to himself. Sure enough sitting there surrounded by people laughing and slapping each others backs, was the secretary. Obviously she had relayed the story of making him wait under false pretenses, knowing that the sheriff wasn’t coming back. Markem’s razor thin control snapped like a dry twig in a hurricane.

“You fucking cunt! You had me wait for two hours and you knew the sheriff wasn’t coming back?!”

Dozens of eyes turned towards Markem at his outburst. His clenched fists quivering by his side were so far the only thing holding him back from throttling that bitch to death. Looking up she met his gaze and smiled sweetly.

“Oh? Stop by for a drink, while waiting for tomorra? Didn’t expect to see you here. Tell ya what, since I may have misled you, let me buy you a rotgut and we’ll call it square eh?” Markem ignored the snickers that came from many of the observers.

“No! Shut the fuck up. Fuck you!” Turning to the two men sitting on the bench with her, “Which one of you is the sheriff? I demand to speak to you!”

Silence descended on the group, as everyone stared at him. Finally it was broken by the woman, “I’m Sheriff Harrington. What can I do for you?”

Markem’s mind went blank as he stared at the short brunette who had in the course of a single afternoon turned him into the laughingstock of Dallas, as was evident by the roars of the people surrounding him. Black tinted the edges of his vision and he faintly heard one of his knuckles crack under the strain of his grip. Before he even knew what was happening he had launched himself across the table and had his hands around her throat squeezing for all he was worth, before his world went black.

Chapter 13

Markem woke up slowly with quite honestly the worst headache he’d ever had, and that’s including the time Lord Aldridge had the midsummer feast and he woke in the same stall as his horse. Groaning loudly, he rolled over on his side and promptly vomited all the bile he had, but since he hadn’t eaten in days there wasn’t much there.

He opened his eyes to try and catch a glimpse of his surroundings, but only the right one would open. Coughing sent lances of pain through his chest as he felt several ribs grind together in a way that he was positive wasn’t healthy.

“Well lookie here. Aurora has finally woken up from her little nap. Sleep well, princess?” Sheriff Harrington stood nearby with a giant shit eating grin, peering down her nose at him through the bars.

‘Wait...bars?’ Sure enough, he’d woken up inside the lovely little iron cage in the back of the sheriff’s office. ‘Oh no, not again’

“You gave us quite a scare. I was sure that ol Lafou had done caved in your skull with that chair. By the way, you owe the inn 75 silver for the chair. Now, let’s get to the part where you tried to kill the sheriff of this here town. I heard you wanted to talk, so...let’s talk.”

Markem groaned and laid his head back down on the floor as gently as possible. How was he going to get out of this one? He insulted the sheriff of the town (twice) before trying to strangle her to death. Honestly he was surprised he made it out of the bar alive.

“No feeling so talkative? That’s alright by me, I honestly don’t care much.” Harrington crossed her arms and glared down at him. “Honestly I am pretty impressed though. I did some checking around last night during your little nap, and...you just got here. I’ve been sheriff of this town for over a decade and I’ve never seen someone go from carriage to hangman's noose so quickly.“

‘Oh good, they’ve already decided to kill me. Well that was quick. Didn’t even bother to call the Lord for a fair trial huh? Sounds about right. Though you did attack her in the middle of a crowded room while she was surrounded by her friends. It’s not like there isn’t enough evidence against you. Way to go dumbass.”

“I just wanted a job. I came here looking for good honest work. That was it. I didn’t want any trouble. I just wanted to work and eat.” He told her honestly, meeting her gaze with his one good, albeit watery, eye. “You’re right, I insulted you, and you gave me a concussion, broken nose, and what feels like several broken ribs. Seems to me like we’re square.”

Harrington laughed. A deep belly laugh that rocked her back on her heels with her head thrown to the sky. “I suppose in a sense you’re right. I mean you did try to kill me, but you didn’t get very far. Lafue is very protective.”

A man Markem hadn’t noticed, nodded from one of the desks in the background. No wonder his head felt like a overripe melon about to burst. ‘That guy is 6’5 if he’s an inch. Even sitting down he’s a monster.’

“Tell ya what asshole, do you mind if I call you asshole? Tell ya what I’m gonna do. You said you’re looking for work, and it just so happens that this town’s post is about to deliver a shipment of supplies to a town north of here. Shouldn’t be more than a two day trip by caravan. Post is looking for some extra guards cuz a couple got killed by bandits last time. You guard the caravan north, and then you stay there. Never ever come back. If ya do, I’ll put a bullet in your ugly mug myself. Deal?”

Markem looked up at her wide eyed in disbelief. He was sure it was going to be a hanging. But here? An opportunity to catch a ride to another town, free of charge? It’s not like he could stay here regardless. He was now a laughingstock.

“Deal,” he said with more conviction than he felt. ‘There’s gotta be a catch, this is way too easy. It’s not like I have a choice, but hey I’ll take it.’

“Great! When you get to Ardmore, ask for Regina tell her I sent ya. She’ll make sure you get work up there.” Harrington nodded in finality. “Caravan leaves day after next. That gives ya plenty o time to enjoy the fine, luxury accommodations of the Dallas Sheriff’s Department. “

Groaning to himself, Markem laid his broken egg of a head back down on the floor and closed his eye. ‘Just enough time to start to heal up from this headache. For now, I think I’ll take a nap. A nap sounds lovely.’

*****

Markem sat in the back of the last wagon, watching the city of Dallas recede behind him while the asinine driver tried to hit every single pothole. His sides were killing him, and every pothole jolt sent new and wonderful levels of pain straight to his core.He tried to walk in the beginning, but he just didn’t have the strength and it didn’t help the pain much.

‘Maybe if I lie down? Dissipate the force over my whole body instead of just my spine bouncing up and down?’ Markem laid down gingerly on the carriage “tailgate”, and heaved a sigh of relief. His muscles relaxing for a moment, and easing his pain down several notches. Then he hit another pothole, letting out a screech not too dissimilar to a scalded coyote.

Turns out that spreading his spine flat against the surface of the wagon served to stabilize it and reinforce the jolt along the entirety of his body. Instead of allowing his muscles to try and compensate for the blow, it was transferred to his bones directly. His broken and tender bones.

‘Well, so much for that idea. Good news is I’m wide awake now. Probably will be forever.’ Markem thought bitterly. ‘It’s that damn sheriff’s fault. I tried to be nice in the beginning! If she had just told me who she was right from the start, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Noooooo, she had to be a bitch, and make me wait, then humiliate me in the tavern!’

He played the events over and over in his mind, each time the events adjusted a little more in his favor. Markem know very well what he was doing with these mental gymnastics, but right now he was way too pissed. Everytime he would start to calm down, they’d hit another pothole and his rage would start all over.

Mile after mile, hour after hour he quietly seethed at the unjust nature of it all. It wasn’t his fault really. Nothing was. No one gave him a chance. They just didn’t listen, or even try to understand. If they would have just listened to him, none of this would have happened. No. it was all their fault. Stupid arrogant, self-entitled, good for nothing assholes.

By the time the sun had set, Markem with boiling with helpless rage. His mind began to quiet as everyone set up camp with a large fire with wood from a felled tree nearby and a large A-frame tent. He was grateful that he would have at least some shelter from the cold. The body heat of 8 people crammed in the tent coupled with his coat should keep him from dying.

As soon as the tent was up he made for it, eager to lie down on a surface that wasn’t trying to kill him. He was brought up short though, when Lafou grabbed his shoulder.

“Not so fast there sleeping beauty, you’ve got first watch. Be careful, night is when the wolves come out to hunt, so if you get attacked...scream real loud so the rest of us can hear you and kill them.” Lafou chuckled at the obvious omission of saving Markem, then ducked inside the tent to collapse in his sleeping roll.

Markem was not happy. He’d been looking forward to getting some rest all day. He was never really able to sleep in the cell, always wondering if it really was too good to be true and they were going to hang him after all. Then he couldn’t sleep on the road without shattering like glass.

It wasn’t fair. Not that complaining about it would do any good, they weren’t exactly listening. Even if they did, their tiny brains wouldn’t understand. So instead of lighting the tent on fire, he went for a walk around the camp, stretching his sore legs having not used them properly in several days.

He poked around the wagons for a bit, until he found some bread and jerky and quickly scarfed as much as he could. It’s not like they would miss it, there were four wagons full of supplies for Ardmore, a single (if hearty) meal wouldn’t be missed.

Finally full for the first time in weeks, Markem carefully erased his presence at the wagon even going far enough to scrub the footprints from the light layer of snow that decorated the ground, and headed back to the fire to warm up.

Perhaps he would lie down in front of the fire for a few minutes, let his ribs rest from the pounding they took today. Oh yeah, that feels much better. Maybe just a little closer to the fire...that’s the stuff.

Warm, full, and pain free for the first time in a while; Markem fell asleep in minutes.

****

He woke up shivering. The fire had died completely, so he must have been asleep for awhile, and the wind was starting to pick up speed, carrying a real edge of cold to it. Quickly building up a fire so no one would know he fell asleep, he stumbled into the tent and nudged Lafou awake for his shift and laid down on the sleeping roll to pass out.

The next afternoon the caravan rolled into the smallest and shittiest town Markem had ever seen. He would be surprised if there were a thousand people in this godforsaken hellhole.

From Lord Aldridge to Ardmore, quite the contrast.’ He thought drearily. ‘Well this is home now I guess. There isn’t anything beyond this but elk and ice. Better get used to it’

Once the wagons were unloaded and the horses bedded in the stable next to the inn, Markem went in search of work. He began by asking the innkeeper for the local sheriff, to discover that their town was too small to have a law man. When he asked further about work it seemed like no one around was capable of hiring on another hand. Most were concerned with storing supplies for winter, not feeding an extra stomach.

Except for one name that seemed to crop up over and over again. Seems like the wealthy rancher Emil Jackson had been asking around a few days prior looking to hire on an extra hand around the ranch. His parents had died, leaving the poor young man to tend that big ranch all by himself. Surely he would be willing to hire on another hand.

Markem listened carefully about the young, rich, hermit, living so far from town; and a new idea began to take root in his mind. Initially he dismissed the idea, but the more he thought about it the more plausible it sounded.

‘Hmmm, I wonder how hard it would be to separate the man from his money. Simple man like him, should be easy enough.’

Chapter 14

Isla woke slowly, eyes fluttering open to stare at a rough wooden wall not two inches from her face. Confusion swept through her as she studied the rough cut planks that had been worn smooth through time rather than proper sanding, and tried to remember where she was.

Reality slowly came back to her as she felt the heavy arm of Emil splayed across her stomach. Obviously not used to sharing a bed, he had rolled and kicked until she was crammed onto the edge of the bed, while Emil was spread eagled over the rest.

She heard a snort, then a small cough. Quickly the coughing became loud and gagging as Emil sat bolt upright and made horrific hacking noises.

“Whats wrong?!” She contemplated whether or not she should get him some water, but realized she’d have to crawl over him. He probably wouldn’t thank her for that while he was dying.

Reaching what seemed to be half a fist into his mouth, Emil slowly pulled out a long dark hair out of the back of his throat; glaring at it as if it was the devil. He shifted his accusatory gaze over to her and seethed.

Isla stared at him with a contrite amusement written on her face. She hadn’t meant to choke him, but honestly; it wasn’t as if she had done it on purpose. Her hair didn’t listen to her commands ever, and it was really his own fault for chewing on her in his sleep anyway.

Emil just glared at her some more, before pulling his boots on and stomping out of the room muttering under his breath. She heard a door deeper in the house slam shut, as she assumed he attended natures call.

Taking this opportunity, Isla stretched out in the messy bed; her back and ankles popping in a very satisfactory way. It had been years since she slept in a real bed with springs and blankets. Even if it was a stinky boys bed, and the thick hide blankets didn’t help the overall level of funk that permeated the room, it would take many more washings to undo this level of grody.

‘Come to think of it, the last time I slept in a bed was with Lyanna the week before mother ruined everything.’ Isla thought wistfully about her previous life, and wondered if she’d ever see her sister again.

The washroom door opening down the hall brought her out of her nostalgia, and alerted her to the fact that she still had yet to commune with nature herself. With that done, she wandered into the kitchen to find Emil had already started the stove and was heating some sort of grain in water.

She wasn’t super familiar with this area of the world, but she knew grits when she saw it. A simple staple of any household, it had all the basics to start the day. A small kettle was warming in the corner of the rusty stovetop, as Emil dug around in some nearby cabinets pulling out dented tins with colorful images of flowers.

“Do you know how to cook?” he asked sleepily as he filled two small wooden cups with pinches of the herb he pulled from the tins.

“I know some of the basics Master, but I learn very fast!”

He sighed, and she flinched. She would need to learn fast if she was to remain useful. Waving her over, he explained the kitchen arrangement, and where the oats, tea, spices and various other kitchen staples were kept; as well the layout of dishes and various cooking implements.

She already knew how to cook grits, that hadn’t changed, though he added a thick brown syrup to the tea before he passed it over.

“Thank you Master” she said dipping her head. Blowing gently on the steaming liquid, she took a small sip. Flavors exploded across her tongue, her eyes widened as she tasted several different types of grasses and berries mixed with a sweetness she couldn’t identify. She had to stop herself from gulping down the whole cup.

“What is this Master?” Her wide eyes met his as a small smile curled his beard; her hands clutching the cup as if it was liquid gold.

“Its called tea. You told me you’ve tried it before.” His unasked question hung in the air.

‘Trying to see if I lied? Who would lie about something like that? Maybe he thinks me dull.’

“I’ve had something that tasted similar, but it was bitter and heavy. This is refreshing and sweet. I could drink this till I burst and still not get enough.” She said very seriously, savoring the beverage on her tongue to make it last a little longer.

“Ah that would be the syrup. I guess you’ve never had it before.” He said half to himself. “It’s made from a tree that grows around here. I used to harvest some of it myself, but since my parents died I haven’t really had the time. “

“Parents?” she said quietly. It wasn’t really her place to ask, as it had nothing to do with her station or her duties; but she was curious.

“Dad died a couple years ago to bandits, and mom last year to sickness.” Emil shrugged his shoulders, as if it was no big deal. Death was just a fact of life in this harsh world.

‘Probably even more so in this desolate tundra’ she mused

Isla mumbled her thanks as he ladeled a bowl full of the grits and topped it off with a thick slab of butter and a drizzle of the syrup. She stood patiently next to the table until Emil sat down and started eating before she joined him.

The rest of the meal was quiet as they each focused on their meal. Isla quickly gathered the dishes, washing them and putting them away in their respective homes. Scrubbing the sink and counters until there was not a speck of dust left, she waited patiently for Emil to give her some new instructions.

Stomping back in the room, he was wearing a new outfit, which was comprised of many layers and obviously designed for the blizzard that was still raging outside.

“So I’m going to assume that you know nothing about ranching. It’ll just save us some time, because even if you did, every rancher does things differently.” Isla nodded silently, at his logic. “Get dressed in the warmest clothes you can find. Today I’ll show you everything we can do during the storm.”

Isla scampered off to the bedroom off the hall, where she had gotten her current outfit, and began rifling through the closet. Her hands froze on a rather ugly but warm looking sweater, as realization slammed into her like a tidal wave.

‘These are his mothers!! This entire time I’ve been wearing the handmade clothes left behind by his deceased parent, and he never even mentioned it.’ She tried to analyze the complex and confusing emotions threatening to overwhelm her brain, but had to hurry since Emil was waiting for her.

She shoved her thoughts into the background to be analyzed later and threw on the warmest clothes she could find, then added another layer of socks and jackets just to be safe. The end result was mismatched and lumpy shades of grey and brown, but she wasn’t afraid of freezing to death.

Running back out to kitchen, her padded feet thumping on the wooden floor she rounded the corner a little too fast. Her triple layer socks lost traction on the well worn surface and slipped out from under her sending her sliding and flailing into the dividing wall between Emil’s room and the mudroom.

Reeling from her crash, she attempted to right herself; arms windmilling desperately she teetered back and forth for a few seconds before her left foot lost traction again. With almost comedic slowness, Isla’s precarious balance tipped, as the inexorable might of the earth's gravity pulled her into its embrace.

She landed with a thump on her back, head bouncing off the floor. She laid there for a second as her brain recalibrated, and ran a system scan. Other than the bump on her head and tailbone, she was alright. A snicker from the kitchen made her blood run cold.

She turned and looked at her master who simple smiled. “I’d give it an 8/10. Good form overall, but needs work on the landing.”

Isla narrowed her eyes and glared at him, ‘Oh yeah yuck it up asshole,’ she thought scrambling to her feet. Her face heated with her humiliation. Her old self would have launched into a tirade, berating him for laughing at her; but she had learned over the last couple years that it was a good way to end up with broken bones and sleeping in a cage.

Emil was already in the mudroom and pulling on his boots. She quickly followed after him and took the boots he handed her. Unfortunately, the first pair she tried on were too small to even get her feet into; and the second pair were so large that no amount of extra socks would make up the difference.

Her master looked at her feet with a frown. “Great, yet another trip I need to make into town. Damnit,” he said sighing heavily. “Wear the boots for now, and as soon as the storm lightens up, we’ll head in and get you some proper boots. Clothes can be modified, but a good cobbler is irreplaceable.”

Obediently she tugged on the boots and laced them as tight as she could, even running back for a fourth and fifth pair of socks; and followed Emil out into the storm. It quickly became apparent to Isla, that no matter how many coats she was wearing she was not prepared for the level of fury that mother nature could bring.

The storm raged just outside the sanctuary of the house, with absolutely no regard to life trying to eke out an existence. The wind howled, and felt like being pelted with machine gun blasts of icicles. Her hands and face immediately began burning in the bitter cold, and her legs began to feel heavy.

Steeling herself, Isla forced herself to follow her master to the pasture where the sheep were huddled in the shelter of a clamshell shaped structure. It took her a few extra seconds to wiggle through the fencing that Emil simply hopped over, but she managed it without falling flat on her face.

These large and hairy animals were slightly terrifying. They looked nothing like the cute and fluffy dogs that were depicted in the drawings she had seen before. Rather instead they were large, black animals with knotted and matted hair that hung in clumps. Several of them had stumps of horn that had been sheared off.

All together they formed an imposing image. Like giant dogs, some of them even had fangs! Well, maybe they were just overly large teeth, but it was still terrifying. Yet here Emil was wading through them as they huddled in their shelter like they were no more dangerous than deep mud. One animal even got a little aggressive and tried to headbutt him, but he barely seemed to notice; slowing down just long enough to punch it in the face knocking it over and then continued on his way.

Isla on the other hand watched from a very safe distance, preferring instead to stand out in the wind where her soul was safe from the devil sheep. She watched Emil wander through the herd, pausing to check various animals and picking some up off the ground and checking their legs, before dumping them unceremoniously back on the ground.

She tried to figure out what he was doing, but his movements seemed random and without purpose. She would have to ask him later when he wasn’t throwing sheep around like last night's dinner refuse.

When he was finished with….whatever it was he was doing, he wandered back through the herd and over to a small shed outside the fence line. The shed contained large barrels of some sort of dried plant matter, that emil quickly began scooping into several large troughs. The sheep were apparently familiar with this routine, as they came -literally- out of the woodwork to begin feasting on the feed.

She watched carefully counting out the number of scoops and the number of sheep per trough and tried to calculate the amount required for each animal. Extrapolating she even tried to figure out how much feed there was stockpiled in the shed. Her brain began to hurt with all the maths.

Emil finished the task quickly and with no wasted movements. She was surprised at the small amount of feed it took to sate such a large herd. There had to be well over two hundred sheep here, get they only needed half a barrel to sustain them.

“The sheep don’t really mind the cold, but if one of them dies in the middle of the herd it can make the other sick. It’s also dangerous if one of them slips in the ice and breaks a leg. Unfortunately it’s too expensive to fix the leg, so if that happens we just eat well that night.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Isla listened carefully and nodded along at the appropriate parts. So far it seemed fairly simple and straightforward. Broken sheep bad. Got it. Emil watched the sheep for a minute before turning to the goats penned on the other side of the house. His face fell as though he had smelled something awful.

She followed in his footsteps, perhaps a little closer than she strictly should have, but she was hoping his wide shoulders would provide a decent windbreak. She wondered why Emil stopped by the corner of the house to pick up a shovel, before stomping over to the goat pen.

‘Maybe the sheep are really tidy, but the goats make messes. Oh goodie! I get to shovel goat shit. Fan-fucking-tastic.’ Her mind played images of trying to get the smell of goat crap out of her hair. Had her hands not been stuffed unceremoniously into her armpits, she would have pet the shoulder blade length locks.

Now quietly obsessing over a hot bath, Isla watched him climb over the goat fence shovel in hand. Her mouth fell open, as immediately Emil was attacked by a charging goat. Head down and shaved horns in prominence, the goat lunged. Right as she was about to call out a warning, Emil pivoted smoothly on his left leg, and swung the shovel….straight into the goats charge.

The shovel rang out like a bell as the goat was easily floored by the blow. Emil didn’t lower the shovel though and stood ready for round two. Isla wondered what sort of deranged animal would attack like that. This was obviously not the first time this had happened. If she looked carefully, she could see a myriad of dents adorning the shovel blade; standing testament to many duels.

The goat had decided that a single bout was enough for its taste and, struggling to its feet, sauntered off into the herd as if nothing at all had happened. Emil quickly went about performing the same inspections as he had with the sheep, and Isla could now understand his movements a little better. She looked around for a feed shed, but the only one nearby was empty of grain. There were large hard white disks with holes in the middle stacked in one corner and she could see one hanging on a fence post a dozen yards from her. As to their purpose, she couldn’t even hazard a guess. She would ask once Emil was less occupied.

Another clang of shovel-on-goat warfare brought her attention back to the pen as Emil beat a hasty retreat back towards the fenceline. This time warding off two different goats who seemed eager to test their mettle. He swung the shovel in broad but controlled swings, keeping them at bay long enough to dive over the fencing, swearing like a barmaid the entire way.

“Fucking stupid ass, bullheaded, frog eyed, good for nothing, parasites! I swear to beelz I will end your miserable lives, and skin you for a sweater!!” Emil raged on as he threw the shovel back towards the house, and stomped off to the garage. Isla followed quickly, but made sure to keep a fair distance this time. She didn’t him to mistake her for a goat in her current clothing, especially not in his mood.

Once inside the relative comfort of the garage, Emil checked on the truck, making sure that some sort of green fluid in the engine was topped off, and that several knobs were tight. Grabbing several handfuls of what looked like long moldy grass, and began dumping it in her arms. Completely unprepared she caught it as best she could and stumbled after him as he kicked open the door to the mudroom and held it open for her.

He motioned towards a corner of the mudroom, and not knowing what else to do she went over and stood there.

“Don’t just stand there, dump the hay,” he chuckled at her confused expression.

Like she was supposed to know what to do! Washing clothes she was good at, but fighting off deranged goats and feeding rabbits? Not so much. With a bit of a huff, she dropped the hay in the corner as Emil opened the rabbit cage on the other side of the room. Thirty something bunnies came pouring out, and beelined it straight for the hay she had just dumped.

‘Oh my god, it’s like the cutest tidal wave ever!’ Isla bent down to rub several of their backs as they hopped through her legs and towards the food.

“Do any of them have names?” she said petting one particularly gorgeous one, looking at Emil.

“Sure they do! The one you’re petting is ‘Lunch’, and the one next to him is ‘Dinner’.” he said laughing.

She pouted at his mean joke, but figured that he was right. ‘No use getting attached, they’re all going to end up in the stock pot eventually’ she thought sadly. She stood from petting the bunnies, and looked towards Emil for more instructions.

Nodding Emil opened the door back into the cold. “Go get three more handfuls of hay that size and dump it in the corner. They’ll eat it eventually. We’ll let them run around the room and just worry about the shit tomorrow. Don’t let any escape though.”

Isla nodded and ducked back out into the wind and sleet to go gather more foodstuffs. When she had gathered her first armfull she turned and was surprised to see Emil was nowhere in sight. Quickly she made her way back to the room, dumping her load; and then made two additional trips.

The rabbits didn’t seem to want anything to do with escaping. Not that she could blame them. There was nothing out there but cold, and demon sheep. No it was much better inside with a full belly and no snow.

Fleeing into her own shelter, Isla paused just long enough to shrug off her oversized boots ‘I just washed this floor damnit’ before heading into Emil’s room to find him. He wasn’t there. Not only that but the stove was cold.

Turning to the inside of the house, she heard running water and looked down the hall to see Emil filling the bath.

‘Alright! Time to be proactive.’

After her uselessness today, ‘and yesterday’ her brain reminded her, she was determined to be helpful. She quickly bent to the stove and lit a fire, feeding larger and larger pieces of wood to it, until she was confident it would stay lit for a while. That done she went to the kitchen and began rummaging through the various cabinets looking for something to make a meal out of.

Finding the basics for a decent stew, she grabbed the largest stock pot she could find. Practically a cauldron the thing had to be fifteen gallons, and she filled it with water from the barrel outside the mudroom. Lighting the stove she started the pot to boil.

The sound of running water cut off from the bathroom and she guessed that Emil must be starting his bath.

‘Perfect, that’ll give me time to get the stew going.’

Locating the rabbit hung in the larder, she grabbed the oldest date she saw and brought it into the kitchen for butchering. She had never cut apart an animal, her diet having consisted mostly of various fruits and boiled grains back home. Fortunately Emil had shown her a knife yesterday that he said she could use, and she began cutting as much of the bones out of the meat as she could.

It was hard going and took a lot longer than she wanted, but got most of the meat off the bones, into small chunks, and into the hot water. She even threw in several large bones that she hadn’t been able to pick clean, hoping the cooking would separate the flesh. She then turned her attention to the vegetables.

‘Ok, so we have tons of meat out here, but I didn’t see a garden. That means that he probably buys most of his vegetables and fruits at market. So I need to be careful which ones I use.’ Isla remembered back home, onions, potatoes, and carrots were pretty cheap. Most root vegetables actually. Assuming price margins were roughly the same, she felt confident using those.

Chopping up several of each she added them to the pot with generous spoonfuls of salt, pepper, and something labeled “celery seed” which smelled amazing. Just as she reached for a spoon large enough to be replanted and called a sapling, when Emil’s voice came tumbling down the hall.

“Isla, come here please”

“Yes sir!”

Isla rounded the corner of the kitchen into the hallway and saw the bathroom door was wide open, and Emil was stark naked drying himself with a towel. She froze mid step. Her mind raced as she considered all of her options.

She could go to him, and full fill whatever ‘needs’ he had, she could turn around ignoring him and just take the beating, or she could pretend she was taking a while, grab as much clothes and food as possible and just run. Her brain spun into overdrive.

‘Ok, so running is out of the question. I’d get a mile and die from exposure. Maybe if I tackled him, I could get him facedown in the tub and drown him. No, he’s at least fifty pounds heavier than I am, and look at that back. Fighting goats must be great exercise. No he’d kill me easily’ she thought to herself.

Her thoughts began to spiral out of control as scenario after scenario flashed through her adrenaline infused mind. Each one arrived at the same conclusion. ‘Anything other than total obedience means death.’

Her back straightened even as her stomach dropped out beneath her. Terror gave way to resignation as her body on autopilot completed the last few yards. Shoulders slumped and eyes watering she entered the bathroom.

“Yes sir,” her voice quivering.

Turning around Emil met her gaze and gestured to the bath. “I’m done with the tub if you wanted it. It’s still pretty warm.” Hanging up his towel he padded his naked ass down the hallway and into the bedroom. “Oh you started the fire! Thanks.”

Isla stood there looking at the tub.

It was about three quarters full and had a greyish tint to it, showing it had already been used.

The soap sat nearby in the bucket, and white globs of not-yet-dissolved soap clung to the sides of the tub.

It did look like it was still…

‘What the fuck?! Ok that was not normal! None of this is normal! Omg is he torturing me?!’ Isla’s brain screamed at her. Her psyche was a minefield of emotions. Half of her was so relieved that she felt the burden physically, wanting to sit down and just cry. The other half was just grateful that he had even thought to offer her a warm bath.

A tiny part of her though, a mere sliver of reality, barely enough to call a thought really; was furious.

‘What the fuck is this man doing to me? This is the second time I’ve steeled myself, and been willing to give him what he wants and he brushes me off?! Oh my god! Am I mad that he didn’t take me? What the hell is wrong with me? Oh this is not ok. This is very very not ok. If I don’t figure out what’s going on soon, I’m going to have a stroke. Should I ask him? NO! What are you thinking? You can’t ask your owner about sex! That’s like...begging him to fuck you. God I can’t take this. The stress is going…’

“Isla?”

Isla spun around, seeing Emil now fully dressed standing in front of the bedroom door. “Yes sir?”

“Are you ok?”

“Yes sir. Why?”

“Well you’ve been standing there for like...five minutes. Staring at the tub. If you want a fresh bath that’s fine.”

“No, no, I’m fine. I was just thinking,” she said shaking her head trying to clear it.

“O...k. Well the tub is probably too cool now anyway, so just drain it and when we’re done with lunch if you decide you want a bath you can take one then.”

Isla quickly turned and began the business of draining the tub and cleaning the bathroom.

‘Cleaning! Cleaning is good. Cleaning is safe. Clean the bathroom, clear the mind. Don’t know where that came from. What the fuck is wrong with me?’

She scrubbed the tub within an inch of its life, and may have been unnecessarily forceful when spreading the towels on the rack. Her hands slowed as her adrenaline rush began to fade, taking her anger with it.

‘Psycho bitch, you’re going to get yourself in trouble if you open your fat mouth. Keep it closed, or he may put it to use’

Isla thought about how she had turned that corner, seen him naked, and very nearly gotten herself killed by attacking him. She became more and more calm as the bathroom became neater. A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth.

‘He did have a nice back though,’ her brain whispered. Isla stood bolt upright so fast her feet nearly left the floor.

“Oh. Shit”

Chapter 15

Emil wandered into the kitchen enjoying the sight of the pot set to boiling a large amount of stew. A quick taste with the lumber sized spoon though made him reel.

“Oh man. Thats way too much celery seed. Dammit that shits expensive too.”

He continued mumbling to himself as he pulled out some garlic and precious sugar. Normally he wouldn’t waste sugar on a stew, but there was enough in the stewpot for a week of meals. After a little fine tuning of course.

A little sugar, a couple cloves of garlic, and a lot of pepper later and he thought it was tasting pretty damn good. It was a little light on the meat though. Reaching into the larder, he fetched another rabbit from its hook. Using a dull butchers knife he chopped the rabbit clean in half crosswise along the spine and hung the remainder back in the closet.

Using the knife Isla had left out, he quickly separated the ribs, legs, and back meat and tossed it all in the boiling cauldron. Giving it a few good stirs to make sure that none of the potatoes stuck to the bottom of the pot, he turned to check the fire in his room.

Isla had lit the fire without asking, which was a waste of fuel since nobody was in the room, but it meant that the room was warm if a bit odorus. He’d have to talk to her about efficiency. Maybe in a bathhouse you want the fires always lit so people could just walk in and take a bath, but up here they needed to conserve fuel for when it was really necessary. The only reason he took a bath is because there was very little else to do, and honestly he needed to work out some...stress.

It’s not like he had never been around women before. Though that barmaid at the Prancing Pony was new, he’d hired ladies there before for a night of companionship. It was completely different to entice a wench you’d been wooing all night with a bit of coin, and another thing entirely to purchase a human being for permanent usage.

It’s just different.

Of course his hormones had absolutely no idea about the moral murk of sex and money; and quite frankly, they didn’t give a damn. He’d woken up this morning abruptly thanks to his near death experience. If he’d woken up a little slower, his body would have followed the same routine it had for the last decade, and demanded his immediate attention. As it was...it was rather difficult to aim in the bathroom.

Of course he told her to follow him around the ranch while he did his chores. So why was it so damn cute that she followed him like a curious little puppy all day? Her sliding down the hallway this morning in her socks? Priceless.

Worst of all was her smell.

She smelled of jasmine. Oh god he could get lost in that scent and float away to dream dreamy dreams of soft curves. It didn’t even make any sense! His soap was infused with some pansies, but not jasmine. It couldn’t even survive this far north.

Needless to say, his biology coupled with her pheromones and general adorableness…he was a ticking powder keg. As soon as they were done with this morning’s chores he had fled to the bathroom to relieve the pressure. Now like the fabled werewolf, he had reverted back to his human form. Slightly dazed and sticky, but human.

Emil shook his head to clear the dirty thoughts.

‘No you bought her to help on the ranch. Not as a human fuck toy. She’s a goddamn human being and there is a line’ he thought angrily.

Emil turned back to the stove and began stirring the pot, skimming foam off the top and checking the rabbit for done-ness. It was coming along very nicely and just in time to, as Isla emerged from cleaning the bathroom.

“Sir, that’s my job! Here let me.”

She promptly plucked the spoon from his hand and tasted the stew. Nodding to herself she smiled. “Not bad for my first time! Though I think it needs more celery seed.”

Emil winced. “I don’t know, I think it tastes great. Besides that stuff is about sixty silver a jar. Lets not go too overboard.”

“Yes sir” she replied meekly. “It should be ready in a few minutes. If it’s ok, I’m going to wash the bedding again and maybe tidy up the room a bit. It’s still a little...pungent.”

“Sure. Sounds great,” he nodded.

While she went off to strip the bed, Emil pondered the sleeping arrangements.

‘I can’t have her sleeping in my bed every night, that’s certainly going to end in disaster. I really shouldn’t have done it the first time. Don’t even know why I grabbed her, should have sent her to my parents room or had her sleep on the floor. Should I just move her to the big bedroom? No, that won’t work. I don’t have enough fuel for two stoves long term. I could buy some more in town, I do have to go get boots and some proper fitting pants for her.’

“Isla,” he called, walking into his bedroom. “Do you know how to sew?”

She looked up and met his gaze, “Yes sir. I spent many hours fixing clothes in the laundry.”

“That’s great, but I meant could you sew clothes from scratch, not just alter. Could you sew a whole new set of pants from raw material?”

A look of ‘no-shit-sherlock’ crossed her face for a heartbeat, before she nodded meekly. “Yes sir. My mother taught me how to sew clothes, and I made most of the clothes my sister and I wore.”

“Perfect. Instead of just washing the sheets, I want you to strip the big bedroom of everything. You can use the this room and the living room as temporary storage. Use the mudroom if you have to. I need to work on the walls in that room.”

A plan began to form in Emil’s mind. Leaving Isla to her assigned tasks, he bundled up in his heavy coat and boots, then headed out to the barn. Rifling through the chest of tools he kept out there, he quickly located his bucket of nails and hammer, as well as an old canvas cot and some chain. Grabbing the insulation he had purchased during his last trip into town, he quickly stomped back inside.

The storm wasn’t any worse, but it wasn’t getting much better either. The wind was still whipping sideways at several dozen kilometers per hour, and the ice was building up on the side of the house and barn rather thickly. If the storm didn’t let up in the next couple days, he was going to have to come out here and chop it off, before it started to peel off the outer boards that made up his home.

Tromping inside sans boots, he made his way over to his parent’s former room. Isla had already made quick work of most of the chests that had been lining the walls. Their contents placed on the bed in the middle. Even the dresser had been moved. The bed was still in place, but he supposed it was too heavy for her, even before it had been loaded down with various knick-knacks and thingamabobs his parents had collected through the ages.

Isla was currently unloading books from one of the two bookcases, and carrying them to the living room; piling them neatly in stacks in the corner. Emil bent to help her and between the two of them they finished unloading the books and moving the bookcases and bed in just a few minutes.

After the room was sufficiently gutted, they broke for lunch. Enjoying the stew at a perfect temperature, since the fire had gone out earlier. Quietly they both sipped their fill, and Emil showed Isla several ceramic jars, lengths of cheesecloth, twine, and the shallow shelves in the back corner of the larder; leaving her to store the stew.

Hefting his hammer, he marched back into the bedroom and carefully began prying the boards that comprised the wall, out of their homes and exposing the framework beneath. When he and his parents built the house, they put some insulation on the outside walls but hadn’t considered the inside walls necessary. After all the perimeter was sealed right?

The first real winter had shown them the error of this. Insulation was not a perfect cure-all, and given enough time it would eventually allow the exterior and interior temperatures to match. Mother nature was a patient bitch, and she had nothing but time. Unless fires were lit in each of the rooms to keep them warm and insulated, eventually they got just as cold as the outside. Hopefully the insulation Emil had would slow the process down though.

Prying the walls open, being careful to not splinter the boards and retrieve as many nails as he could, took Emil the better part of two hours. That done he began unrolling the insulation into the walls, adding and cutting the rolls as necessary. Unfortunately, he had only bought enough to do his room, which meant that he was only able to do about three quarters of the larger room. When he went into town for supplies, he would have to buy more.

Sealing up the walls where he had already laid insulation didn’t take nearly as long, though since he was going to be buying more insulation, Emil left the unfinished section open. He called out to Isla and told her she could start putting the room back together, and then bent to the cot.

Another convenience of having the walls open recently, is he knew exactly here the support beams were. The room was larger than his, but placing the cot on the ground wasn’t really an option if you still wanted to use the space without constantly stepping the other person. Emil had an idea, and was very proud of it.

‘Instead of placing the cot on the ground, I’ll hang it from the wall. That way it can fold up and out of the way! Bwahahaha, I’m so smart’ he thought, mentally patting himself on the back with a smug smile.

Hanging the cot was simple. Emil nailed one end of a short length of chain to the rail, and then to the support beam in the wall on either end of the cot; then repeated the process with longer sections of chain for the outside rail. It was more than enough to support his weight, even bouncing on it like a seizing cow.

A simple piece of wire and a nail on the wall allowed the cot to be folded up flat, freeing up the floor space for use.

‘Sometimes I’m so damn good I scare myself. Now Isla can keep her hair to herself!’

“Isla come in here please.”

She quickly rounded the corner into the bedroom, a damp rag in one hand. “Yes master?’

“I put this bed together for you, so you don’t have to sleep in mine. This way we only have to use one stove and we can both stay warm.”

Isla looked from the cot to him with an unreadable expression. “Thank you sir,” she said. Though her neutral tone took him slightly aback.

“Whats wrong? Don’t you like it?”

“Yes sir. Thank you.” she said nodding.

Emil shrugged. It’s been a long time since he dealt with people in a close space like this. Maybe he just wasn’t reading her very well.

“Tomorrow we will head back into town and grab a few more supplies. I honestly didn’t even think about getting you a proper set of boots or clothes last time. I was too busy thinking about my herd and the storm. Now that they’re all packed in, they should be fine for a quick jaunt into market. If you have anything you can think of that you need, now is the time to mention it.”

Isla stared at the floor thinking.

‘What is with her and floors. Every time she’s in the same room as me, she’s looking at the damn floor,’ he thought.

Her face reddened, and without looking up she said, “There are a few things I would like Master. Some...women things.”

Terror shot through Emil. He hadn’t even considered her unique biological needs. ‘Way to go! You drag her all the way up here, and didn’t even make sure she had the proper equipment to deal with her...time. Stupid stupid stupid.’

Clearing his throat he tried to cover up his mistake. “Does my mother’s things not have the proper supplies?”

“No sir. I looked while we moved the chests and it appears that she was beyond the need for such items. At least I couldn’t find any.”

Emil nodded as if listening to a Lord ask his advice on trade routes. “Very well, I’ll just bring you with me and we can get what you need”

Isla bowed her red face. “Thank you master,” then returned to continue scrubbing whatever it was in the other room.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and mentally kicked himself for screwing up so bad. She obviously didn’t like the bed, and she was understandably upset that he had completely forgotten female biology.

‘If there was an award to dumbass of the year, you’d be a shoe in.’

To distract himself, Emil began putting the room back together. As he filled the chests with spare blankets, bits of lace and his mothers sewing kits, he paused to fondle each one. Most of the items had some pretty powerful memories associated with them. They even had stored several bits of paper that he had drawn on as a child, pictures of flowers and the house...and what looked like a drunk ant the size of a uhaul. ‘Well it’s cute, even if its not artistic.’

With the room back in some semblance of living condition, with the exception of the wall nearest the door, he gathered his tools and nail bucket. It only took a few minutes to bundle up, drop the equipment back in the barn and scurry back inside. He checked on the rabbits in the mudroom on his way back in. They had shit everywhere, but other than that they were doing fine. Perfectly content to just eat the last of the hay left for them and fuck each other.

He walked back inside to a spotless kitchen, and a small saucepan of earlier’s stew bubbling away. Isla stood from putting some large wooden bowls away in a lower cabinet to face him.

“Perfect timing sir, soup is ready. Please sit down and I’ll dish some up.”

Emil dropped into his chair and tried not to smile. ‘Ok, so having a slave is a little cool.’

Isla set a piping hot bowl in front of him and waited next to his chair as he sipped it. “It’s perfect temperature. Thank you Isla.”

“Of course master.”

She retreated to fill her own bowl and join him at the table, bringing two cups of water as well. They ate quickly, with Isla asking if he wanted more just as the last spoon was empty. He declined and thanked her again.

“The room is as good as it’s going to get right now, and it’ll be dark in about two hours. I’m gonna take another bath and then hit the sack. I’m going to enjoy the extra sleep while I can, I’m sure this storm is causing havoc all over my ranch.”

Emil retreated to his bath, and after waiting for the bath to fill, sunk into the steamy liquid and closed his eyes. It was rare for him to get two baths a week. Two in one day? Never. Why not though? He had nothing to do, nowhere to go, and an adorable girl to get out of his thoughts.

Of course trying not to think about her, just made it worse. Now that’s all he could think about. He remembered seeing her naked, and at the time it was just the reality of the situation, and he was far more concerned with getting her warmed up. Now that things had settled a little bit, he was thinking about what lay beneath those clothes in a way that was far from proper.

Peeking one eye towards the door to make sure it was closed, his hand drifted south to his hardening cock. Sensation shot through him as his hand wrapped around his pulsing member, gentle strokes in the warm water easy to imagine as the inviting wetness of Isla’s pussy. It didn’t take him long to get lost in the fantasy, picturing her hair as a halo around her as she lay on his bed. Legs open and inviting. Mouth quivering, just on the verge of begging for it. Her chocolate eyes looked up at him with lust and she bit her lower lip.

Knock knock knock

“Sir? Are you nearly done? I’ve brought a towel that I’ve warmed near the stove.” Isla called through the door, clearing the lusty air like a bucket of ice water in winter.

Water sloshed everywhere as Emil jumped, flailing in the tub grabbing onto anything that wasn’t himself.

“Yeah I’m almost done. Just leave the towel by the door and I’ll grab it thanks” his voice shrieked. ‘Way to play it cool man.’

Emil laid back in the tub and felt his heart pounding against his chest. Good thing was, he no longer needed a distraction from the thoughts rampaging inside his head. Panic, as it turns out, is an excellent mood killer.

As soon as he was calmed enough, Emil got out of the bath and stopped himself from draining it; remembering that Isla hadn’t taken one yet. Walking over to the door he opened it, expecting to see the towel on the floor, but instead she was standing there holding it out for him.

Emil had no idea what to do. Here he was naked as the day he was hatched, fresh from the tub where he had been fantasizing about the woman in front of him. Water dripped onto the floor as Isla and Emil just looked at each other. He quickly snatched the towel out of her hands and started drying off.

He wasn’t ashamed of being naked. In a house as small as this nudity was just a part of life. He’d lost count of how many times he’d seen his parents naked over the course of his life. This was different though. He’d never had feelings about his parents. Even when she saw him naked earlier it was after he’d been able to relax.

Emil quickly turned his back to her as he dried off, lest she see his growing problem. He had finally been able to calm down, and then, bam, there she was in the doorway with him buck naked.

He finished drying and wrapped the towel around his waist. “Thank you Isla. The bath is still pretty warm, I wasn’t in for too long. “

Isla nodded not saying anything, and entered the bathroom to feel the water. A small callous free hand dipped in, and tested the surface of the water. Apparently satisfied, Isla reached down to the hem of her shirt and started pulling it upwards.

Emil turned and quickly bolted from the room, closing the door behind him and practically leaped across the hallway to his new room. It looked like Isla hadn’t had a chance to finish moving all his clothes to the new room yet, but he found a pair of his dad’s old pants that were a little short but fit ok.

‘Well, my pants now I guess’ he thought somberly.

After his mother died, Emil had just kind of...continued. He’d cleaned up his parents room and put everything away, but beyond that his day to day routine had never changed. It was a lot quieter, but really that was the only difference.

Now with Isla here, he had to face the fact that things were going to change. This wasn’t his mom and dad’s house; it was his. They weren’t his mothers sewing supplies; they were his.

It was going to take some getting used to.

Rummaging through the clothes, Emil found an old shirt and sweater as well as socks. The sweater was a bit tight on him, but it was just sleepwear so no big deal. He bent to start the fire in the pot bellied stove in the corner of the room and fed several logs and ceramic briquettes into it. He’d retrieve the ones currently in use from his old bedroom tomorrow morning.

Emil picked a book from the bookcase. It was one of his favorites, it chronicled the story of a man who used a ship to travel the stars, but became trapped in a dream while sleeping between planets. He wasn’t sure if the “Otherlife Dreams” was an accurate diary, or just a fun story. It didn’t really matter.

He had just gotten into the part of the book where Runner meets a thief on the road, when Isla stepped into the room, wrapped in a towel and soaking wet hair down her back. She rifled through the clothes in the closet and selected several garments. Letting the towel fall, she began to dress.

Emil tried to keep his eyes on his book, but it was futile. This time when he took in her shape, it wasn’t just because he was checking for chilblains. Her skin was dusky, like a cup of thin whiskey. Her black hair came down to her shoulder blades and pooled in the dent where her back met her spine. The long curve of her spine waved back and forth as she pulled on her pants, like a snake hypnotizing its prey. Where it met her ass though, that’s where magic happened.

Her was perfection of flawless tanned skin, plump cheeks, and dimples. Each firm globe would perfectly fit in his hand, and begging to be bitten. If time stopped and Emil was frozen for all existence staring at that ass, he would consider it time well spent. Sadly her pants covered the heavenly rear much too quickly, and she never turned to give him a peek at her chest.

He shifted in bed adjusting his dick, which was paying just as much attention as he was. It fed him images of her bent over the bed and being rammed from behind, bouncing over his cock like a slow motion jello mold of pure lust.

Isla turned and Emil glued his eyes back to his book, trying to give off no indication that he’d just been eye fucking her so hard that they should both be panting.

“Did you need anything else master?”

Clearing his throat he met her gaze, “No. I’m going to read for a bit, and then go to sleep. There are candles in the box on the bookcase if you’d like to read. Sorry about the cot, I just figured you’d want your own space. I’ll think of something else if you want.”

She shook her head at him, “No sir, the cot is fine, thank you.” She then bent to the shelf and after a few minutes of looking, picked out a book and a candle. She crawled into her cot, where she had placed a small pillow and several blankets and began to read. The book was too far away for Emil to see the cover but it was a large book and he could see drawings on some of the pages.

‘Probably a book about flowers. Girls like flowers. Jasmine is a flower. No! Stop it! Shut up you stupid penis. Go to sleep while I read my book.’

Emil dove back into the novel and read until his eyes grew heavy. He didn’t even notice when he fell asleep and the book fell to the side. He slept deeply, dreaming of running his hands along a tan back, and knotting his hands into black hair.

Chapter 16

Isla read by candle light until she heard the snores from Emil’s bed. She was beyond confused by today’s events and was having a hard time keeping her mind in “Agricultural Mechanics: Fundamentals and Applications.” As fascinating as the concept of using large machines to aid in planting and harvesting was, it couldn’t hold a candle to the storm of thoughts running through her mind.

‘Ok, so let’s try and figure this out. So he didn’t jump you this morning, and thats when a lot of guys “wake up” in more way than one. He didn’t ask you to join him in the bath...either time. Then he made you a separate bed, instead of making you share his. The question is: why does a man buy a woman at a slave auction, take her home, and then NOT fuck her.’

The question ran around and around her brain. She came up with dozens of theories, and discarded each of them. The only thing that made any sort of sense was that he didn’t want to sleep with her.

She knew there were men who preferred the company of other men to women; but she had never heard of a man like that who lived so far from a proper city.

‘This far away from everything, he must really be turned off by women to not take advantage of one who couldn’t say no.’

At first she was a little creeped out by a man who’s lifestyle was so completely foreign to hers; but as she laid there for a while, she began to like the idea more and more. A man who so far, hadn’t hit her, yelled at her, degraded her...and didn’t want her body.

‘It most certainly be worse. Perhaps I’m was the luckiest woman on the planet to come across the only man in the northern hemisphere who won’t abuse a slave. It’s actually kind of perfect.’

And just like that the bubble burst.

Her father had told her when she was a child learning how a laundry worked, to beware the deal that was too good. Nobody in the history of the world ever did anything that didn’t benefit them in some way. Oh sure, Emil said he needed a ranch hand; but from what she had seen the ranch was in good condition and the chores hadn’t taken him that long to finish.

No there was something else he wanted, she was sure of it. What though? She had no idea how to milk a goat, or shave a sheep. She couldn’t ride a horse, and he had none. She’d never even held a hammer, and couldn’t begin to fathom where to start with fixing a truck.

Even though she only cost a measly five gold, there was no way that he bought her just to cook and clean. No, there was something else. For the life of her she couldn’t figure it out. The candle burned low as she thought in circles until eventually, exhausted from worry, she snuffed it out and went to sleep.

She woke in the morning with her arm numb from having slept on it all night and a crick in her back from the hard rail on the cot. She moaned and rolled over, trying to work some feeling back into her arm. She looked over to the bed and saw Emil sprawled out across it and a large wet spot next to his mouth.

She snickered at him drooling and got up to attend nature. She saw light streaming in through the windows in the kitchen and saw the storm was still in full fury. She started a pot of water for tea and a second for breakfast, and searched through the barrels in the kitchen for some kind of fruit.

She found a small bucket of apples had seen better days, their skin a little shriveled and flesh beginning to dry out. She chopped a couple up and added them to the the grits, hoping the water would help reconstitute them a bit.

She heard Emil slam the door to the bathroom and was able to get the grits, tea, and sweet syrup on the table by the time he stumbled into the kitchen. He blinked stupidly at the meal already set and mumbled his thanks as he sat down.

Isla waited for him to sit and take a bite of breakfast to make sure there wasn’t anything else he needed before she took her seat opposite him and ate her own meal. She watched carefully, and refilled his tea as soon as it was empty, and though she offered to make him second helpings he declined.

He stumbled off to the room to put get ready for his day, as she washed and put away the dishes and hurried to get herself ready. She quickly threw on several of the thickest sweaters she could find, and topped it off with a heavy coat. Five pairs of socks later and she was ready to follow Emil around for the morning chores.

While he was checking on the sheep, ‘are there more of them than yesterday?’ she filled the troughs with the feed from the small shack. The sheep were still terrifying, but she forced herself to stand still gritting her teeth, when they rushed the food.

She handed Emil his weapon as he clambered over and into the goat pen, and began swinging the shovel around even though there were no goats even near him. He was able to start checking the herd when, with a mangled yelp, he disappeared. Isla panicked, and climbed over the fencing to go help him.

‘Maybe he fell in a pothole and twisted his ankle, or got bit by something in the ground.’

She had barely made it a few yards inside the pen, when Emil surged to his feet holding a goat by its feet. He spun in a small circle and threw the goat back into the herd like a sack of grain, shouting expletives at the top of his lungs.

Convinced that the goats would survive another day, they both retreated back behind the safety of the fence and headed back towards the barn.

“Do you have a complete list of everything you need from market,” he asked her as they both grabbed armfuls of the moldy hay.

“Yes sir. I can write it down for you if you wish.”

Shaking his head, “No it’ll be simpler if you just come with me. It’s not like you don’t fit in the truck, and this way you can make sure you get the right stuff.”

She missed a step as she nodded at his words. Going into a town as a slave was a dangerous prospect. Laws didn’t apply to her, and if she was killed by a runaway carriage or a drunk, they would only be required to pay for or replace her.

They dumped the hay and she went back for seconds, while Emil headed over to the truck to warm it up for the drive. Satisfied that the rabbits were settled in, she joined him in the cabin of the truck and they roared off down the road.

The gentle swaying of the truck was nice, and for the first hour or so Isla just stared out the window and tried to catch glimpses of the countryside through the whiteness of the storm. She was very glad that they had the truck and were protected from the elements as they journeyed. She couldn’t imagine doing this in a horse and buggy.

As the time passed, Isla thought about the items she would need. Some chest wraps if they have them, some undergarments, menstrual rags, and proper shoes. She couldn’t think of much else she would need, as the ranch had a good stock of basic necessities. Obtaining those necessities was another matter.

As a slave she couldn’t buy or sell anything without proper permission from her master, and she wasn’t sure what the rural market would be like. She knew the auction house was fairly nearby, but it looked like it mainly serviced the workfarms and brothels to the south. So they might not be used to dealing with a slave. That could be good or bad.

Hopefully they would just treat her like a normal person, but she had talked to some girls from other areas who said slaves weren’t allowed in shops. Sometimes they could just wait outside, but they mentioned that some larger towns had posts outside certain buildings where slaves were chained up like horses to wait for their master to return. There was nothing to stop a passerby from stopping and trying to cop a feel or worse.

As terrifying as being chained out in the cold was, it was still better than being snatched up in the street by someone. One of the male slaves had told her about a time when a man kidnapped him when he was out of sight of his master. He wasn’t sure if the man knew he was a slave or was just a rapist, but the man was a monster.

He had taken off his shirt and shown the girls the scars where the man had cut his chest and stomach as he held him down and raped him. The only thing that saved him was that his master had come looking for him and he was not far from where he had been taken. When his master found him, he had been furious, but not because he had been hurt or raped.

No, he was mad that the rapist had stolen his property without permission. Before even taking him to the healer to be looked at, his master drug him to the nearest blacksmith and had a heavy iron collar around his neck, marking him as property. The sheriff had been called and his attacker was ordered to pay twelve gold for the damage to his body, and sent on his way. The slave’s master was so disgusted with him, that he sold him the next day to the auction house.

She later found out that if the a free man or woman were raped, it was the victim’s responsibility to prove it, and the maximum penalty was ten gold. Disgusting that “theft of property” carried a heavier penalty than rape.

Isla shuddered and thought about her friends story and resolved to stay close to her master and hope that he would protect her from that. She shot Emil a sideways glance, studying his bored expression.

‘Well let’s look at the facts. He hasn’t slept with you, or shown interest in you. He’s even been naked in front of you and didn’t react when you were naked in front of him. Either he doesn’t care about sex or he doesn’t care about sex with you. There might be a brothel in town that where he visits some boys. Ok, assume he does that, where are you going to be? Sure as shit not hanging out in the lobby of a brothel. A town this small probably won’t have a slave pen. So that leaves me either in the room, which would just be weird, chained outside, or more likely loaned out to a friend’

As her tension ratcheted higher as more and more unlikely scenarios filled her brain ‘what if he makes me fight in the dog ring?!’ Isla’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest as they pulled into the town. Now that she was paying more attention, calling it a town was generous. It was maybe two or three dozen buildings all hodgepodged nearby. There was the main street that ran through it, but no other official roads or open spaces to see the buildings from a distance.

It was small, it was dirty, it was poor, and it was terrifying. The truck came to a stop outside an inn with a dancing horse sign, and Emil shut off the engine.

“Ok this is the Prancing Pony. Anyone in town can give you directions here.” He then pointed to a thatched roof off to the left of the inn, “That is the Weaver’s shop, they should have everything you need. Here’s ten silver, that should be enough for the basics. Come get me when you’re done and we’ll get the rest of the supplies.”

Isla’s eyes widened as big as saucers. He was going to leave her alone, unarmed, in a strange town in the middle of nowhere, with more money than she had ever held before. That was like...how to make a victim 101.

“Master no! Please don’t make me go alone!”

Emil started, completely taken aback by her sudden vehemence.

“Whoa! What’s wrong? You ok?”

His eyebrows climbed up into his hair, and he gripped the steering wheel tightly with the force of his adrenaline reacting to her.

“Master, you’ve never owned a slave before and no one here knows me. I couldn’t protect myself from muggers. Slaves have a certain protection from kidnapping and rape, but only if people know and I’m not branded or collared. I don’t want to get hurt.”

“Branded? Collared? People do that?”

“Yes sir! A free woman has the right to carry a weapon and defend herself. I’m a slave. Carrying a weapon is a death sentence for me. Even if I’m not armed, if I injure a free person it’s death.”

“Well I’ve been in this town for years I’ve never even heard of anything like that happening. Well, except for the Rivers daughter a long time ago, but that was never proven. Or Tanner senior, but they never caught the guy. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Emil said shrugging his shoulders.

Isla bit her lip and looked him square in the eye. “Please master? I don’t want to be any trouble, but I really don’t want to get hurt. Wearing your collar means I’m under your protection and gives me the right to invoke your name if I need to. Please?” Her voice cracked a little bit, even though she didn’t mean to. The prospect of wandering out there alone and unprotected was truly scary.

Emil’s expression softened as met her gaze. “Ok, ok. If it will make you feel better. Where do we get a collar? I assume the slave auction sells them.”

Isla had to stop herself from collapsing in relief. She did let out a huge breath she forgot she was holding as quietly as she could and she shook her head at Emil.

“Probably, but blacksmiths usually carry some as well. If not they can usually make one pretty quick.” she told him, a trembling finger pointing to a familiar anvil sign hanging outside a forge on the other side of the street.

“Well I guess we’re going there first then.” He said as he kicked open the drivers side door.

Isla quickly followed him, and darted around the cab of the truck to catch up to him. As they stepped onto the porch, she looked up at Emil, “Thank you master.”

Emil just nodded and cleared his throat. “Hey Perrin, you in there?!”

The steady clang of hammer on anvil stopped as they walked inside, and around a short wall that seemed to serve as a windbreak. The walked into a large room made almost entirely of stone and packed earth. In the middle was a large raised furnace, covered by a metal shroud with an opening on either side. Large bellows were built into the far side, and right next to each opening of the furnace was an anvil raised on a log. They were smaller than she expected, but being solid metal they still probably weighed one or two hundred pounds.

On the left side of the room was the single largest man she had ever seen. He was seven feet if he was an inch. His shoulders were like mini boulders, and he handled the long hammer in his hands like it weighed as much as a fork.

His face split into a grin seeing Emil though, and his eyes seemed kind as he shook his hand. Emil explained what he needed and the smith nodded along. Finally he produced a rounded piece of metal that was obviously an opened circle with a taper on one side and a few holes.

Emil nodded in approval, took a piece of paper and scribbled something on it; handing it to the smith. Studying the paper, he took out a tiny chisel and began making delicate lines. Isla scooted closer to the fire and warmed her hands, mentally adding gloves to her list; as she watched the smith at work.

It didn’t take long. With Emil nodding his approval over the final piece the smith waved her over to the anvil where he stood, and slipped the ring around her neck. The smith had her bend over the anvil so that her left cheek rested on it. A bolt of fear surged through her as the smith took a very large hammer, and with two taps closed the ends of the collar, with the tapered end fitting inside the other.

He then had her sit on the floor and pull her hair forward so that the back of the collar was exposed and resting flat on the surface of the anvil. Delicately, with long tongs, he reached into the furnace and pulled out a red hot length of metal about an inch long.

“Don’t move girly, this will burn the skin right off of you.”

Isla stilled as much as possible and squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the smith pull the ring as far back as he could; then without warning, she felt a shift and then four quick, but very powerful, hammer blows. As soon as he finished the job Isla felt a stream of cold water cascade over the anvil, hissing as it soaked her hair and clothes.

She felt a scraping along the collar as the smith filed down whatever ragged bits he needed too. When he was done, the pin held the two ends of the collar together and the tops of the pin had been smashed down into the ring itself forming an impenetrable weld.

She was owned and collared.

The reality hit her like a kick to the face. Sure she had known intellectually that she was a slave, but she had been passed from buyer to buy so many times in the last year, that it didn’t feel quite real. Now though, she could feel the weight of the collar sealed around her throat; binding her to her master.

She felt her shoulders sag as tension began to drain from them. With trembling fingers, she felt the metal encircling her neck. The smooth metal was cool and solid, with scratches on the front. It felt thicker than she remembered. As she touched it a small part of the back of her brain envisioned her stroking a shield.

This was her protection against the outside world. From now on, no matter what happened she was the property of Emil Jackson and under his protection. He was the barrier to her being resold, attacked, or manhandled. She studied him out of the corner of her eye. Tall, well built beneath his baggy coats, and so far hadn’t made a single move on her.

‘I will never let myself go through that hell again. I will be perfect, he will never want to get rid of me. In a couple months, he’ll wonder how he ever lived his life without me.’

With this collar, she was safe.