On the farm lives a butcher. He gets his own little cabin, mostly because a loyal butcher is valuable enough to be rewarded one, and also because most of the non-butchers avoid him as much as possible. Even after he thoroughly washes himself in the river once a month, the smell of blood clings to him. He keeps his beard stubbled or shorter, and keeps his head bald because of sticky work conditions. Every day, he wears a bandana, and only dons a dark, thick apron during his shifts.

His social life tends to fall flat, but that's okay because he's somewhat introverted. Still, he feels a tinge of loneliness when he is the only person in the room whose day nobody wants to hear about. There are plenty of juniors who come and go, but most of them drift away without taking the butcher trade seriously.

When the bossman passes on the quotas, the head butcher Kazerus is called to the pen. "We need more pork," the boss had ordered. Kazerus trudges through the mud field, where the animal caretaker awaits. Jaqui, his straw hat nodding solemnly, unlocks the gate and passes a bucket to Kazerus. Even though Kazerus is a giant hunk of muscle himself, he tips his head like a swan. The pigs bumble out of the gate, four in total, before Jaqui closes the latch. They swarm the feet of the butcher who carries the manna from heaven.

The troupe marches to an open field, where the slaughterhouse sits on a gently sloping hill, and fresh grass grows all around. Kazerus lets the pigs wander and play. They uproot grass and sniff out buried nuts, or sunbathe with a frivolous unawareness.

In time, the assistants lead each animal into the dark house. Ventilation holes near the roof allow sunlight to stream in, but if they make a mistake slitting the vocal cords, the thick walls muffle the hellish squeals.

When voices from outside seem to be squabbling, Kazerus takes it upon himself to check out what's happening. Upon exiting the building, the thick drape of suffering unclasps from his shoulders. He basks in the sunlight and enjoys the moment of respite.

"Alright kid, get going," the assistant says. His apron and gloves, ill-fitting and about to slip off his wiry frame, have trademark maroon stains. "We gots real work to do."

A boy had been petting and talking to one lardtub of a pig. Kids and adults alike sneak away to slack off, but usually not in the direction of the butchery. Kazerus walks over, carrying a massive cleaver by his side. "Sorry, the swine belongs to us. Why don't you go back to your place?" He doesn't like using his imposing stature against others, but sometimes it's necessary. He blocks the sun and casts a large shadow.

"Okay," Timo says obediently. He crawls between the fence, and the crew watches him disappear.

They lead the final pig into the final house.

They spend an intense day separating the cuts of meat and delivering them to various clients, cooks and preparation facilities, until sunset drives the workers to retire for the night.

The first to arrive and the last to leave, Kazerus takes a glance at the empty station. Chains clank as he locks up the slaughterhouse. He eagerly walks home, if only to change out of his work clothes and enjoy a cup of wine before bed.

Once at the cabin, he heads to an attachment room, taking a rusty candleholder with him, and slides the heavy door open. About as large as a closet, the room is filled to the brim with sacks of salt. Hooks from the ceiling hang meats, just like how the slaughterhouse cures ‘em, and the stench has a force of its own. From the nearest steak, Kazerus picks off strands to nibble on, delectable and soft the texture. Satisfied with his handiwork, he leaves the salt chamber and seals the door.

He enters the main living room, fluffs out his bed and pillow--bales of straw and hemp--and crawls under a thin blanket. He promptly falls asleep.

A knocking sound interrupts the stillness, and Kazerus shoots his eyelids open. The torrent of rain drums against the walls, dull and humid the thudding. He cocks his head left and right before slipping out of bed like a slug. He drags the slat from the door peep, where his eyes strain under the dim moon, croaking, "Who's there?"

"Hi," a pipsqueak says.

Kazerus looks down and barely makes out a face in the shimmering darkness. "What the hell are you doing at night?"

"Um, I got lost. Do you have a place I can sleep?"

Kazerus massages his eyes. "One moment." He steps away from the door and fumbles around for a candleholder. When he feels a waxy object, he rubs the wick a couple times until a small flame ignites, and returns to the door. He unfastens the chain and opens a small crack for the light to shine through.

Indeed, the visitor is a child and not a ghost. Kazerus ushers him inside. "Ya got lost, huh?"

Timo hurries into the cabin, sopping hair sprinkling droplets. Kazerus shuts the door. Not used to having guests, he watches this one shake off the rain. It would be cruel to leave him outside, but he isn't sure where the boy could sleep. "Well, I'll be sleeping there." Kazerus points at the pile of straw. "You sleep wherever you find room."

Kazerus puts the candleholder on a shelf and blows it out, then crawls back into bed. He hears an almost inaudible "thanks" and listens to the tiptoeing until they fade into raindrops. In a single room with sparse furniture, he snorts and focuses on dozing. Work can always wait for morning.

Before the crack of dawn, the rooster crow wakes Kazerus up. Forcing himself upright, he glances at the window and sighs at the muddy ground. "Ah--" he blurts. He almost forgets there's another person inside the cabin.

Kazerus crouches and rolls the boy's shoulders back and forth. Timo unfurls like a newly sprouted leaf. The face belongs to the same kid who played with the pig yesterday, albeit with floor grain imprints. "Ya gotta go now, 'cause I gotta go work."

After he metaphorically kicks the child out of his cabin, Kazerus gets dressed in his apron and filthy boots, then heads to the slaughterhouse. Along the way, a prickling sensation bothers him until he catches a head dashing behind a thicket.

"Yo," Kazerus yells into the sky, "I'm going to report you to the bossman if you're up to no good!"

To his surprise, the boy leaps out of the bushes screaming and undulating, "NoOoOoOo," and crashes into Kazerus.

"Hey twat, watch it!" Kazerus shakes Timo off, yet he slips out a laugh. "You're gonna make me late!"

Kazerus widens his stride, outpacing the child and arriving at the pen early. He prepares the equipment, setting up tables and benches and cutting boards. In due time, the boy catches up.

"Are you supposed to be here?"

"Yah," the kid replies.

"What's the name?"

"Timo."

Timo isn't a name Kazerus recalls in recent memory. At this point, the kid needs to buzz off. "Unless you're here to be useful, you better scram. Ain't got time for children."

Timo looks side to side, confused. Kazerus groans and heads inside the slaughterhouse. He emerges with a dead goose, neck in hand, then ties a rope around a rack to hang it. "Can you pluck this?" He throws a shallow basket at the boy, who catches it with a flump. "Do a few feathers at a time. Don't rip off the meat."

As the sun rises, the assistants filter through the gate and start their shift. They notice the random boy working on the goose and ask of his origin. Kazerus tells them, "I don't know. He followed me ‘round like a lost puppy, so I gave him an easy task."

"What's his name?" an assistant asks. His ankles are thick, and his knees protrude from under his apron.

"It's…" Kazerus shuffles his feet and taps the back of his neck. "I forget."

For the most part, they ignore 'I forget,' as he's too young to do much.

Timo works diligently on the goose. At one point, a downy feather lands on top of his nose, and he snorts, vacuuming the foreign object inside. He sneezes and drops the bucket, and a fantastic confetti scatters in the wind. He clutches at the heavier feathers, but the rest had blown away to oblivion.

Timo approaches the goose and rips at the half-plucked wings in a fit of rage, breaking the shafts of the valuable flight feathers used for quills.

Kazerus notices the flurry of movement in his periphery and lays his knife down amongst a half-chopped ham. He rushes over. "Kid, what are you doing?!"

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Timo releases the greasy feathers from his palms. He gives Kazerus an expression of pain. "The feathers wouldn't stay in the basket."

Kazerus purses his lips. "It's not a big deal. Here, just pick up the big ones." The goose has deep depressions and a broken breastbone. "Look, you ruined it."

Timo shrinks into himself. "Sorry."

Kazerus sighs. The bird won't be good for aesthetic presentations, but he can repurpose it for broth or sausages. "If you get upset, at least say something. You don't have to act out by yourself."

Around noon, the team cooks a pot stew on the spit racks, and Kazerus feels a little guilty that he forgot to feed the kid beforehand; maybe he was hungry and grumpy. Holding a piece of flatbread, Kazerus lifts the lid off a tall pot, releasing the aroma of celery, meat and peas. With a dipping spoon, he skeeves the top layer and slathers it onto the bread, then gives it to Timo. The lion's share of the pottage is for his team, who own proper spoons and breadbowls.

During break, they gather around the cooking fire. The senior butcher, a stout man with cloudy, soft eyebrows, competes with the youngsters in wild tales about masculine exploits. Wiry-Monkey hankers for bets on how long Timo would stay here. While they try to get a rise out of him, Timo watches with disinterest, and eventually the men switch topics. All in all, they forget he exists sometimes, and don't mind if he does. Corrupting the innocence of children with vulgar talk is quite fun.

Coming up the entrance gate, Jaqui calls, "Kaz, you've got a bull."

Kazerus locks his knuckles and stretches his arms outwards. "Whew! Today's a big day!"

Cloud-Brow winks at Timo and says, "Ya wanna watch this?"

As the butchers open the gate, Jaqui leads a black bull into the back of the pen, leading it with a long rope tied to a nosering. A shining coat bulges from the shoulders and haunches. Its horns are burnished copper, striking awe into the hearts of men.

"Stay back and sit tight," Cloud-Brow tells Timo. He brings him to a spot far from the intended area of slaughter. "Try to keep your eyes open for as long as you can. This is real men's work." He laughs before rejoining the team, and Timo sits on the fence. Cloud-Brow rubs his lower back and curses at arthritis.

The men gather around the bull, and Kazerus pats it on the back. "The Great Spirit calls to us. Our brother will return to the Hall of Stars."

The men say in a messy chorus, "Congratulations!"

"Say 'hi' to grandma for me?"

"You are so blessed!"

Such phrases are aimed at their 'brother,' the bull.

Kazerus lifts his palm, and the chorus dies down. He continues, "His journey will be arduous. We hope he has been given plenty of help and support."

The men, in murmurs and grunts of a congregation, speak, "If you need anything give us a call!"

"You're always welcome to visit us!"

Kazerus says, "Bring us lots of souvenirs, will ya?" He rubs the bull on the nose and closes his eyes. "Are you ready?"

"Farewell, our brother!"

"May peace be unto you, and your journey safe."

"Don't trip and fall into Hell!"

Kazerus steps back from the bull with his arms spread wide. From the side, Big-Knee approaches the calm animal with an axe held low. He raises the handle end slowly, and a swift movement bashes the skull right in the center of its forehead.

The bull sways, stunned and unable to keep balance. Immediately, Wiry-Monkey inserts a pithing rod into the dented wound, sawing in and out, while the others hold the body steady. As its muscles go limp, they gently lower the bull to the ground.

Kazerus supervises them, waiting until the animal breathes its last. When he gives the signal, the rest of the assistants haul the carcass to the slaughterhouse, where they tie chains around the ankles and hang it.

The blood flows out of the jugular, collecting in a deep pan. After they skin and separate the beast into manageable chunks, they store it on hooks for aging. Cloud-Brow pokes his head outside the doorway. "Where's the kid? Did he leave?"

Big-Knee laughs. "You didn't see? He sneaked inside and hid in the corner." He points to the direction with his thumb, where a pair of legs show under the curtains of meat.

"Well, well! Did you watch the whole thing?" Cloud-Brow swats a couple of hangers away, finally revealing Timo's face.

"I did."

"What did ya think?"

"It was interesting."

"It sure is, huh?" Cloud-Brow looks wistfully into the distance, surely reminiscing of the first time he witnessed a slaughter.

Kazerus says, "The kid really stayed? He didn't run away?"

"His balls were so heavy that he couldn't," Wiry-Monkey jests.

"That ram's sack practically kissed the ground and still chased you plenty fast," Kazerus responds in a snap.

"Hey, I don't know why it hated me! One moment, it was chewing grass, and the next, tryin' to raze my ass!"

At the end of another exhausting day, Kazerus makes the rounds counting the weights of products. When he retrieves the basket of goose feathers, he nods and figures it's enough to sell. The workers hang and chat around the cistern, a shallow stone pool that collects rainwater, to wash their knives before heading home.

Kazerus strolls down the hill, passing through the paved dirt and gravel. Indeed, when he glances behind, Timo follows.

"Kid, don't you have a place to sleep?" Kids should be at the longhouse, where his supervisor is. Actually, his supervisor should be freaking out right now. Unless...he's a trespasser who wandered onto the farm? Kazerus drills his eyes into Timo with suspicion.

"I can't sleep with the other kids."

Kazerus yawns and rubs his neck. "Who's your boss? I'll take you back."

"You're the bossman," Timo says.

"Haha--what?" Kazerus frowns. Sure, he is the head butcher, but he's not good with children. Ugh, it's not his job to take care of babies. He'll have to return this kid. He approaches Timo and nudges the tiny shoulders. "Alright, playtime's over. Let's get you home."

Timo fusses his arms and wriggles away from the butcher. "I don't wanna go back! If they find me, I'll get whipped."

"If you did something bad, you have to face your punishment." Kazerus pushes a little harder at the child who won't budge.

"All the other kids hate me," Timo pouts. "I don't wanna go back!"

Kazerus stops pushing and asks, "Why do they hate you?"

"I don't know. They blame me for everything bad that happens."

"What do they blame you for?"

"If the crops are spoiled or the quota is too short or someone got scratched, they blame me and I get kicked out for the day. Then I have nothing to do but wander around."

Kazerus frowns. He's too tired to carry this kid all the way across the farm. Kazerus scratches his bandana. "Okay, let's head back to my cabin for tonight. I'll take you back tomorrow." He'll have to apologize to the supervisor later. What a pain in the butt.

Outside the cabin walls, the butcher hangs his apron and bandana on hooks. Kazerus pulls a set of keys out of his bootheel and unlocks the door. The two of them step inside, and Kazerus waves awkwardly. "I don't have a bed for you. Sorry." Kazerus pulls up a small, knee-level table that had been tucked away against the wall. On the surface are nearly folded blankets, and Kazerus pads the floor with them. He requests, "Can you light the candle?"

Timo steps inside and casually observes the room. He stares at the candleholder on the shelf and says, "I can't."

Kazerus snorts. "Stop being difficult. Is it really that hard to reach?" He looks behind to affirm.

Timo grabs the holder off the shelf easily. He taps on the old wick. "I can't actually light it."

Kazerus opens his mouth with a large, "Oh." The kid is useless? We're off to a great start! Starting a fire is a basic survival skill for any human. Maybe the kid is--to put it kindly--mentally slow? It would explain his cheekiness. "Can you use magic at all?"

Timo says, "Sometimes."

Kazerus takes the candleholder and rubs the wick. A small flame perks itself into existence. He points at a cushion and tells the kid to sit. "Stay here and don't touch anything."

He opens a sliding door in the back to his saltroom. After a few moments, he returns with a plate of jerky and grabs a jug of wine from atop a barrel. "Dinner."

He sets the table with wooden cups and pours a little alcohol for Timo, and a lot more for himself.

"It's not like I expect that much from you," Kazerus says, "but don't fuck anything up." He sits down on a floor mat, across from Timo.

"Okay."

"Butchers are the most important members of society." Kazerus nods with a steady gaze, completely serious about his statement. "Without us, civilization would fall apart. We're dirty, but we have to be proud of ourselves."

Timo holds a strip of meat and chews at it absent-mindedly.

Kazerus gasps in a low breath, realizing he was about to launch a monologue. He bites a strip in tandem and gargles his mouth with wine.

Some time later, Kazerus asks, "If you can't use magic, why do the kids blame stuff on you?"

Timo rolls his eyes. "I can use magic. Just not Fire."

"Ooh, my bad," Kazerus says. He rests his elbows on the table and leans in closer. "So what kind of magic can you use?"

Timo leans back and shrugs. "Doesn't matter."

Kazerus decides not to probe further, as it's clearly a sore spot for him. He's probably some kind of Naturalist. Maybe the others force their work onto him. "How do you feel about the other kids?"

"They're stupid, so I don't care about them."

His story sounds sad and all, but some details are missing. Kazerus says, "What did you do?"

"I threw some cockroaches at a girl."

"Man, that's not nice." Kazerus puts his hands on his cross-legged knees and rocks back and forth. "But it sounds damn funny. How did she react?"

"She screamed, of course. We all laughed at her, until an adult walked over and asked why she's crying." Timo squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, his small body shivering. "I got whipped for treating ladies poorly. The other boys pretended they never laughed in the first place."

Kazerus unstifles a laugh. "You were responsible for it. That can't be helped."

Timo pouts again. "A few bugs aren't dangerous. I didn't even hurt her."

That last statement strikes Kazerus as odd. "Some people are sensitive. It's not good to throw bugs around anyway; cockroaches are dirty." By experience, he knows a slaughterhouse is prone to pests, and a cockroach infestation is no joke.

"Yeah, I know."

Kazerus rubs his blushing cheeks. Nothing works better than a little booze to open the heart. "Growing up, I wasn't liked much. My father was a butcher, so I ate more meat, and I was taller and stronger than the other kids."

Kazerus watches Timo, making sure he's paying attention. For a farmboy, his eyes are not soft and healthy, but rather empty and penetrating.

He continues, "If I go to a pub late at night, there's a good chance someone will pick a fight with me, just because I'm big and smelly. I don't like fighting, though." A blink of sadness washes over Kazerus's face. Then he smiles. "I guess it can't be helped. People get jealous easily."

"What do you do when you get into a fight?" Timo asks.

"I try to make jokes and lighten the mood. Usually the other patrons will side with me as long as I don't throw punches. Or I'll run away. I don't have to get sucked in with a drunk fool."

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

Kazerus laughs. "No. Do I really look like I have?"

Timo says, "Kind of."

It's hard to forget the way people wrinkle their noses when Kazerus mentions he's a butcher. Do they secretly think he's an axe murderer too?

In good humor, he swallows down the sting of insecurity. "I've never taken these cannons to war, but maybe you'd like to find out how much firepower I can pack?" He raises his arms and flexes his beautiful muscles, growling playfully. "Oh wait, we did send off our brother today, didn't we?"

"I'm not sure if I'd want a cow for a mother and the heifers as sisters," Timo says.

"You know, when I was young, my sister had this mermaid phase? She tried so hard to become one and asked me to help her with rituals. To be honest, I was scared I'd turn into a manmaid with her. Wait...that doesn't sound right…"

"Isn't it supposed to be 'merman?'"

"Oh yeah! Anyway..."

As the night wears on, they talk about life, they wipe and sort the dishes, they imagine random scenarios, of dragons and knights, and fall into the grasps of sleep.