Kitten and Dagger

The wood was collected by Kitten. She wears her furs close about her face as the attack left her scarred about the eye and limping like a wounded deer. She struggles beneath an armful of wood but struggles most with the treachery of her sister which left her the object of suspicion and anger.
We took her in a raid on the People of the Lightning Tree. Their camp lies to the fall of the sun beyond the fast flowing of the river, on a hill protected within the curl of earth raised defences. A huge oak stands there burnt and twisted by the strike of a stormgod many lives ago.They say the spirit of the tree was evil and that lightning cast out the demon making the land good for man to live.

Their flags, long strips of green dyed cloth which fluttered all along the wooden barricades showed our archers the passage of the wind. The day falling to dark we, the People of the Wandering Wolf,  set many arrows into the air and then with great cries to stir our warrior hearts, lit brush torches and took up the hill in search of slaves and horses.

The fight was poor for they are just hillsmen and we left the huts burning bright in nightmoon light with women and a group of pliant wide bellied fell horses.I took two women and one horse from the spoils.One I called Kitten – for she carried one hidden in her cloak and another who had no name then but now is called Dagger – for she had one hidden in her cloak. After her treachery I asked Kitten,

“What would your sister have been called by your people?” But she shook her head and would not speak of Dagger, making a small hexane sign with her index finger on her tongue to ward off the evil Dagger left behind.

As I stoked the fire and begin the process of heating rock into metal I asked the fur hidden Kitten what work she did for the People of the Lightning Tree.

“Cheese.” She muttered and mimed swinging a goat’s skin to and fro casting milk into curds and whey.

“What do you miss about your people?” I asked as sparks flew up, Kitten thought a while spreading her filthy hands above the flames to gather heat, she gave a small shrug.

“Cheese.” Then she pointed at the crucible which glowed orange blue. “What will you make?” She crouched down to squint closer her broken leg skewed to such an awkward angle it was hard to look upon her. I showed her the mould, a scramble of twisting turns to form a new brooch. It is the depiction of life with no beginning or end just the continuous movement of water through the land of which we part.

“The last one was lost.” I said simply.

“Where?”

“Down by the river.” I need say no more for that is where Dagger struck and stuck her knife into my woman before she fled back across the plains to where the People of the Lightening Tree are upon the hill.

I missed the sight of Smile, my woman, in the corner of my eye moving about the fire going about her work. We shared a bowl for our food and when nothing was to said, sat silently and watched as the others scraped skins or made rope. She would lean her elbow on my thigh and rest her head against my chest but all that is lost to me.  

Now there’s just the two of us me and Kitten, always fretful her staring brown eyes that watch me for anger or instruction. If I turn my back will it come back to haunt me? Is there the same black heart hidden in those furs that beat in Dagger’s chest?

When the crucible was ready I called for her and she set the mold in a clamp of stones whilst I tipped the crucible so the molten gold fell in a constant stream into the mold. the golden river swarmed along the tracks until it erupted and spilt over. I cut my finger and squeezed a droplet of blood into the cooling gold to ensure the brooch is one with the world as alive and seeing as anyone of us.

Then we sat and waited, occasionally I felt the side of the clay until the time was right and we took the mold outside into the light and I carefully tapped away the whitened mold. Kitten looked up as someone came over.

As the new born brooch tumbled into my hand I felt a stab of pain shoot through my side and fell to the ground clutching the brooch tight and my side tighter. A silhouette above me, a dagger and the offer of assistance towards Kitten who silently accepted the grasp and rose untucking her twisted broken leg.

The heat from the brooch is warm but the slip of my blood warmer across my stomach as I weakly raise my head and see, running low between the huts, Kitten and Dagger escaping back across the plains, towards the river and the wood and the hill where The People of the Lightning Tree are. My head slumps back and I go to stand beside Smile amongst the past People of the Wandering Wolf.

She is as beautiful as I remember only more luminous, more alive her in this world of light. I pin the brooch onto her tunic and she smiles.