Even though it was only the middle of the afternoon, Asel yawned over her tea. She wasn't tired, necessarily. Just... bored. The floors had been scrubbed and the garden had been weeded, the goat had been milked and the quail bedding was clean.
There was absolutely nothing left to keep her busy.
She'd tried getting a bit of knitting done, but her heart just wasn't in it. All the good winter wool had already been used up, and there wasn't anything she particularly wanted to make. There was nothing good on the radio -- she'd checked, and checked, and checked again. It was too late in the day to get in her boat and go to town; it would be dark before she even arrived, and she disliked being alone in town after nightfall.
She listened to the waves lapping against the rocks, the wind in the leaves and the chirping of songbirds, the squeak of the windmill's slow rotation.
What an abominably lovely day, with nothing at all to show for it.
The sand had almost all fallen through her hourglass, so she stood to get the bread out of the brick oven. Dainty cloven hooves tread lightly through the grass, carefully avoiding the wildflowers. With the wooden paddle she slid the loaf onto the table to cool, shooing away a bird who thought it was a gift just for him.
Maybe she ought to have baked a brioche. Something sweet to nibble on, to maybe make her feel better about all the things she wasn't doing and all the things that weren't happening. She walked to her garden, wooly knees brushing against bushes as she reached out and picked a peony blossom. She stuck it, experimentally, in the white curls of her hair at the base of one horn.
Was that helping? Did she, at least, feel sort of pretty and summery?
Mostly it felt a little lopsided.
So she picked another peony and stuck it by her other horn, but then that seemed awkward, so she tried another. Soon enough she was wearing a whole hat of peonies, and it had never felt quite perfectly balanced and one of her honeybees kept trying to land on her ear. She looked at her reflection in one of her windows, and decided that she looked like she had a peony bush growing out of her head.
It was not exactly the most dignified effect.
... maybe she could try putting one on the goat.
There was absolutely nothing left to keep her busy.
She'd tried getting a bit of knitting done, but her heart just wasn't in it. All the good winter wool had already been used up, and there wasn't anything she particularly wanted to make. There was nothing good on the radio -- she'd checked, and checked, and checked again. It was too late in the day to get in her boat and go to town; it would be dark before she even arrived, and she disliked being alone in town after nightfall.
She listened to the waves lapping against the rocks, the wind in the leaves and the chirping of songbirds, the squeak of the windmill's slow rotation.
What an abominably lovely day, with nothing at all to show for it.
The sand had almost all fallen through her hourglass, so she stood to get the bread out of the brick oven. Dainty cloven hooves tread lightly through the grass, carefully avoiding the wildflowers. With the wooden paddle she slid the loaf onto the table to cool, shooing away a bird who thought it was a gift just for him.
Maybe she ought to have baked a brioche. Something sweet to nibble on, to maybe make her feel better about all the things she wasn't doing and all the things that weren't happening. She walked to her garden, wooly knees brushing against bushes as she reached out and picked a peony blossom. She stuck it, experimentally, in the white curls of her hair at the base of one horn.
Was that helping? Did she, at least, feel sort of pretty and summery?
Mostly it felt a little lopsided.
So she picked another peony and stuck it by her other horn, but then that seemed awkward, so she tried another. Soon enough she was wearing a whole hat of peonies, and it had never felt quite perfectly balanced and one of her honeybees kept trying to land on her ear. She looked at her reflection in one of her windows, and decided that she looked like she had a peony bush growing out of her head.
It was not exactly the most dignified effect.
... maybe she could try putting one on the goat.
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