Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 42861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 171(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 171(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
“Do you have a taller pen?”
“Yes,” he says. “And a lead to get her there. Collars and leads are useful for brats.”
I cut my eyes at him. “Don’t you fucking think about it. Help me get my goat out of your battle dome.”
He laughs at me, as if my annoyance is an amusement. I am now holding onto Strumpet, who is bleating what I assume must be goat curses at the other does, and trying to lunge her way back into the pen to continue the scuffle.
Gruff attaches a lead to Strumpet’s collar and directs me down a path toward a stand of trees.
“I usually keep bucks here during their rut,” he says. “But sometimes I’ll keep particularly motivated does here too. They don’t do well on their own, so I think we should pick a companion for her.”
There’s a particular lilt to his tone, the way people talk to the young and the simple. He’s talking to me like I know nothing about anything.
“What kind of companion? All your goats keep trying to beat her up.”
“She likes my buck. Bucks show tolerance toward does, even ornery ones.”
Again, I can’t help but feel that he is drawing some comparison between Strumpet and me, which is not fair because I have never hurled myself into a hostile place and insisted on fighting everyone in it. I am sensible. Strumpet is, well, Strumpet.
We put them in together.
The buck sniffs her. She sniffs him back. They stand nose to nose, head to head for a minute or two, and it’s fucking adorable. There’s no fighting. There’s not even a hint of discord.
“So they’re happy together. That’s good,” I say.
“He knows she’s already mated,” Gruff says. “And she knows she was mated by him. She’s his mate, for this season at least.”
“Is that how you mate? For a season?”
“Are you hopeful for my interest to wane, or afraid of it?”
He gives himself a lot of credit, but the truth is that I don’t know which one of those answers is closer to the truth. Gruff wants me, and it is nice to be wanted. But it is something else to be kept. I don’t want to be a captive. My freedom is the only thing that has ever meant anything to me.
For tonight I have little choice but to acquiesce to his demands. Going back to my dome after it was attacked is clearly a bad idea. I don’t much fancy the idea of trying to fortify myself in there while buck after buck tries to break into my home. It’s hard to sleep under those circumstances, and I need sleep. I need time to think about where I am, and what is happening to me, and what I’m going to do about it.
“Tell me your home has more than one bed.”
“My home only has one bed, though I can put down mats on the floor if you would prefer to sleep next to the fire. They’re not as comfortable as the bed, but I keep them for guests.”
“You get guests?”
“From time to time. Travel and trade still have to happen, even on this broken, rut-ridden world.”
I wonder what the others are like, the traders. Are they sane? Or are they lust-driven rut monsters like the wild buck I encountered?
“Come upstairs,” he says, gesturing up a cross between ladder and stairs that sit at the very rear of the house, in what I guess is designed to be a lounging or eating space. There is no formal seating, but there are a lot of large cushions placed in orderly fashion. None of them match, and they all have different points of origin, I am sure. They look like gifts.
I follow him to the back of his cottage and up the stairs. His bedroom takes up the entire loft space. There are stained glass windows at either end of the space. I have no idea how he made those, but I am guessing he probably didn’t. It’s something else he traded for, I’d bet. There are marks of craftsmanship everywhere in this home. Nothing has been made en masse. Everything is hand crafted. There’s not a lot of things, either. At the side of the stairs, there is a bathtub against the wall. It’s made of beaten metal. It must have been a pain in the ass to get upstairs, and I can’t see how it is easily filled, but the light from the blue, green, and yellow window dances across it in an enchanting manner.
Next to the bathtub, in the middle of the room, there’s a wardrobe carved with caprine motifs. Horned, bearded beasts, some alien, some goat. There’s a bed underneath the far window, and a bedside table. Just one. I think he made that. It is simple and rough-hewn, much like the exterior of the house. There’s a simple round chandelier up above that can be raised or lowered on a rope. Candles burn inside little glass chambers up there.