Word Count: 1,000 / 3,500
@tag
Kriid...
... Hok... zii... kriid...
Praad... hokzii...kriid...
Praad!
Nohres awoke with a start, sitting up amidst the pile of straw that had served as his bed. Breathing came in quick, ragged gasps for several seconds before his heart rate began to slow and a practiced calm descended over him. The sun had only begun to wash away the twilight, the dimmest of pinks and oranges spreading across the horizon in the east. Across the sky, the moon still shone brilliantly, even as the stars began to dim.
'Just a dream. It was just a dream,' he mentally reassured himself for the dozenth time that month; it had not been the first time he had awoken in such a manner, nor would he have been so fortunate to have it have been his last. They were not so frequent as to be properly unfortunate and distracting a large majority of the time, but they were not so infrequent as to be a distant memory between episodes.
Flopping back onto the straw, Nohres sighed and pressed the back of one hand against his forehead. It was a futile gesture, attempting to banish an already fading nightmare with such a small, physical motion. Nevertheless, it brought some small comfort to the man as he focused on his breathing, ignoring the pinpricking of straw against his skin. A cool morning breeze swept through the barn, stirring the myriad of animals within it, giving the space a growing sense of life.
Eventually, Nohres' sense of propriety won out his sense of indolence and he rose from the straw to meet the day. A splash of cold water banished the vestiges of sleep from his mind, and a fresh shirt and trousers gave him a comfortable sense of readiness to begin tending to the morning chores that needed doing. As he stepped free of the roof and onto the property, already he could see where the livestock had begun to graze and settle in for their morning routine.
The animals largely tended to themselves, but enclosures needed opening. Hens and chicks, eager to be freed from their nightly housing, flooded out into the grassy land to begin hunting for all manner of critter to sate their appetites. Further afield, colts ran along the edges of their fenced fields, each racing against each other and legends known only to themselves. Troughs were filled with feed and freshwater by the bucket, the soft pouring of grains acting as a dinner bell for the various animals to assemble for their meal.
With the livestock tended to, Nohres turned his attention to the farmlands. By now, other hands had roused from their slumber and were taking to the fields to inspect and water the various crops while others were beginning to pluck vegetables ready from their earthy homes. But that was not the job he had in store for the day. Now that the sun had properly risen and was bathing the land in that warm spring glow, Nohres shrugged himself out of his shirt and began to strap himself into a large plow.
A few of the newer farmhands looked on with mixtures of curiosity and incredulity seeing a man work himself into such a large contraption. Those that had been around longer already knew what was coming and continued working on their task with amused grins. Shrugging his shoulders to settle the leather comfortably across his frame, Nohres walked across the land to where an untilled field stood. Throwing a lever to lower the blades into the ground, Nohres tested the straps a few times before he first dug in his heel. The iron blades began to churn the dirt, spilling it along the length of the blade as he began to pull the weighty machine across the field.
By the time he slowed to a stop, bathed in sweat, the sun had risen almost to its peak. Nohres unfastened the straps and let the leather straps fall to the ground while he staggered over to a tree stump and sat heavily upon it. The warm, pleasant burn of heavy exertion sang through his muscles while he observed his handiwork. Already a few others were beginning to walk up and down the rows of freshly tilled dirt and began planting seeds. One of the workers brought him over a waterskin before moving on with their duties.
"Still comin' 'round 'ere?" Nohres looked up at the grizzled face of the man who owned the farm. He wore a pair of old coveralls that had seen many, many harvests and the expression of a man who had seen far more than a simple farmer's life would bring. "Thought you'd've moved on from this kinda work."
"I enjoy it," Nohres replied with casual comfort as he ran a hand through his hair. "You'd be surprised how valuable it is being able to come out here and do an honest day's work like this. It's not often I get a chance to get my hands dirty like this."
"Well, ya came out on a good day! Just finished slaughterin' some hogs 'n chickens. Been smokin' the meat to make some jerky. Figure the boys back in the garrison will love ya fer that." Providence came in the form of a shift in the wind, changing from coming down from the north to coming up from the south. With it came the smokey smell of mesquite wood and the fragrant smell of spices and meat. It was a wonderful aroma, and on any other day would have been a most welcome one. However...
With the ghosts of that unknown voice still lingering in his mind, those scents came at Nohres so much sharper than he was used to. Instead of gentle wafting of thyme, parsley, and mesquite to stir his appetite, Nohres' nose was assaulted by the stench of bubbling fat, seared marrow, and boiled blood; that abrupt pleasant-turned-putrid odor filled his mind and stirred up painful memories.
It reminded him of death.
What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us;
what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal
what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal