Dale gave a small grunt, and Mara looked over at her sharply. Dale was struggling miserably with the dull knife she'd been given to scale the fish, and at first, it seemed to Mara that the child had merely lost her grip on it. Dale recovered from the moment with her lips pressed firmly, either in annoyance or concentration. Mara's look darkened similarly, her displeasure at her inability to encourage or help her grandchild in any genuine way clouding her eyes like a thick fog. But before she had time to turn her gaze away, she saw Dale's fish-holding hand suddenly jerk forward, as though it had been pulled. She jumped a bit in spite of herself, and her knee jerk reaction to her own surprise was to complain at Dale as though the child were merely clumsy.
"Keep the fish in your hand and the scales in the bowl," she admonished gruffly, tearing her eyes away to focus on cutting the tail off the salmon she had in her own hand. "I'm not cleaning up the mess you make, scattering them all over the place like that."
"Yes, Buela Mara," Dale answered dutifully.
From the corner of her eye, Mara noted that Dale's face darkened with clear frustration. From time to time, the girl would jerk her knife arm- her left arm- backward suddenly, as though either that were being pulled at as well, or she were trying to get something away from her.
"What're you doing that for?" Mara finally demanded after nearly a minute of silent annoyance had gone by.
"I'm sorry," Dale breathed, fighting to keep herself calm. "I think one of the spirits gets mad when I have to work; I dunno for sure."
Mara firmed her lips, but forced herself to believe what the child was saying. Some spirit, or demon, or wicked sprite was annoying her grandchild, and that was that. No argument to be made, no yelling to be done, no punishment to be doled out. Without saying any of the thoughts in her head, the old woman flopped the beheaded fish into the basket behind her and pulled another one that still had its head and tail from the basket on her left.
"Wicked idle beastie," she grunted.
Dale of course wondered whether her grandmother were referring to the girl she couldn't see or the one that she could. Not wanting to allow Mara to believe that she was enjoying the interruption, she said, "Sorry, Buela. I'll try to just ignore her."
Moments later, Dale's right arm pulled straight out in front of her again, nearly strongly enough to tug the child to standing.
"Stop it!" Dale huffed, squeezing her eyes shut and tugging her arm back close to her chest. "Please don't do that, I mean," she amended with a sigh.
Mara looked over, saw that the fish hadn't been dropped or in any way damaged, and got back to work without a word.
And nearly a full minute after that, Dale shrieked wordlessly. A clattering report came nearly at once, but thankfully, the fish fell, seconds after the knife, straight into the bowl of scales in front of her.
Mara, startled, turned a searing glare over to her granddaughter, only to see a thin strip of blood welling up in a long stroke at the center of the child's hand- from the heel of it straight up to the tip of her middle finger. Clearly, the wicked sprite had finally decided to pull away the fish itself.
"Gimme your hand," Mara grumbled, taking Dale's hand and putting a bit of the salt that should have preserved the fish on it. Predictably, Dale gave miserable little jags of sound, unwilling to get in trouble for outright crying, but in too much pain not to make any noise at all. "Bone idle beastie never turned a stitch in its life, eh? Hope it's satisfied, now you're bleeding. Eh? Happy now?"
Dale looked around at the open air for a few moments before her gaze stuck on something that, of course, Mara couldn't see.
"It doesn't look it," she answered as her grandmother began wrapping her hand with a piece of muslin out of a leather pouch at her waist. "She'll all scrunched up over there now, with the big girl and the three littler kids, and they all seem upset too." When Mara had finished wrapping the thin cloth around her hand, she carefully scrunched her fingers as she looked at it from all sides. "Thank you, Buela."
Mara grunted her reply. When Dale sat back down, Mara unceremoniously sat the cutting plate in her lap- which got fish guts and dirty water all over the child's apron- and took the scale bowl for herself. Dale understood the unspoken command, and crossed her legs in front of herself in the attempt to create a space flat enough for her to cut on. But Mara, furious at the way the child attempted to make do instead of demanding a stool of her own to set the cutting plate on, let out a cry of annoyance.
"Get up and go get a stool, you miserable gob of demonspit!"she hollered. "Or do you want to slice a finger off trying to make a cutting table out of your filthy cursed legs?"
Dale picked up the plate, uncrossed her legs, and got up. For a few odd moments, Dale seemed to have a tugging match with empty air, but fortunately, she won without any damage. When she'd gone inside, Mara put her knife all the way down and cast her best glare at the space in which Dale had seen the spirits.
"Now see here,"she grumbled, feeling absolutely ridiculous for speaking to air, outside, where all her neighbors could see her do it. "I don't know where you're from or why you're here, especially in the middle of the day, when any sanctified spirit would be in the graveyard, any demon would be in the hells, and any hearth sprite would be at work itself. Now, this cursed little brat here is mine, not yours, and she has a lot of work to do. You spook the dogs, damp the kindling, break dishes, and now you've sliced her hands open to get at her blood, and I've had enough of it. I'll fix you good. If you don't leave off it, I won't call for no sun priest, no; I'll have a good old fashion bone rattler come 'round to trap you up in a gem and throw it in a river, so you can't get out. If I could do it myself, you'd've been floating in the midden with the shit and the trash long ago, eh? Eh? Now piss off!"
Dale, who had come back with a stool about halfway through Mara's threat, looked over to where she'd seen Te'Valshath and the others before. For the first time, Dale saw Te'valshath's mother, who radiated a power that reminded her of Ser Yasha. Te'Valshath had withered in the woman's disapproving glower, and was trying to hide behind the eldest Illance girl's skirts.
"Well?" Mara demanded, turning around to look at Dale, whose face had paled.
"Her mommy's mad," Dale explained softly, as though she were in trouble herself. "Not at us, though."
"Good woman, then," Mara said gruffly, as much for herself as for the child. "Probably didn't have time to train her brat right, but I do; now, sit down and get to work. Here; you need the sharper one- and be careful. You're gonna have to explain your hand; what're you gonna say?"
"That I cut myself," Dale said disconsolately, sitting down and reaching out her left hand to take the sharper knife from Mara.
"So you're gonna lie to your own family, you damn demonspawn?" Mara threatened, turning the knife on her as anyone else might have pointed it at a criminal.
"No," Dale answered meekly, her gaze slowly drifting toward the ground. "Te'valshath took the fish, and I cut myself instead of-"
"You tell everybody in this house that, because that's the truth," Mara insisted, turning the knife handle-first toward her granddaughter again. "Look- look at me, you damned brat. There's some things that are your fault, and you know what they are. And you own up to them, and you take your hiding like you're supposed to. But when things happen and you didn't cause them, you say that. And always take what you need in this world. You need anything, get it. Take it like you always deserved to have it; like it was always yours. Don't expect someone to take pity on you, because you're trying so virtuously hard to make do. They won't; they'll think you ought to be grateful to have the little you have. So take. What. You. Need, you hear me? Don't wait for it; take it. Eh? Eh?"
"Yes, Buela," Dale replied, confused. Silence reigned between the two of them until Dale took the handle of the knife.
"Good," Mara huffed. "Now, work. If anything nips at your arms or your hands one more time, I'll go right down to the Bone College to get a bone rattler what'll put whatever-it-is in a soul gem. You hear that, beastie? Eh? Bloody ridiculous, got the curse of the hells in my house; every wicked thing that ever existed coming in and outta my place like it's owed something! Leave off, or else!"
And Dale, who briefly wondered if that was how the nice alchemist lady got stuck in a soul gem, put the cutting plate on top of the stool she'd brought out of the house and got back to work.
Moments later, Dale's right arm pulled straight out in front of her again, nearly strongly enough to tug the child to standing.
"Stop it!" Dale huffed, squeezing her eyes shut and tugging her arm back close to her chest. "Please don't do that, I mean," she amended with a sigh.
Mara looked over, saw that the fish hadn't been dropped or in any way damaged, and got back to work without a word.
And nearly a full minute after that, Dale shrieked wordlessly. A clattering report came nearly at once, but thankfully, the fish fell, seconds after the knife, straight into the bowl of scales in front of her.
Mara, startled, turned a searing glare over to her granddaughter, only to see a thin strip of blood welling up in a long stroke at the center of the child's hand- from the heel of it straight up to the tip of her middle finger. Clearly, the wicked sprite had finally decided to pull away the fish itself.
"Gimme your hand," Mara grumbled, taking Dale's hand and putting a bit of the salt that should have preserved the fish on it. Predictably, Dale gave miserable little jags of sound, unwilling to get in trouble for outright crying, but in too much pain not to make any noise at all. "Bone idle beastie never turned a stitch in its life, eh? Hope it's satisfied, now you're bleeding. Eh? Happy now?"
Dale looked around at the open air for a few moments before her gaze stuck on something that, of course, Mara couldn't see.
"It doesn't look it," she answered as her grandmother began wrapping her hand with a piece of muslin out of a leather pouch at her waist. "She'll all scrunched up over there now, with the big girl and the three littler kids, and they all seem upset too." When Mara had finished wrapping the thin cloth around her hand, she carefully scrunched her fingers as she looked at it from all sides. "Thank you, Buela."
Mara grunted her reply. When Dale sat back down, Mara unceremoniously sat the cutting plate in her lap- which got fish guts and dirty water all over the child's apron- and took the scale bowl for herself. Dale understood the unspoken command, and crossed her legs in front of herself in the attempt to create a space flat enough for her to cut on. But Mara, furious at the way the child attempted to make do instead of demanding a stool of her own to set the cutting plate on, let out a cry of annoyance.
"Get up and go get a stool, you miserable gob of demonspit!"she hollered. "Or do you want to slice a finger off trying to make a cutting table out of your filthy cursed legs?"
Dale picked up the plate, uncrossed her legs, and got up. For a few odd moments, Dale seemed to have a tugging match with empty air, but fortunately, she won without any damage. When she'd gone inside, Mara put her knife all the way down and cast her best glare at the space in which Dale had seen the spirits.
"Now see here,"she grumbled, feeling absolutely ridiculous for speaking to air, outside, where all her neighbors could see her do it. "I don't know where you're from or why you're here, especially in the middle of the day, when any sanctified spirit would be in the graveyard, any demon would be in the hells, and any hearth sprite would be at work itself. Now, this cursed little brat here is mine, not yours, and she has a lot of work to do. You spook the dogs, damp the kindling, break dishes, and now you've sliced her hands open to get at her blood, and I've had enough of it. I'll fix you good. If you don't leave off it, I won't call for no sun priest, no; I'll have a good old fashion bone rattler come 'round to trap you up in a gem and throw it in a river, so you can't get out. If I could do it myself, you'd've been floating in the midden with the shit and the trash long ago, eh? Eh? Now piss off!"
Dale, who had come back with a stool about halfway through Mara's threat, looked over to where she'd seen Te'Valshath and the others before. For the first time, Dale saw Te'valshath's mother, who radiated a power that reminded her of Ser Yasha. Te'Valshath had withered in the woman's disapproving glower, and was trying to hide behind the eldest Illance girl's skirts.
"Well?" Mara demanded, turning around to look at Dale, whose face had paled.
"Her mommy's mad," Dale explained softly, as though she were in trouble herself. "Not at us, though."
"Good woman, then," Mara said gruffly, as much for herself as for the child. "Probably didn't have time to train her brat right, but I do; now, sit down and get to work. Here; you need the sharper one- and be careful. You're gonna have to explain your hand; what're you gonna say?"
"That I cut myself," Dale said disconsolately, sitting down and reaching out her left hand to take the sharper knife from Mara.
"So you're gonna lie to your own family, you damn demonspawn?" Mara threatened, turning the knife on her as anyone else might have pointed it at a criminal.
"No," Dale answered meekly, her gaze slowly drifting toward the ground. "Te'valshath took the fish, and I cut myself instead of-"
"You tell everybody in this house that, because that's the truth," Mara insisted, turning the knife handle-first toward her granddaughter again. "Look- look at me, you damned brat. There's some things that are your fault, and you know what they are. And you own up to them, and you take your hiding like you're supposed to. But when things happen and you didn't cause them, you say that. And always take what you need in this world. You need anything, get it. Take it like you always deserved to have it; like it was always yours. Don't expect someone to take pity on you, because you're trying so virtuously hard to make do. They won't; they'll think you ought to be grateful to have the little you have. So take. What. You. Need, you hear me? Don't wait for it; take it. Eh? Eh?"
"Yes, Buela," Dale replied, confused. Silence reigned between the two of them until Dale took the handle of the knife.
"Good," Mara huffed. "Now, work. If anything nips at your arms or your hands one more time, I'll go right down to the Bone College to get a bone rattler what'll put whatever-it-is in a soul gem. You hear that, beastie? Eh? Bloody ridiculous, got the curse of the hells in my house; every wicked thing that ever existed coming in and outta my place like it's owed something! Leave off, or else!"
And Dale, who briefly wondered if that was how the nice alchemist lady got stuck in a soul gem, put the cutting plate on top of the stool she'd brought out of the house and got back to work.
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