A tillman's life

On a bright and wet morning, the smell of earth is prevalent around an old farm house whose shoddy straw roofing, thin wood walls, and creaky floors were seemingly made with the intent of being rustic inside to the same degree as its immediate outside. Surrounded by boggy land that was dry as a desert the day prior, the farm house was drenched and sultry as a result of the daily battle between the searing clear sky and the wet stormy clouds that did come every spring, as well as the predictable fight between the blazing sun and desolate moon, of which the sun was currently in its winning stage which was always fortunate for the oblivious things below it as the moon seemed to have many devious and contrived means of bringing about terrible incidents. In any case, the modern champion's shining light peered into the house through the gaps in the straw roof, a coincidental ray hitting the face of Canin Goldriver.

Short blonde hair, golden-blue eyes, and a pockmarked face consisted of the visibly remarkable features of Canin Goldriver, the son of Goodly and Victa Goldriver, as he is submerged beneath his blanket. Snuggled up tightly in this itchy wool blanket, his supine strewn figure is atop a dry layer of uncomfortable straw, not that he notices its discomforting abilities. Still young enough to have a natural immunity to back problems, Canin rolls around on his bed before he inevitably gets up and sits up straight with his legs hanging to the floor. In a sleepy haze still, he made a fist towards the sun and its rays. A mere moment later, he placed another hand on the straw mattress and pushed off so as to leave the pleasant leisure of his straw bed and confront one of the greatest prevailing issues of life, work.

Due to the morning sun temporarily blinding him as he awoke in the moments before, he was still in that muddle headed state. And when he was free of that haze through the sheer might of rubbing his eyes, as well as being somewhat away from his seductive bed and its tempting service of sleep, he noticed his dripping surroundings. With an annoyed expression, he came to the conclusion that the myriad holed straw roof had let in the rain, as it always did in the spring time. Though there was a cause for joy when he knew his reinforcement (simply overlaying and intertwining wooden boards atop the straw by winding strong threads of cotton around the newly placed boards and the straw insulation present) had worked to keep him dry, the same could not be said for the area around him. Glancing around his room to take in the watery devastation, his gaze was dull, a distinct lack of panic or interest beyond curiosity that one would normally have when seeing their room in devastation. This reaction could, of course, be attributed to the scarcity of items in his room. Treated as merely a place of sleep, empty of belongings other than a rusty dagger beneath his bed, he had little care of the thin, wet, and bare walls of wood that surrounded him. And beyond the lack of care for nonexistent sentimental items in his room, as well as water damage being a recurring issue, Canin could very quickly ignore its effects as they were merely bothersome for a few hours as the water drained out through the cracks in the floor to the ground below. Quickly growing bored of the desolate scenery of his room, Canin walked towards his rickety door and pushed. His door opened to reveal a short, narrow, and crooked hallway with three doors other than his own present among its walls. Before Canin could even stick his head out of his room, a solid wooden door with a red door handle became perfectly noticeable from even within his bedroom. It was directly in front of his own and was his parents' room. As well as his parents' room, there was a black door in his room's near vicinity as well. To his rickety door's left, there was a door that was made of an equally thin material as his own, such that it would occasionally bust open when strong winds blew by. Perhaps a stupid idea, but it was the front door, and they never changed it from when it began its life as a temporary door during construction, which was more of an informal process that took place only so that the family could have a dry spot to sleep and store food in before expanding to house them when they found the weather to be particularly nasty in winter. The other aspects of their farm house were made to be sprawling, as evidenced by the house's odd placement of rooms, as if they were placed out of whim than with any particular plan. And lastly, a firm wooden door with squeaky hinges concealing a storage closet with a wide selection of items from spare chairs to mead (mead that was given to them by the local villagers so they could store it for annual festivals), with the wide selection mostly coming from the variety of mead as there was only one spare chair and meager bits of other food stuffs with just a few hunting items. Slowly lumbering his way through the doorway, Canin heard laughter and the resounding bumps of wooden cups clanging together in celebration. Recognizing the voices, Canin moved through the hallway in his slow manner to express his morning greetings, his footsteps creating a quiet creaking noise. Outside the hallway, there was a modest kitchen with several windows furnished with a table, three chairs, and a small cupboard whose two interior shelves were stacked with small piles of wooden bowls. As Canin continued forward, his peering view eventually came to the table where his parents and neighbor, Donsna, were sitting. With beady eyes, Donsna was smiling happily, his bloody red hair and slightly wrinkly skin making for the bizarre image of a human sized leprechaun.

By way of announcing himself, Canin gently knocked on the wall beside him as he entered the kitchen. As his mother and neighbor continued to talk, his father, turning to face him, called out, "Go grab a spare chair, would you?"

Before even saying a word, Canin heard his voice and winced at its harsh sound. Once fully recovered, Canin, smiling in a self deprecating manner, replied with, " I should have remembered to grab that. I'll be right back."

As Canin retreated back to the hallway, he wondered why Donsna was there. It was a rather rare event for his neighbors to be over in these months as there tended to be a lot of work on repairs and, more specifically, keeping the draining mechanisms in the fields working. Though their own had broken with it now being too muddy to gather crops or fix the drainage system itself, hence why they couldn't start repairing their drainage system, it was fortunate that their house itself was built just somewhat higher than the surrounding land or their home would not be too dissimilar to a sinking raft in the ocean. With these thoughts swirling in Canin's head, he quickly reached the storage closet door. Grasping its wooden handle, he pushed it inwards and went inside. As the driest, most well insulated place in the house, it was also the darkest. With no holes in the roof above it, there was little light that streamed in from the door, and that which did stream in hit the floor, giving off a meager glint of radiance. Feeling around for the spare chair, Canin fumbled over a variety of things, mostly the copious amounts of alcohol, but also a bag of carrots, boxes of potatoes, and multiple sharp knives as well as quivers of arrows and a small selection of bows. In a near complete darkness, Canin eventually found his spare chair. Picking the chair up, he held it in front of him in a hug around the chair's backrest, the chair's wide seat facing forward, and went out the cellar doorway, using the top of his foot to snake around the open door and hook it closed as he waltzed back into the hallway.

Getting a better look at the chair once under the streams of morning light, Canin thought of its resemblance to the other chairs in the kitchen area, thinking of how their designs were thought up and that it was unsurprising they resembled each other due to the chairs maker was the same craftsman. Reminiscing over the past four years, Canin admired the intricate carvings upon the chair, depicting a seemingly raucous battle between a man and a bizarrely contorted shadow. With different carvings of the man on different adventures present on the other chairs, it seemed that the carvings told a story that only the craftsmen knew. As Canin's footsteps slowed and charming laughter once again became known to him, Canin left the hallway and pervaded the kitchen with noise as his body, an already sturdy and heavily built thing, and the chair he was carrying combined their weight to create a homely cacophony of creaks, creaks of a quality that, when made in the dead of night, caused great fright to all who heard its ominous cry. As the chattering trio at the table had never quite stopped their discussion, the noise went mostly and deliberately unnoticed. Stepping up to the table, Canin placed his chair between his father and mother with his neighbor, Donsna, to his immediate front. Sitting down, Canin joined in the pleasant conversation between his neighbor and parents.

Donsna, taking the initiative to say hello, greeted Canin in a welcoming manner, "Hello Canin, are you doing alright?"

Canin nodded his head in response and said, "I'm doing fine, though I can't say that the house is the same."

Cutting in, Canin's father said, "we'll have to replace the wood atop the roof again this year, though it is expensive to do so. Donsna, if you'd be willing to help us in a month or so, I'd be willing to give you a bit of beer."

Donsna, shaking his head, said, "that's fine compensation but it would have to be sooner than a month as we leave for the Notla forest in a month."

Goodly held wrung his hands beneath the table and pondered for a while, leaving the table in silence before eventually responding with, "we'll have to find someone else then."

Donsna nodded and smiled before apologizing for being unable to help. Goodly waved away the apology and said, "an apology is not necessary and besides, it is rare enough that we have a guest over, there is no need for our rare guest apologize. We'll just eat if we are to do something now, I'll figure this out later."

Donsna agreed and wished him the best of luck in finding a helper before reaching to the middle of the rough and splintery table they sat at where there were wooden bowls with large slabs of meat and vegetables similar to potatoes as well as a single wooden cup in front of all of the three present at the table prior to Canin, filled with refreshingly clear water. When Canin sat down, his mother Victa got up from her chair to quickly grab a cup from the cupboard, opening the door to it before quickly grabbing a cup for Canin and placing it in front of him, pouring him a similarly clear drink and said, "it rained last night, is your room fine?"

Canin nodded his head in response to the question and said in a clear, low pitched voice, "yeah, my bed's fine."

Frowning, his mom knew he was referring to the distinct lack of items in his room to begin with, such that the only thing that could be damaged was his bed. Turning her head back to their guest, Victa asked Donsna if he needed a helper for the hunting trip he planned on going on.

"We have a need for a scout as we plan on going to a dangerous area North of here, but that is the only personnel we are missing for this journey," said Donsna.

Victa replied with, "that is a pity, I would have asked you to take Canin but if it's up North..."

Judging her fearful state, Donsna thought of a different opportunity and said, "yeah, I suppose that's a bit too dangerous for Canin. Perhaps if you are looking to have Canin do something he could go to the passing caravan in a few days and lead them through the safer routes in the area, they would certainly pay well to have a local guide if they don't have one already."

"Well, it seems like they always have a guide from the past village, but we could always ask," Victa said reluctantly.

"It'll be different this year, the oncoming village that preceded us on their route to here was destroyed a month ago, now all that's left is burnt smatterings of their buildings and their precious fountain," Donsna said gloatingly, his hate for the rival pelt businesses quenched.

Furrowing his brows and changing the subject, Goodley looked around and said, "well, in any case I wish you the best of luck on your hunting trip."

With Donsna's gloating sneer fading away, he got up from his chair and smiled at the family before saying, "I wish you all the best of luck too. I'll try to see if I can't give you some of the pelts and meat we find from hunting." With that said, Donsna walked out the kitchen door, and pounced into the mud outside, a sucking noise sounding out as he walked into the distance.