Memories of Home - Part 2

An hour passes until they make it to Dean’s farm. The clouds have parted and the sun hangs low. Sammi sees Dean’s family house: Pleasantly modest and made of logs, which Sammi could tell were cut and stacked by hand. Past the house she can see a large pasture full of goats and a large barn next to it.

The three of them hop off the cart. Sammi grabs her belongings and fastens them to her back.

“Miss Sammi,” Dean says. ”Surely ye don’t mean to leave already?”

“I do,” Sammi replies, “I much appreciate the ride, and both of your company,” Sammi reaches down and pats Fiora on the head. “But I have a long road ahead and I must be quick.”

“Well ‘old on now, ye’re in no state to travel, an’ it’s approachin’ nighttime, so the ferry through the marsh won’ even run!” Dean explains.

“Then I shall camp out. I have spent many nights under the stars.” Sammi states.

“Well why trouble yer’self at all!” Dean protests. “Stay with us for the night, ey?”

“Your generosity knows no bounds,” Sammi says, “but truly, I cannot stay the night.” Sammi straightens herself and walks towards the sun.

“Oi, listen to me, please–” Dean says, taking quick steps to follow Sammi’s great strides. “I ain’t sayin’ ye cannae defend yerself, but tha’ leg o’ yers ain’t gonna last the night.” Dean practically leaps to cut in front of Sammi, who freezes in place. “So please, ‘least ‘ave dinner with us an’ rest.”

Sammi massages her knee, looking over Dean into the dampened path. “Tell me Dean, have any beasts been spotted near your estate?”

“No, never. Though some roam about the marshes. Seen ‘em me self. Another reason to stay the night!” Dean replies.

Sammi knows he’s right. Her injury is too great to fight anything off, and these lands are unfamiliar. “Very well,” Sammi finally answers, “but I will only stay until I’ve recovered, I cannot stay the night.”

Dean’s face brightens. “Bless ye!” he says, “Fiora, introduce our guest to mum. I’ll finish unpacking. And don’t forget to ask her about fixing yer boots!”

Fiora tugs on Sammi’s cloak. “Clean yer feet before going in,” Fiora whispers. Sammi nods with a smile. No longer feeling the need to hide her pain, Sammi slowly limps behind Fiora to the side of the house, where a water trough and some rags are. The two clean themselves and Fiora leads Sammi into her home.

Fiora opens the front door ushering Sammi in. Sammi ducks her head to enter. The house is cramped, but well kept. “Mum! We ‘ave a visitor!” Fiora cries out while running past the staircase and through a doorway.

As Fiora chases her mother, Sammi looks over the interior. She admires the beautifully imperfect cuts on the stairs and the just-straight-enough rafters above.

“What now?” An annoyed voice calls out.

Sammi goes towards the voice, passing by the small dining room and kitchen with a little round table with four chairs sitting in the center.

“We ‘ave a visitor, she’s stayin’ fer dinner, an’ Da says you have to fix her boots!” Fiora says.

“Oh alright. Where is she then?“

Fiora comes around the corner dragging her mother by the hand. She points at Sammi and her mother shifts her gaze from her daughter to straight ahead.

“Oh!” The woman shrieks. She jumps back, staring at Sammi with wide eyes.

“Apologies,” Sammi says, “I did not mean to startle you.”

“No no Miss,” She says with a hand over her chest. “I thought my daughter was pulling my leg.”

“I was pulling yer hand, mum,” Fiora says.

Fiora’s mother rolls her eyes. “Anyhow,” she says, ”Welcome to our humble little abode. You may call me Marta.” She gives a slight bow. “I presume you got my silly husband out of some sort of trouble?”

“Dean’s mare had escaped him. I simply brought her back,” Sammi says.

“Hm, I suppose we do owe you for that,” Marta says. “Fiora says you got boots that need patching?”

“He only offered solace until I’ve recovered. I’ll be gone by the evening. That will be more than enough,” Sammi says.

“An’ dinner—“ Fiora adds.

“Hm… would have been nice of him to warn me…” Marta says.

Sammi’s head sinks. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It was never my intention to intrude. If you wish, I will find somewhere else to rest–”

“No, no–” Marta says, “That’s not what I meant, Miss. You’re more than welcome to–oh by the Goddess–” Marta spots the pair of dirty ragged boots hanging from Sammi’s sword. “Your pair does need a patch job. Here, come to my workshop.”

Before Sammi can say anything, Marta wraps her arm around Sammi’s back gently leading her into her workshop. Sammi stifles a grunt with each step. Marta tilts her head looking at Sammi’s uneven strides. “Are you injured, dear?”

“An accident on the road. Do not worry, I have endured much worse,” Sammi says.

“Hm. I see why you need a place to rest. Come in at your own pace,” Marta says.

Neatly organized tools line the walls in the workshop. Leathers, hides and furs are systematically stacked along the back wall. “Go ahead and hang your cloak on the wall just to your left,” Marta says, and Sammi does so. “Fiora, take our guest’s belongings to the shed please.”

“Yes mum,” Fiora says.

“She doesn’t have to–” Sammi protests.

“I can do it,” Fiora states with confidence.

Sammi gives in, dropping her rucksack from her shoulder and into her hand. “If you insist. But brace yourself. This is heavier than it looks.” She says. She drops her luggage into the arms of Fiora, who grunts upon receiving it.

“You have it?” Sammi asks.

“Aye…” Fiora replies with slight strain. She walks past Marta with heavy steps towards the door on the opposite side of the workshop. Fiora walks straight into the door, not realizing it was latched. She attempts to fiddle with the latch using her nose. Marta hurries over and opens the door for her. Fiora thanks her mother then strides out with dignity.

Marta shuts the door and walks back to Sammi while shaking her head with a wry smile. “Let me see your boots, if you don’t mind.” Marta says. And Sammi hands them over with hesitation. “You can set your sword down. Anywhere is fine.” Marta says.

“I would prefer to hold on to it if that is alright,” Sammi says.

“As a matter of fact, it makes me a bit nervous,” Marta says.

Sammi runs her thumb across her scabbard, and leans it against the wall near the entrance.

Marta examines Sammi’s footwear thoroughly. “Been on the road awhile, ey?” She asks. Sammi nods. “And where did you get these?” Marta continues.

“A… friend of mine made them,” Sammi replies.

“Hm! I’ve seen worse,” Marta says.

Sammi’s curious eyes wander the impressive workshop: a shelf of half-done footwear rests beneath detailed drawings of schematics with names and descriptions written over them. “You have a passion for footwear I see,” she says.

“So you’ve noticed?” Marta replies with a smirk. “I’ve loved shoes since I was little. One size can’t fit everyone, so each challenge needs a unique little touch.”

Sammi gives a low hum. “Too few people get the luxury of following their passion…”

“Aye,” Marta responds, “anyhoo, have a seat here,” Marta says while placing Sammi’s boots on her workbench.

“Pardon?” Sammi replies.

“I need to measure your feet properly. Go on,” Marta says, pointing at a stool in the middle of the room. Sammi sits and Marta carefully picks up one of Sammi’s feet and wraps her hands around it, measuring its length. “Forgive me miss, I don’t think I asked for your name,” Marta asks. She looks up to see Sammi staring intently out the window. “Miss?” Marta asks.

Sammi snaps out of her trance. “Sorry,” She says, looking back at Marta. “Sammi is my name.”

Marta traces her fingers over Sammi’s foot. “Well Miss Sammi,” she says, “you’re clearly not from here. Where do you hail from?”

“The Great Desert,” Sammi responds.

“Oh please,” Marta says, “that could mean anything. Where exactly? Khaled, Oasis, or are you from the deep desert?”

Sammi lifts an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you know so much about The Desert,” she says.

“I went to the academy at Tyrmid,” Marta responds. “It’s where I studied my craft–other foot please–“ Sammi lifts the other foot with a grunt and Marta repeats the process. “I learned much about the world there. Now, where are you from?”

Sammi inhales sharply. Before she can release her breath, she and Marta hear Dean shouting obscenities outside. Sammi and Marta spring out the back door.

They see Fiora standing on the back porch watching Dean chasing two dozen bleating goats scattered about the pasture.

“I thought you fixed the gate!” Marta says.

“I did!” Dean shouts while wrestling a restless goat in his arms. “They bolted when I went in to feed ‘em, they nearly trampled me! Some of ‘em ran to the front pasture!”

While Dean battles his bovid nemesis, Marta runs to catch the stragglers with Fiora following behind. Sammi however, reaches into one of her pockets and pulls out a small phial with a yellowish herb inside. She uncorks the phial and pulls off a small leaf from the herb. She puts the phial away and crushes the leaf between her hands, rubbing them together.

Sammi then calls out to the herd with her hands raised. A few goats come by to sniff around, but quickly jolt away. Frustrated, she looks towards Marta and Fiora who are trying to lure the scattered goats to no avail, and to Dean who is waning.

Sammi takes a deep breath, and exhales, clearing all the air out of her lungs. She takes a deep, confident breath, and with a rich tenor voice, calls out to the goats in her native language.

The herd slowly settles upon hearing Sammi’s call. And one by one, they gather around her until she is surrounded by a sea of goats. All of which are trying to get at Sammi’s hands, pushing and butting each other out of the way. Sammi slowly leads the goats back in their pen. As she steps in the center of the pen, she signals Dean to close the gate. With all the goats safe, Sammi squats down and lets the goats lick at her hands, petting them and speaking pleasantries like a mother coddling her children. Sammi rises, taking large strides over the still excited herd, a few of which are still vying for her attention. An especially brave one jumps on its hind legs and props itself against Sammi’s waist. She respectfully holds the goat’s front hooves then bends over to kiss the gentle creature on its head before setting it down. Sammi cautiously steps over the fence next to Dean.

Dean wipes the sweat from his freckled head. “Saved me hide yet again!” He says with a delighted smile. Sammi nods, though avoids eye contact.

“Let’s… return to your family.” Sammi says bashfully, and the two walk back to the homestead.

Fiora stares at Sammi, jaw agape in pure awe, while Marta displays a mixture of disbelief and intellectual curiosity.

“How did you do that?” Marta asks.

“Ya can talk to animals!” Fiora screams.

Sammi chuckles. “Sort of, it was mostly with the help of this–” She pulls out the phial from her pocket. “It’s herdleaf. Many animals love the smell and taste.”

“But ya spoke to ‘em!” Fiora says.

“More like sang to ‘em,” Dean says.

Sammi gives a rare bashful smile. “Well… the Oasis Nomads found a technique to influence animals with their voice,” She says, “I… picked it up.”

“Think you can teach me?” Marta asks.

“Umm…” Sammi mutters, “it takes years to learn, I’m afraid.”

“Course it does…” Marta shrugs with disappointment, “why should anything be that easy…” Marta then beckons Fiora to follow her. “We’ll finish the patch job,” Marta says, then points to Sammi, “you go get some rest. Clearly you deserve it.” The two return inside, Fiora waving to Sammi before she enters.

“She’s right,” Dean says, “ye go ahead an–”

“Oh please,” Sammi quips, “what else needs to be done?” Sammi limps back into the field with as much elegance as she can muster. Dean follows, pleading her to rest, but she is set in her way.