It turns out that spinning yarn isn't difficult. It couldn't be; five millennia of gender roles on Earth and Mundus alike depended on the fact that you could spin yarn with a baby in one hand and a spindle in the other, merrily gossiping all the while; while breaking up hard soil to bring fresh, fertile earth to the surface involved your arms, your back, and all your attention. Elishiva's shock that I didn't know how to spin thread was not feigned.
But it was simple enough. All I had to do was suspend a spindle under my hand and set it spinning (deosil - clockwise - naturally), grabbing the fluffy wool and pinching it as I drew it down into a single tightly wound thread. I wasn't particularly fast, so I tried to content myself with accuracy over speed.
Ace took to it particularly well, though Sekhmet - with their cat claws - had some trouble. Still, Elishiva was satisfied with our ability to contribute to the spinning.
"Too busy with monsters to do your own weaving?" Elishiva asked, probably sarcastically.
"Actually, yes," I replied. "I have to spend most of my time in training, looking for work or getting properly equipped. Your... son?... Tayeb was a godsend for us in getting proper clothing."
It's apparent that she didn't expect a straight answer, and she considers the one I gave.
"His wife makes everything he sells," mutters the patriarch Ibrahim from his chair in his phlegmatic and rumbling bass, "She's the one that buried him in coin - her hands and not his own hand."
"He said as much when we asked," Sekhmet says, frowning as they pinch up more wool than they can spin at one time and then trying to put some back.
"Isn't seemly," Ibrahim mutters.
I stop to look at my handiwork, at the rough foot of thread I made. I imagine making it day in, day out, any time I have a spare hand.
"Yeah. Thank God for Tayeb and his wife," I said. "There isn't room to grow linen and raise sheep - let alone time to spin it - in Viacruz," I say.
Sekhmet grins fangs. "We wouldn't quite be naked without him but we definitely wouldn't have this much style."
Elishiva purses her lips and frowns, smoothly twiddling her fingers to produce a strand of yarn as long as she is tall.
"Oh, your son runs the clothing place in Viacruz?" the pixie says, her voice sun-bright. "I think he does some enchanting on the side. God knows enough spells have slid off this scarf I got from him, it's a lifesaver."
Elishiva snorts. "Are all his best customers Adventurers?"
I pause. "I... don't actually know. But he is famous for his equipment with the Viacruz companies."
"And managed to take a tithe of every dragon's hoard you bring in," Elishiva says. "I'm beginning to see how he got my Rachel to spin gold from flax."
"That kind of protection is worth every damn Crown," Sekhmet says, seriously.
"You don't meet many Adventurers out here, do you?" Ace asks, ears pointed at Elishiva and at the pixie both.
"Only in passing," she says. "In the company of peddlers fearing banditry and of drover-folk like Silphano here, making sure gryphons and worse don't thin the herd."
I turn to the drover, eyebrow raised. "You're actually named Sylphan?"
"In his honor," he grunts. "For being born on a Wendsday." He slurred it to winds-day.
I try not to groan at the pun because Goddamn it, devteam! - but Ace and the Pixie both can't stop themselves, leading to one vulpine bark and one fae giggle.
"And the monsters were out in force this time," the pixie said, gesturing with the distaff as if it were a dagger, for emphasis. "I definitely earned my coin and meat, and I hope you were glad to have me."
"For th' light in your voice, Piper Maris," Sylphano allows. "And for your opinion of our victuals."
"It's hard to go wrong with hot and filling," Piper the pixie says honestly. "It's why I carry salt."
"Gods thank y' for sharing it," Sylphano snorts, trying not to smile.
Sekhmet stretches, sitting backwards in her chair, ears and eyes on Piper and with an amused expression that emphasized her more feline features. "You know, I didn't get in this business for the sumptuous feasting," she says to Piper, "but I've kind of been surprised by how good even the trail food's been."
"Beats a cup noodle, I'll tell you that," the pixie replies with a grin.
I grimace, remembering long stretches reduced to ramen in my abortive college career. "I bet it does," I say.
Elishiva waves a dismissive hand. "You've never had the joy of maiden's-tear pease after a bad harvest," she says. "But if you will be satisfied with the fruit of our labors and my skill at the hearth, all to the good."
"We will break bread with you with pride and accept your hospitality gladly," I say, "and raise a cup in honor of the winds that blew us to your door."
"Amen," Elishiva says, placing her hand over a scarf - no, under it, to touch an unseen pendant. Interesting.
The door opens, and Elishiva's sons barge in, followed soon after by a weary Mikhail. The bound of the children stop short at me - a good two feet from me, I suppose out to the pressure of my unseen aura - as the younger of the human kids glare at me.
I put my hands down and my palms up, a gesture of truce.
Still staring daggers at me, he retreats to sit by his mother.
Mikhail shakes his head, grimacing as he stretches a hand to his back. "Barley's done, but so am I," he says, stopping to kiss Elishiva before trying not to hobble to the other end of the table.
I take a deep breath. He's injured, obviously. But would it hurt his pride if I offered to help?
The answer comes to me: Yes, if I did so in front of his sons. I should ask Elishiva to approach him about it, in private after we eat.
"Let's get the candles, then," Elishiva says, "and wash our hands for dinner."
Gods willing, I'm back. The dream is one update a week, with some omake inbetween.
] [TALK] The family's cats! Very important.
