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Saurreg's post

Andas Loudewater was humming an old melody to himself as he approached the farmstead riding upon his latest acquisition – a brown little pack mule. He had sauntered upon the live animal market at the town square on the way home and suddenly decided to take a look. It wasn’t long till he set his eyes on the said crossbred and fell for it’s dark black liquid eyes that seemed to convey ”Buy me Andas, buy me! I’m worth your entire month’s earning and more!” This was what the farmer did, much to the delighted surprise of the mule owner who knew that the value of the animal was far less than the amount of guineas he was receiving. But Loudewater did not mind, not one bit. He wanted an animal from the market square (which incidentally could have been a pair of sleepy salamanders further down the stalls) that day and he was pretty sure that he would not be leaving town without a buy. Besides what was money to him anyway?

Andas Loudewater was a new man. He was a happy man who wanted to go on a trip. He was also a new man who named his animals.

Meet “Killer”, Loudewater’s steed extraordinaire.

The mid-morning was blazing as the farmer arrived at his destination. He got off the mule, gave it an affectionate pat between the long furry ears before marching briskly into the cottage. He stepped onto the porch, swung the door open with aplomb and promptly hollered,

“HONEY I’M HOME!”

His enthusiastic introduction was greeted initially by the silence of the main room, but the inevitable was ensured. And it came from the solar,

“ANDAS LOUDEWATER! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! WHY WEREN’T YOU HOME LAST NIGHT?!”

The joy. It tickles your heart and keeps your body warm, like the gentle embrace of a loved one. The joy, it is a key that unlocks the door and let the bright rays of the sun in. Nourishing all with indescribable delight and hope.

“I WAS OUT DRINKING! I SLEPT IN TOWN!” Replied the farmer as he headed up the stairs towards the bedroom in brisk light steps.

He entered the bedroom, pulled his muddied boots and stripped off his soiled garments, tossing them carelessly onto the floorboards. He then reached for a large wicker case, flipped open the top and pulled out a white linen shirt, another brown tunic and a pair of trousers and put them on.

The now-familiar disembodied voice boomed,

“AND WHO SAID YOU COULD SPEND THE NIGHT OUTSIDE?! THERE WERE CHORES TO BE DONE THIS MORNING ANDAS! YOU HAVE RESPONSIBILITIES!”

The joy, it was louder than rolling thunder yet softer than a lover’s whisper. It was the uncontrollable laughter of innocent children at play but also the measured tones of a sagely storyteller.

Loudewater ignored the outburst and continued to put on his clothes. He took a sniff at the new tunic and decided that it needed further smoking.

There was the sound of a furry of steps and Helga appeared before the doorway of the bedroom, eyes blazing with unbraided anger. But that soon gave way to shock as she espied the guilty pair of boots and the crumbled heap of clothes.

“My… My floor,” She stammered without taking her beady little eyes off the obnoxious footwear, “Andas, what… what have you done to my nice clean floor?”

“Oh those! I was changing and I had to take them off. You can’t expect me to take off my trousers with those oversized things on could jah?” Loudewater replied nonchalantly as he struggled to buckle his leather belt.

He then picked up the offensive pair of scalawags, put them on again and headed out the door, sidestepping his wife who was still in a mystified state of disbelieving. Heading down the flight of stairs, he entered the kitchen and proceeded to raid the cupboard.

“Andas! How dare you! You… you…”

Helga was threatening her husband as she entered the kitchen but stopped mid sentence when she saw what he was doing. Loudewater was whistling to himself as he wrapped a large piece of dried spiced beef in fine muslin, he had already consigned a loaf of rye bread and generous wedge of aged cheddar to a similar fate. Beside them stood a large wooden flask filled with cheap ale.

“I love the smell of spiced beef in the morning,” he drawled teasingly to his wife, eyes sparkling with mischief, “it smells… it smells like success!”

The deed done, he then reached for a large sheepskin fanny pack and stuffed the mummified foodstuff into it. A couple of wind-dried (but still good) apples plucked from the tree in the backcourt were tossed in for a good measure. Loudewater then buckled the large bulging pouch onto his belt and grabbed the flask by its shoulder strap.

“Well, all packed and done. Time to go!” He proclaimed as he headed back towards the main hall, not even giving Helga the briefest of glances.

“Go? Go where?”

“Why, a trip of course! I’m heading east on the main road.”

“But why Andas? You can’t just go! You’ve got chores. The sheepfold needs fixing and the roof leaked last night, you have to thatch it!”

“That can wait dear. It won’t rain anytime now and you’ll just have to keep an eye out for ‘em sheep from time to time. But for now, TRIP!”

Andas affixed the sheath of his trusty old dagger onto the straining leather belt and grabbed the cope by the hood before opening the front door.

“But what about last month’s earnings from those wool shavings and the cabbages? Are you still holding on to the money purse? And what about me?” Inquired Helga, nonplussed and voice quivering. The fire had died in her eyes and was replaced by the dullness of doubt and fear.

“Not to worry dear,” Replied Loudewater confidently as he beckoned Helga to join him at the door which, she did so hesitantly, “I have invested it in this fine animal that will earn us great dividends in the near future! Helga, meet Killer!”

Loudewater pointed at the little brown mule which had somehow found its way into the garden vegetable garden and was helping himself to young immature greens. Killer took in Mrs. Loudewater with his dark liquid globes and whined appreciatively (at least that was what Loudewater thought). Helga just stood solidified, lower jaw hanging by their hinges.

“Well, gotta to go now, ‘tis a good day for riding.”

Loudewater stepped off the porch, went to Killer and led him out of the patch by the reins. As he led the mule onto the dirt road, the farmer cocked his head and deliberated.

He turned around and gazed at Helga with eyes that momentarily shone with compassion, love and surprise instead of the maniacal glint the dominated the entire morning. His voice wavier wavered and choked with emotion as he said,

“By God woman, you look… beautiful. By God…”

Loudewater stared at Helga for a while before turning towards Killer, mounting him and delivering the twin taps to its sides with the back of his heels that sent the animal trotting down the road, head bobbing up and down.

Loudewater’s thoughts were still on Helga. Mouthing over and over again,

“By God... by God…”