3/10/2025, 9:30 PM
Avoidance.
It was ever so easy to fall back on a routine that sent her to the fringes of the pack. She had adapted the simple life. Waking at dawn, shaking off cobwebs of memory that spun silver through her dreams. A freezing dunk in a nearby pool to where she’d sequestered herself. Then, it was out into the fields.
Spring was coming, new shoots pressing through the snow even here, and Alizée was intent on learning everything there was to learn about the skill of farming. Her first attempts failed miserably, despite her efforts, and the second hadn’t been much better. The little plot of land she meticulously cleared had yet to yield much, but her third attempt seemed to be the one to stick. Spring was swinging ever closer, trodding down a path like a plow horse. Never in a hurry, frequently slowing to eat a bit of greenery.
Perhaps the metaphor was getting away from her.
With her shoots planted, and not much else to do, Alizée had taken to trying to farm other things. Namely, game birds that couldn’t fly far. Her first attempt, geese, had failed miserably, and ended with her treating several hashing stinging wounds and cursing the day the first goose took its very first breath. The next, rabbits. They’d just dug out from under her little ring of bushes, secured with thorns around its edges and a thorny “gate” she could lift without spiking herself in the face. The last time was somewhat more successful.
Quail. She was trying to farm quail. It helped that she’d found a particularly bold one who plopped on the top of her paw and refused to move. It had quickly become her Judas goat, leading the other quail into the safety of the bushes. Since, she’d been trying her absolute hardest to care for them.
But they often got away from her. As they did now.
The gentle crunch of a leaf underfoot made adrenaline thrill up her spine, her head raising and whipping around to stare at the wolf who dare tromp all over her crops. If it was a wolf. Perhaps it was a deer, or some other plant eater come to try and eat what she planted. Maybe it was even that doe from last time, who had just stared at her almost placidly while it chewed the fruits of her labor. She ground her teeth together, blue seeking, until they landed on what was decidedly not that blasted doe.
A woman. Tall and dark, with eyes like the sun. Alizée felt like she was punched in the gut. She blamed it on a mix of indigestion, and not speaking to anyone for several weeks.
Pah-lease tell me you didn’t see that.
It was ever so easy to fall back on a routine that sent her to the fringes of the pack. She had adapted the simple life. Waking at dawn, shaking off cobwebs of memory that spun silver through her dreams. A freezing dunk in a nearby pool to where she’d sequestered herself. Then, it was out into the fields.
Spring was coming, new shoots pressing through the snow even here, and Alizée was intent on learning everything there was to learn about the skill of farming. Her first attempts failed miserably, despite her efforts, and the second hadn’t been much better. The little plot of land she meticulously cleared had yet to yield much, but her third attempt seemed to be the one to stick. Spring was swinging ever closer, trodding down a path like a plow horse. Never in a hurry, frequently slowing to eat a bit of greenery.
Perhaps the metaphor was getting away from her.
With her shoots planted, and not much else to do, Alizée had taken to trying to farm other things. Namely, game birds that couldn’t fly far. Her first attempt, geese, had failed miserably, and ended with her treating several hashing stinging wounds and cursing the day the first goose took its very first breath. The next, rabbits. They’d just dug out from under her little ring of bushes, secured with thorns around its edges and a thorny “gate” she could lift without spiking herself in the face. The last time was somewhat more successful.
Quail. She was trying to farm quail. It helped that she’d found a particularly bold one who plopped on the top of her paw and refused to move. It had quickly become her Judas goat, leading the other quail into the safety of the bushes. Since, she’d been trying her absolute hardest to care for them.
But they often got away from her. As they did now.
Tomate, concombre, non!Away the two went, with Aubergine hot on their trail and Alizée trying to push the thorny gate into place behind her so the other quail didn’t get out as well. She trusted her little friend, but goodness, those two were trouble!
The gentle crunch of a leaf underfoot made adrenaline thrill up her spine, her head raising and whipping around to stare at the wolf who dare tromp all over her crops. If it was a wolf. Perhaps it was a deer, or some other plant eater come to try and eat what she planted. Maybe it was even that doe from last time, who had just stared at her almost placidly while it chewed the fruits of her labor. She ground her teeth together, blue seeking, until they landed on what was decidedly not that blasted doe.
A woman. Tall and dark, with eyes like the sun. Alizée felt like she was punched in the gut. She blamed it on a mix of indigestion, and not speaking to anyone for several weeks.
Ah..hello?
Pah-lease tell me you didn’t see that.
Alizée is often accompanied by a young male Gambel’s quail named Aubergine