Throughout the day they moved from one chore to another, periodically changing work mates. Their efforts complimented each others strengths and weaknesses ( much to Cahlien and Petra's credit). Cahlien and Petra moved with ease and efficiency, compensating and teaching as they moved along. Horses, cows, goats, and pigs were fed, ( The chickens had been fed earlier while the three girls gathered eggs) stalls were mucked and fresh straw laid down. There was weeding, hoeing, some harvesting and the perpetual clean up. Hay was cut from time to time with both sickle and scythe, pitch forks came out and it was not long before the dried fodder was domed high. There were the odd jobs of repair, and skill that fell to the aged, the infirmed or boys not yet of age. These things the women dared not encroach upon, these folks flourished and were esteemed for their diligence and expertise . The lines between male and female roles were never blurred, chores and duties were carefully dispersed edifying each clan member. It was in this manner the clan functioned and prospered in both times of peace and ease and those times of unrest and want. The duties of chieftains and their families, were to attend to the needs and education of all it's members.
Feorras was traveling to the isles Toraigh, Inishtrahull and Rathlin,. The trek and voyages would give Feorras an indication of the boys penchant, so he might know what skills to nurture. He had taken Rogan and Vaughn (the twins - 13) along with men including some of his own brethren and Cahlien's as well. This was the first year the boys had been allowed to go out with the men. These excursions were usually for hunting, fishing, and the occasional tribute to Niall. This time their purpose was to make a show of strength.(This is not to say they did not secure meat and fish or conduct commerce with bordering clans). There were raids from both country men and foreigners to be suppressed and thwarted regularly. There had been the threat of Rome invading, but it had not yet materialized. Feorras had a keen mind and being chieftain held many responsibilities,( perhaps more than the privileges it afforded). He found it needful to watch for patterns, and formulate strategies at every turn, there were too many lives in the balance for him to be slack.
Bowen (Son of Owen) was Feorras' truest friend and brother to Cahlien. There was little else that Bowen would care to do than stand at Feorras' side ( with exception to the comfort of watching his wife smile). Feorras was grateful and took care to honor his friend's devotion. There were other good and loyal men, Feorras treated them all well. Now Bowen was Petra's favorite uncle, so while the men were away Petra would regularly visit Bowen's bride Fallon. Their home was on the outer perimeter of the fort. A boon granted at their wedding, privacy was a luxury, but given gladly in respect and concession of Fallon's circumstances. Fallon's grandfather Brodie (foreign but friendly) had been a great man ( her father had died in battle, her mother died in childbirth shortly afterwards). Bowen had ( long ago )gained Brodie's gratitude and lare Fallon's hand. Fallon spoke another tongue and struggled to communicate with the other women, she found it prudent to be as independent as possible. Petra understood this but couldn't leave her to herself for long, it just didn't seem right,( Feorras and Cahlien had taught her well). She balanced respect and loving care on a razors edge, watching Fallon, anticipating her needs and desires. For this Petra had won the admiration of adults who might otherwise have faltered in her sted.
On this particular day Petra saw to it that all the chores were done, begged leave of Cahlien to go see Fallon, but before left, she prepared for the trek back to the woods to gather things that Fallon might need and have little access to.
Again with twine, rope, basket (and the bladder of water! )Petra went back t'wards the woods, passing the site of her oblations, near the fruit tree. The sun was high and hot, her locks insulated heat and perspiration against her neck, dabbing was not going to safice. Petra looked beneath the tree for a twig or branch, seeing none she closely inspected the tree for an unproductive branch. (She was an arborist of sorts already). She reached up and snapped a twig off ( just a bit longer than a hands length), then dropping to the ground (on her hands and knees) she hunted for a stone, "Sure enough ! " she thought, a smile stretched her full lips thinner into a crescent moon. This was not self-satisfaction, rather an acknowledgement of how there always seemed to be a plan set in motion that that made things easier or at the very least made sense or helped her make peace with things. She relaxed backward ( twig and stone in hand) plopping on her bottom. Swiftly she peeled the bark from the twig revealing the smooth wood beneath. With the flat sandy stone, she filed one end of the twig blunted, then filed a slender point on the other end. Quickly she combed through her hair with her fingers, then smoothed and gathered it at the back tightly. She twisted the thick hank over and over feeling it bunch and loop, a knot emerged. She pierced the knot with her newly fashioned hair pin, securing her locks up and out of her way. As she stood, she latched on to the branch again and filed the raw end flat, ( she dropped her stone in the basket ) then plucking another piece of fruit with the opposite hand. Petra pushed the fruit into the blunt end of the branch hoping the juice would seal the wounded end. As she put the fruit in the basket; she noticed the peeled pieces of bark were left at the foot of the tree like some offering to nurture the tree for it's sacrifice. Again the crescent moon adorned her face.
Quickly now she made her way to the treeline and under the boughs, following the route she walked earlier that morning.
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