birds & the bees /gonzo + sif
Feb 3, 2022 0:03:44 GMT -5
Post by gamemaker kelsier on Feb 3, 2022 0:03:44 GMT -5
s i f .
"I was
a moving thing
before I was
a human being"
Sif stands in front of the chicken coops waiting patiently for Gonzo to emerge. There is a jar of honey with gingham-waxed seal in her hand. They make the same trade every Thursday morning, honey from Sif's bees for one of Gonzo's chickens.
He is late.
The chickens shuffle around in their coops and make little cooing sounds as she finally moves between them. Some of these chickens will end up on a dinner plate, some on the altar to sacrifice, only a few live on to see another year. Those are the ones that Sif can't have.
As she walks further into the coops, she lets out a long low whistle that tilts up slightly at the end, like a question. Where is he? Maybe still asleep. Sif makes a little face of annoyance at one of the hens which then clucks at her in indignation. She's right, it isn't her fault. Sif nods in apology.
She keeps walking until she finally reaches Gonzo's hut. The chickens are clucking frantically now at her presence. The chatter is so loud that knocking on his door seems pointless. She looks instead for a spot to sit and wait and that's when she notices that the axe, usually wedged into his executioner's stump near the woodshed, is gone.
Her brow narrows, she places the jar of honey on the dirt outside his door and walks to the edge of the woods to look in. There's an old game trail here that she knows he uses to get in and out of the forest. Thanks to yesterday's rain, she can see fresh footprints.
Damn.
He could still be awhile then if he's in there.
She grumbles softly and heads back to the chickens. A bag of feed is leaning against the first coop, the scoop still inside. Gonzo had shown her how to feed them a few visits back. Maybe that's why they're so loud this morning, they're just hungry.
Sif opens the first coop. The chickens inside shuffle away from her, one of them gets nippy with its beak, but she isn't scared of them. Chickens are stupid, their brains the size of a walnut at most. It doesn't take much to outsmart them.
Her hand wraps around the neck of the closest one and she drags it out of it's little home. Its claws scratch at the dirt floor and it lets out the littlest cluck as Sif tucks it under her arm.
It's little heart beats so fast against her side.
She picks up a handful of feed and holds it under the chicken's beak.