[Mkguild] Blossom (1/6)

[Rimme the Weasel]

Hello, this is a story I've been working on since 2018. It takes place a
bit further in the timeline, around a small village in the southern Metamor
Valley, specifically so I wouldn't brush up against anyone else's stories.

It was about 95% complete since last year, but I got inspired to finish it
when the Discord chat started talking about the future of Metamor. As much
as we MK writers like to think about the big changes in the lives of
individuals, I'm even more interested in the little changes in society.

Special thanks to Indagare and Chris O'Kane for beta-reading.

----

Blossom
by Remi

February 30, 717 CR


"Alright, Lori. Easy now. Don't pull, until she's presented right."

"I remember, Pa," Lori said, her hands still stinging from the boiling
water. "Legs first, then head."

"Head just above the knees. Firm, but gentle."

It was warmer than usual for early spring. Barely an hour inside the barn,
Lori's brow was already covered in sweat. Dust and hay still wafted in the
air from Ginger's kicking, and Lori could smell nothing else. Thank Akkala.

Her family lived about a mile away from Twone, yet the unmistakable sound
of a long, low, droning horn came clear to Lori's ears. Her heart sank, but
there was nothing she could do about it. She knew, as soon as her pa had
mentioned Ginger's likely presentation that morning, that she would miss
the blossom festival today.

"Do you feel it yet?"

"No, Pa." Lori said, shaking her head. "I'm at the knees. There's no head."

Pa sighed. "That's what I was afraid of. Keep one hand on the legs, then
slowly with your other hand work your way up to its mouth. You need to hold
it there so your other hand can nudge it back in."

Lori held her tongue. This may have been her first time actually lambing,
but she had watched Pa for many seasons now, and she had been practicing
besides. She mentally reminded herself that Pa had a habit of speaking too
much when he got nervous.

The other ewes stared anxiously at the three of them. Some of them were
springers, with three of them having already lambed in the past week, and
some had only recently gotten pregnant in the winter, but a few were not
pregnant, kept more for their milk and wool than their meat. Lori's mom was
milking one of these lambless ewes, occasionally watching her husband and
daughter, always quiet and unruffled.

Ginger was one of their more problematic ewes. She was of a big hardy
stock, which gave her lambs an excellent spirit, fetching them good prices
at the market. She rarely suffered disease, and was smart enough to avoid
injury. But she was also one of their most stubborn ewes, refusing to show
weakness or be pinned down. Only Pa's gentle brushing along the back of her
neck was keeping her calm and on the ground at the moment.

The horn blast finally came to a stop, and Lori could faintly hear the
mayor of Twone delivering the opening speech. Lori knew the words by heart;
it was always the same speech, such and such about how the "seeds" of their
village had blossomed into strong, worthy men to defend the valley of
Metamor and its honor.

Lori closed her eyes, replacing the mayor in her mind's eye with a
visualization of Ginger's womb, where her hands traced around the young
lamb's head, reaching around its neck. The lamb squirmed under her touch,
as if trying to back into the womb, afraid of the outside world.

Lori breathed, making sure to only use her mouth. "I've got its head. I
think it's a she."

"Oh? You're reaching a bit far if you can tell that, eh?" Pa said, a cheeky
boyish grin creeping in. He was a child morph, though -- all his grins were
cheeky and boyish.

"No, but she's as stubborn as Ginger is."

The ewe jerked at the mention of her name. As if suddenly aware of her
claustrophobic surroundings, she tried to bolt for the barn door. Lori's pa
threw his whole weight against Ginger, shifting slightly in age for extra
weight. It was rare that he did that; he nearly always stayed in
pre-adolescence, despite being nearly three times Lori's age.

"Easy, girl. Not long now," he cooed in her ear.

Lori's mom glanced up. She was also a child morph, but unlike him, she
always stayed as old in appearance as the curse would allow. It was a bit
like having an older sister who never aged, only now Lori was old enough
that she could pass as her mom's fraternal twin.

"There's a second lamb back here," Lori said, her right arm a bit twisted
from Ginger's jolt, the other pressing firmly against her flank.

"Good, let's deal with the first lamb, first. You're such a strong girl,
aren't you?" he whispered to Ginger. "You can handle it. Come on." To Lori
he asked, "What's the other lamb like?"

"Pinned down by the first one, it can't get its head forward."

Lori heard the mayor end his speech, and the horns start up again. They'll
be opening the blossom barn now, Lori thought. Mallory and the other
blossoms would be in there, ready to reveal themselves. Ophelia would have
a front row seat, for once. Nancy and Maggie, hopefully, would be seated
alongside her with the rest of Mallory's family. Maybe they even saved an
empty seat there for Lori. Hopefully not.

"How far can you push?" Lori's pa asked.

"Just a little bit."

"Okay," he sighed slowly. "Try this: you have one hand on the mouth. Use
your other hand, the one on the legs, and reach behind the lamb's ears.
You're going to pull the head forward a bit, just enough to where it can
manage on its own. Remember, it wants to be born, but it's afraid. You have
to give it some control until it can conquer that fear."

The lamb shuddered inside. Lori kept her hands calm and still on the lamb,
hoping she wouldn't kick her womb-mate. She hoped to project an image of
calm and security like a warm blanket.

In the distance, she heard the horns and fiddles play another song -- the
procession of the blossoms. First the old name, for the benefit of the
family. Then the new name, for the new blossom. She wondered which one was
Mallory's. She heard a name that sounded like Andrew, met with modest
cheers.

No... "Andrew" didn't sound like a name Mallory would have chosen.

There were three barns in Twone, two of which served the whole village's
livestock. This was the oldest barn by far, the one that was always
repaired and served Twone reliably over the years. The biggest barn was
their newest -- one that belonged to Lord Sawtry himself for all of his and
his servants' flocks. The third barn was the smallest, and held no
livestock anymore. It was a blossom barn now. Girls who were struck by the
gender curse would be sheltered inside to be physically and mentally
trained in how to be a man, and then presented to the village in a special
"blossom festival", usually in early spring or early autumn, right before
planting or harvest.

Lori didn't know if other towns in Metamor had a blossom barn -- she knew
that it had started as a local tradition about ten years ago. But it had
only become more prestigious each year. Twone had high expectations for its
men -- being so close to Metamor's southern border, they had to set a good
example to the superstitious Midlanders. And certainly there was a lot more
freedom for a man to venture south than a beast lady or a young girl.

The lamb finally took notice of Lori's bare thumb rubbing its mouth, and
opened its mouth to nibble on it. Lori quickly lifted it back over the
lamb's muzzle. "She's moving. Slowly, but she's moving."

Another cheer, one with a good deal of applause. That could have been
Mallory. Mallory's family was almost as well-off as hers -- both of their
families owned their own houses and a few luxuries, but Lori's pa owned a
large piece of farmland, which in addition to sheepherding supplied enough
income to hire some farmhands.

Wealth didn't matter much, though. What Mallory and most of Twone had over
them was a history. Except for Lori and a couple merchants and the mayor
himself, everyone had deep family connections in Twone. Lori's parents were
still outsiders, and despite her four good friends, and her increasing
responsibilities, Lori never really felt like she belonged here.

"Focus, Lori," her pa said. "Bring her head forward. Let her come out."

"I'm trying," she said. The lamb still had its legs wedged against its
mother's womb, and was refusing to budge them. Lori kept her eyes closed,
ignoring her father's interruptions, the cheers of the festival, the silent
stares of the sheep and her mother. She had to focus on the lamb. She had
to give everything she could to coax the lamb's legs forward.

The lamb wasn't quite in position yet when Ginger decided to push on her
accord. Lori nearly fell down with the sudden twitch, but she regained her
footing, and started guiding the lamb's head back towards its legs. The
lamb squirmed, and she seized its legs now, and felt a sudden push as
Ginger lent her aid. "She's coming!"

"Alright. Once the head is out, pull straight to her hocks. Do it all in
one go, if you can. Gentle."

There was a sudden burst of cheering and applause outside. Someone very
popular, it sounded like, maybe from out of town. Not all of the blossoms
came from Twone. Some came from Ticehurst or Sawtry, as they didn't have
their own blossom barns. Lori remembered one year where a noble's blossom
came from Llancarfan. The crowds were from all over the Valley, like market
day, eager to see Twone's latest goods.

The lamb was male, as it turned out. No sooner had his head pulled out that
he immediately stiffened, quite unprepared for the burst of light. That
made it much easier for Lori to pull and drop him to the straw-covered
floor. Before her father had to say anything, she brought the lamb over to
Ginger to be sniffed and cleaned.

The second lamb almost immediately tried to push its way out. Ginger kicked
her legs in a second burst of energy, but not even a hoof was pushed out.
Ginger finally noticed the firstborn lamb beneath her and began to lick the
slime off his wool.

"Good girl. Good job, Lori." Her father reached down to the ewe's udders
and rubbed off the protective layer of wax. He squeezed out Ginger's first
milk of the season, a rich colostrum to give the new lamb strength and
vigor. "You did good, for your first lambing."

"It's not over, yet," Lori said, half-heartedly.

"I know. But we'll see if Ginger can handle the next one."

Lori's mom finally spoke. "The first lamb is always the hardest." She
looked up with a smile. "You'll have to name her, of course."

"Him. He's a ram," Pa said. "And you don't have to decide right away, Lori.
But it's tradition for a lamber who helps the shepherd to be given the
naming rights."

Lori scooped up some straw and wiped her arms off. The smell was
overwhelming. It stuck to her hands, her arms, and her frock. Lori spat out
the straw that was sticking to her hair, and tasted a couple of wool hairs
that had stuck to her when Ginger had been kicking. She felt repulsive.

The distant music shifted to a livelier tune. The crowd now whistled and
cheered, with brief bursts of laughter and applause. The blossoms must be
parading now. The newly-changed gender morphs would now demonstrate all the
things they had learned -- sword-fighting, weight-lifting, horse-riding,
dancing, acrobatics, knife-throwing, witty banter, and all combinations
thereof. The exhibition was always her favorite part of the blossom feast
-- and the crowd's as well. She wished she could see what sort of things
Mallory was doing.

But not like this, arms smelling of manure, covered in straw and blood!
This was the first blossom feast that one of her friends was in -- and it
was all happening without her.

"Hey," her pa said, sitting down beside her. "I'm proud of you today. I
know how much the blossom festival means to you. But you also know how
important it is to put the sheep ahead of yourself."

Lori nodded. "I know. He is a beautiful, healthy ram. I still wanted to
support Mallory."

Pa softly smiled. "You'll be in that blossom barn soon enough, I know it.
Until then, these sheep need a shepherd to watch over them. And after
today," he clapped Lori on the back, "I know they'll be in good hands."

Lori didn't dislike sheepherding. She knew the names of all the sheep, and
she was fond of protecting them. There was a good living to be had here,
and she would never go hungry, and none of the curses would keep her from
shepherding.

And yet... she had never really felt like she belonged in Metamor. Metamor
was world-famous as a land of second chances, where the wartorn, lost, and
wounded could start their lives over. And maybe it was different for those
who had lived in Twone all their lives, who didn't need second chances of
anything. But Lori's family didn't have roots here. They may have owned
land, but what was land without a community?

Lori's mother had come from the north when Nasoj first invaded the valley;
her father came from the south soon after as a young man, wandering into
the mountains with his family's flock by accident. It was through luck and
cleverness that he held his own farm and expanded his flock. He refused to
let anyone, even Lori, talk about his family in the Midlands.

Some part of her was curious about her distant relatives, but what she was
most interested in were the stories of other lands, of the great cities
along the shores and overseas, of the ancient cities deep in the heart of
the Midlands, or hidden by the desert sands. She wondered about what
magical marvels lay there, secrets waiting for a hero to uncover them.

She knew it was all wishful fantasy, of course. More likely, a life on the
road meant fighting bandits and sleeping in the cold rain. But the road
south was still out there, calling for her. And just once, she wanted to
see what was down it.

Lori watched Ginger lick the lamb, tending it as all mothers do. That young
ram would always belong to Metamor. Lori wiped Ginger's blood from his
hands, and watched and waited for Ginger's second ewe to emerge.
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://lists.integral.org/archives/mkguild/attachments/20230123/1474a27f/attachment-0001.html>