Part 10: Dawns Break
A loud groan came from the one submerged within the soft, deep quilts which lay across the large wooden bed, a slim leg jerked out of one end, seeming unsure of its intensions or whereabouts. It lazily rolled along the warm sheets, favouring the fabric which it pressed against. An even slimmer arm came out of the other end, frantically reaching about, as if trying to grab the air itself within its grasp. Another arm joined it, and eventually a head of pink locks which shone in the morning Sun arose from the sleepy chambers of the darkened fortress of blankets.
Releasing her shoulders from the tightly bound material, Popuri shook her hair free of the crumpled, yet comfortable, mess which served as a bed. Delicately pulling her chest, hips and legs free, she tossed her lower body over the edge, and half sat, half slumped on the side of the bed.
Sleepily hazing at the old guest room clock, she watched the bright green runes flash four in the morning, contrasting well against the dark, dust covered face of the clock. Groaning once more, the girl felt as if she was weighed down with a tonne of flour as she stood up from the bed, and stumbled over to the windowsill, leaning heavily on the wooden ledge, staring out of the murky glass, her limbs hanging numb, and limp as she pressed herself against the ledge, not feeling any pain, yet seeing the result of the pressure making her skin paler around certain points.
She looked out through the glass of tinted darkness, her eyes washing over the ocean, watching every wave lap the shore in a repetitive routine, only rising a little more each time, out ranking the others before it, as if it was race to prove itself against the other molecules in the sea which outlined the coast of the valley.
A gentle knock at the door awoke her from her world of late slumber, her head arising from its new resting place on the windowsill. She lazily approached her door, grasping the handle swiftly, and opening it to reveal a young blonde man, who was already wide awake and dressed at this early hour.
"Hello?" the girl asked curiously, resting against the door frame, trying to satisfy her need for rest.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" he asked, noticing her drowsy expression and weak posture.
"No, its okay," she said, trying to stop herself from yawning, "You didn't wake me."
The man let out a sigh of relief, "Oh good, sorry, it was just your zombie-like impression had me a little concerned."
"Do I really look that a bad?" she half laughed, pressing her head against the frame.
"No, not at all," he said softly, "I'm sorry to offend."
"It's alright, you didn't offend me," she said sleepily.
"Good to hear it," he replied, "I'm Rock."
"Popuri," she replied weakly.
The young man nodded and left, leaving the tired girl standing in the doorframe, unsure of her surroundings for a moment. She mentally shook herself, and sluggishly dragged her feet across the room, and fell down, face first into the pile of quilts which flooded her bed. Her legs fell limp and hung over the mattress, her stomach resting on the edge, all was peaceful.
Her heart skipped a beat as a near, yet distance scream was heard.
The alarm clock sprang to life, awaking those who lived within the wooden home. The farmer ran a hand through his messy brown hair, letting out a large yawn as he reached out one hand to turn off the alarm. He sat up, and rubbed his eyes, before pulling back the small blanket which covered him, and letting his legs fall over the sides of the bed, dropping into to deep blue slippers.
A brown and white pointed ear dog leapt onto his lap, barking with joy, and rubbing his head against his masters' hand, provoking him to stroke his fur.
"Morning Scrapps," he said cheerfully, scratching the puppies head, then cradling in his arms, and setting him down on the rug below.
Jack sighed as he trudged through to the kitchen, and opened the fridge, taking out a bottle of his own cows' milk, and pouring it into one of the clean glasses which lay along the counter, and then placed the bottle back into the fridge once more, so that it wouldn't spoil.
He wandered through to the main room once more, and placed his glass down on the table, before going over to his bookcase, and taking out a small book, with had 'Cow Dates' scribbled along the cover.
He took a pen from the small pot which lay on the shelf, and sat down at the table, opening it roughly a quarter of the way through, opening a page which bared a small, neatly drawn table, clustered with writing and tally marks.
Jack drew a line next to the three which already lay there, "Two more days," he smiled, "Two more days until Daisy gets the MP."
Scrapps gave a gentle bark as the farmer pressed his lips against the glass, savouring the liquid as it slowly slithered down his throat. The glass slid slightly, and Jack placed it down on the table, and flicked through several pages of his book.
"Odd…" he said to himself, "I didn't fill out the evening charts yesterday. Guess Popuri distracted me a little."
Jack thought back to yesterday in the barn as he filled out several charts, writing down things such as the amount of fodder used, eggs laid, cost of medicine and milk produced.
He took another long slurp from his glass, and almost choked as a high pitched scream was heard.