They reached the village close to noon. A full on blizzard had caught up
with them limiting Cremia's vision to mere inches from the tip of her nose.
"Is it always like this?!" she yelled the question to Zubora trying to
compete with the whipping whistle of the wind.
"Yeah!" Zubora yelled back. "All winter it's like this!"
Cremia nodded and lurched forward suddenly as the wagon stopped. "Easy there Gabora!" Zubora called to the giant. To Cremia he said, "We're here."
'Here' was a quaint log cottage covered in drifts of snow. Zubora told her that the wagon's contents could be left in the cart until the storm blew over. The three hobbled through the stingy ice and harsh wind into the cold, yet considerably less windy, front room of the cabin. Zubora complained about the ache of his arm, but pushed Gabora's hand away when the giant offered him help.
Cremia wasn't very surprised upon entering the house; it fit Zubora and Gabora's personalities. A musky gray swirl of discolor swam through the room ashing the walls and corners. A large hearth caught Cremia's eye first being the largest object in the room. Two wooden counters set up a corner separated the hearth and a large green couch from the rest of the room. In the back, Cremia could see the dim outline of a door probably leading to another room.
Zubora moved over to the couch crawling across the counter and slumping onto the cushions while Gabora followed Zubora going to the fireplace and ritualistically lighting it. Cremia stood where she was feeling slightly out of place.
Zubora noticed her unease and motioned at the couch beside him. "Might as well make your self comfortable," he commented. "Looks like we're in for a long night."
Cremia easily cleared the counter sitting on the edge of the couch and watching Gabora as he finished fanning a budding flame. The fire roared to life and the warmth seeped into the air instantaneously. She slightly drew back her feet and felt them bump into something peculiar. A small frown on her face, Cremia leaned over slightly to inspect the mysterious object at her feet. "Say, what is this?" she asked reaching down and drawing forth the large chunk of white crystal. Her eyes lit in excitement. "Is this a Communication Crystal?" she asked scanning her memory for all that she knew of them. They were rare-very rare, and could let you talk to a person far away.
Zubora snatched it out of her hand quickly. "Yes," he answered sharply. "It only goes through to one person though."
"Who?" Cremia asked innocuously.
"Nobody, just a friend," Zubora replied smartly clinging to it. "It was a.present. That's right, a present."
Cremia frowned. Zubora was sure acting weird about it. She shrugged and didn't press the issue. Gabora, finished with his chore, sat back onto the floor delivering a small quake as his rear made contact with the floor.
"So I guess as soon as the storm clears, you can go to an inn or something," Zubora said into the quiet.
"You're kidding," Cremia answered. "You thing I'm just going to leave you like this? Out of the question. I'll leave when I feel that you are ready for me to leave."
"I'm fine," Zubora retorted. "I've been through a lot worse in plenty of bad situations without your help. I think I can manage this one alone-"
"I'm staying," Cremia cut him off with such finality that Zubora didn't try to sway her anymore.
He shrugged. "Suit yourself. You can take the bedroom," he pointed his thumb towards the door.
"Fine," Cremia replied. "Now, where's your food? I'll start dinner."
***
Cremia slid easily into her position in the smithing household. There was so much work to be done, she found herself exhausted at the end of the day. *I haven't felt this way since I started work on the ranch,* Cremia told herself while lying in bed one night. Her days were filled with making all three daily meals, loading finished materials into the wagon, assisting Gabora in whatever he needed assistance in, and tending to her patient.
Each morning started off routinely enough; Gabora would light the hearth and heat the liquefied metal while Cremia snagged a bit of the fire and warmed the oven to the left of the couch. Before she had come, Zubora told her that the two usually just heated up whatever there was to eat over the hearth so that they wouldn't have to bother stopping their work. "That's disgusting!" Cremia had exclaimed over the information and demanded Gabora to make her a stove lest she should rant all day about the unsanitary ways of the two men. Zubora had merely shrugged throwing a questioning look over at Gabora who had copied the shrug and started to work on crafting the stove. It was ready for use within hours.
Morning breakfast usually included eggs; Zubora had bought a winter's stock of them off of a traveling peddler last spring. They were kept with all of the other cold things down in a cellar Gabora himself had dug. In this cellar were meats packed with salt and frozen to keep fresh, and jars filled with berries and fruits Zubora had collected during the spring. There were also sacks of potatoes, which usually kept well enough if preserved in the right conditions. Flour, sugar, salt, and spices were also stored down there, but Zubora claimed it was to save room-not to benefit the seasonings.
Because the same thing was eaten every morning, Cremia tried to give the morning meal more variety by using all different types of techniques with cooking the eggs. The first few days she'd fry them, then the next few days she'd scramble them, then boil them, and so on. She could tell that both of the men appreciated her efforts; Gabora would also give her a hearty "Urgho Urg," after she set his plate down for him. Zubora was more of one to sulk and Cremia accounted this for his manly pride having taken a beating. His arm was still broken and he could do nothing but sit back and let Cremia overtake his home. He didn't really seem to mind all that much, especially when Cremia was suddenly struck by an ingenious idea for replacing bland water with berry flavored tea. Using the stored dried berries, she wrapped them in a bit of cloth and ground them up into a fine powder, and warming a bit of water, she let the ground berries sweeten the much blander liquid.
With breakfast completed, Cremia used the time before lunch for household chores. "This place is filthy!" she had commented seeing a thick layer of dust covering everything the morning after arriving.
"Hey, if you don't like it, you can leave," Zubora had grumbled not appreciating the sour remark about his home. Cremia had ignored Zubora of course immediately demanding a broom so that she could start with the floors.
After an hour or two of cleaning (Cremia estimated that two weeks would be her needed time to get the house in the best shape) she would start with the mountain of laundry heaped in the corner of her bedroom. Forcing Gabora to take a fifteen-minute break, she would heat a tub of water and soap and fill another smaller tub for rinsing. Then, sliding them under the counter to the open floor, she would wash and rinse the clothes. At first, the situation of where to hang and dry the garments put Cremia in a stump. She very well couldn't use the clothesline outside for the fabric would freeze. Zubora had provided the answer suggesting that she draw the string across the ceiling over the hearth so that the heat might speed the drying process.
After a load or two, Cremia would quit (she estimated the time for completing all the laundry to be an additional three weeks) and prepared lunch. This meal was usually a main dish of dried meat and a side of nuts. Being involved in the work by this time, Cremia didn't like the thought of taking too much time to cook anything. Not a fan of the midday meal herself, Cremia usually skipped it finishing the clothes by folding them and putting them away.
With lunch completed, Cremia would spend the afternoon helping Gabora handle the hot metal sometimes pushing on the large fan used to cool off the metal, and sometimes holding down a piece of metal with tongs while Gabora beat it with a hammer. When it cooled and hardened enough, Cremia would slip on a massive pair of leather gloves and move the newly created tools out to the wagon. Zubora had explained to her during the first day that during the winter, when customers found it hard to reach them, they compensated the income loss by making tools and weapons then selling them at Clock Town once every month. "As you can see," he had said holding up his broken arm, "We take a few risks of our own by traveling in this weather."
Zubora managed to keep himself busy as well figuring up costs of their items to be sold. If one article used a metal not very easy to come by, the price would have to be risen enough to make up the lost amount from the precious metal, but also enough to make some profit. "It's a delicate busy," he had plaintively put it one day.
When Gabora could handle the rest of the loading work himself, Cremia would retire to the stove to make the last meal-dinner. The meat from the cellar was cut and cooked. Sometimes Cremia added a few spices to give it more flavoring. She broiled the potatoes and baked a small loaf of bread using the flour, eggs, and sugar from below. The sky had considerably darkened by the time Cremia set these plates down in front of Zubora and Gabora. Already the hoots of owls could be heard through the thickness of the wooden walls.
By the late evening, the activities had wound down. Gabora sat by his fire sharpening leftover scraps of metal for arrowheads, then carving a Deku Stick, he would tie the two together brandishing a featherless arrow. Zubora mentioned that the arrows would remain that way until spring brought the fowl back.
Evenings were the times Cremia used to tend to Zubora. Having fresh strips of cloth for bandaging, she would redress the arm and reset the splints. Finished with the arm, she continued treating the cut on his brow with more alcohol to prevent infection.
Every evening, as she administered her treatments, Zubora would watch her intently with utmost scrutiny. When she was nearly finished, he would always say, "You can leave whenever you want, you know. You don't _have_ to stay here. I bet that sister of yours is awfully worried; how long was it going to be before you promised to write her?"
Each time those words were spoken Cremia would keep a calm exterior while cringing inwardly. "I'll leave when you're better. It's only too bad I don't have my milk with me. One sip of it and you would be good as new. Probably better than before." She would look up, finished with her healing and catch his eye. Every time a guilty flush would light his cheeks and she would puzzle over the gesture, and then drop it after too long.
For the rest of the night, Cremia would alter some of Zubora's warmer clothing to fit her self. She would also mend any tears or rips in the clothing she had previously washed. Usually during this time, the three would chat lightly. If they were feeling comfortable in one another's company, they would joke and tell stories. If an argument had arisen, a steely silence would settle into the grainy atmosphere until Cremia announced that she was off to bed.
Washing her face and brushing her teeth, Cremia would pull on an oversized discarded shirt to sleep in, and then crawled onto a worn mattress under a thick quilt. She would listen as Gabora tamed the flames from the hearth letting them die down to the point where they still provided some warmth, but they couldn't spontaneously grow out of control and burn down the house. Cremia would gently glide into sleep listening to the soft whispers of the snow outside.
***
Two weeks into her stay, Cremia found herself in the process of hanging clothes to dry when a knock came pounding on the door. Being the closest to the entrance, Cremia climbed down from her perch on her ladder and answered the insistent beatings. She found, to her great shock, a feebly hunched over old Goron. A long tangled tassel of white hair strung down around his eyes and ears and down his chin. Zubora called to him from the other side of the room. "Come on in," he said (rather rudely, felt Cremia).
The ancient Goron nodded and shakily walked inside taking the smallest steps Cremia had ever seen. She moved back out of his way standing in front of her washing tub accidentally bumping it and sloshing the sudsy water all over her skirt. Following closely behind the meager old Goron were two burly younger versions. *Must be his bodyguards,* Cremia logically deduced.
The old Goron stopped before the counter where Zubora was already waiting. He had bustled over the side as the Goron had slowly made his way to the front. Giving him a more proper form of respect, Zubora bowed deeply. The Goron waved away the formal pretensions saying in a wobbly voice, "Nice to see you again Zubora. Darmani, Grinam, don't be shy; come in out of the cold." His aged voice held a clear command full of power that awed Cremia.
The two other referred Gorons obeyed the other with a, "Yes Elder," before stepping more fully into the room so Cremia could shut the door behind them.
Turning, the 'Elder' faced Zubora. Chuckling he said, "I hear you got yourself into a bit of trouble." Turning to eye Cremia he added, "Don't see why you're _complaining_ though." He laughed and the other two Gorons joined suit. "Here," he said tossing a bottle at Zubora.
Fumbling to get a grip on the glass with his undamaged arm, he asked, "What's this?" while trying to uncork the wooden blockage at the top with his unbroken arm.
"Potion," the Elder replied. "Got a shipment of it last week." He watched as Zubora tilted his head back and poured the liquid down his throat. Making a face, he swallowed and stuck out his tongue. The Elder laughed again, "Doesn't go down well, does it?" he asked.
Turning to now face Gabora, he asked, "Well, are you ready lad?"
Gabora nodded excitedly. "Urg urgho urg!" he declared grabbing his discarded hammer and jumping over the counter.
"Good, good my boy," the Elder responded. He turned to face his other men. "Let's be off then!" he exclaimed taking a few frail steps toward the door. Cremia opened it for him and watched as the odd line-two young Gorons, one older one, and a massive giant-made their way through a forming blizzard to a foreign wagon waiting by the cottage. She watched as Gabora hopped into the back turning to pick up the Elder while the other two crossed over to the front jumping into the driver's bench. With a sharp whip of the reigns, the two horses tied to the cart sped off behind the house disappearing in a cloud of snow.
"What was that all about.your arm!" she exclaimed in surprise. Zubora had worked off the bandages and to Cremia's amazement he flexed the appendage as though it were never hurt to begin with. Common sense told her that magical healing properties must have been in the potion-nothing else could explain the extraordinary phenomenon. "Let me see that," she demanded extending the arm to check for herself. Sure enough, the bone had mended coming together perfectly. There wasn't even a scratch. Looking up at his face, she examined the cut on his brow. What she had felt earlier would surely have left a scar was now reduced to perfectly flawless skin. "Suppose that magic potion did alright then," she remarked returning his arm. Going back to her earlier question, she asked, "Where did Gabora go? And who were those Gorons?"
"He goes to their city every season," Zubora casually explained ducking underneath the counter and returning to his sofa. Cremia followed staying on the opposite end of the counter and leaning against it. As he finished stacking loose sheaves of paper, he continued with his explanation saying, "They have this fellow over there who makes these bombs. We met him two years ago while delivering a supply of metal rings to hold up the wooden barrels. He takes one look at Gabora and says, 'You're the strongest human I've ever seen! I bet you could handle one of my bombs easily.' So he gives Gabora a lit one and tells him some directions to put the bomb at. I wasn't allowed to go with him. He tells Gabora that this thing is going to blow in five minutes so he best get moving. Well, of course I'm nervous as anything, I don't want my buddy to get blown up; what would happen to my business? (Just kidding) So I'm waiting and this Goron (he's a giant) goes about his business like nothing special was happening. Ten minutes later I can't decide if I should try and sneak out of his cave so I can go looking for Gabora and then he's suddenly there. He tells the Goron that he did it, no sweat, and get this, the Goron understands him! He tells Gabora that he needs an assistant to help him out with making these bomb barrels and asks if Gabora would stick around. Of course Gabora was excited, but you know what? He told the giant that he couldn't just leave me. So the Goron makes this arrangement with the Goron Elder-that old one who came just a few minutes ago-so now Gabora gets to go with that same group every season to go get trained by that Goron in his bomb business. He only has two more 'lessons' (one more now) left before he becomes a certified Goron bomb maker."
"Wow," Cremia expressed upon completion of his story. "That's certainly impressive."
"Yeah, I guess it is. That guy's gonna do alright."
"What do you mean by that?" Cremia asked him. The decisiveness in his voice was slightly unnerving.
"You can't expect this to last forever," Zubora announced with a flourish of his hand. "As soon as he becomes certified, I'm gonna ask the Elder to take him in, you know, give him a place among them."
"But you can't do that!" Cremia cried. "What about your business?"
"You think that's more important than his happiness?" Zubora bit in return.
Taken aback, Cremia hesitated before responding, "No I suppose not, but how do you know he'll be happy? Those aren't his people, what if they don't accept him?"
"I've ridden with him through South Clock Town," Zubora said with a sudden haunted look on his face, "I know the jeers from other people, I know how they laugh and they tease him. People are so cruel Cremia. But these Gorons are different. They'll treat him right. They won't mock him or think any less of him just because he's different. Besides, he isn't as unlike them as you think."
"Oh yeah? Why's that?" Cremia asked curiously.
"You know that giant Goron I was telling you about?" Cremia nodded. "Well I was talking to the Elder one night after Gabora got back. He was exhausted; fell asleep as soon as he walked through the door. The Elder and me got to talking about a few things. He tells me about this Goron who's training Gabora; about how he disappeared for a few months twenty some years back. He tells me about how he had been so happy before leaving, then about how he didn't talk and didn't eat for weeks after he got back. There were rumors see, some Gorons saw him before he left with this human woman. She was really pretty, they said. They also said that she looked like she was with child." Cremia gasped. "Yeah, you see where I'm going with this. You'll also see how this is probably the best thing I could ever do for him."
Silence enveloped the pair. Cremia no longer felt the frenzied urge to finish the laundry instead crawling over the counter top and sitting beside Zubora on the couch. "What will you do?" she asked a bit tentatively.
He shrugged indifferently. "Don't know," he responded leaning back. "I'm sure I'll find _something_ to do. I was thinking of going down to the Western Coast. Maybe I can pick up a job on that new cruise liner."
Cremia sat thoughtfully for a few moments, savoring what he'd just said. "You know," she started, "I could really use a hand around the ranch. I hate doing bills and there are all those endless chores. Romani hates them. You can handle horses too. Maybe I could hire you on."
Zubora regarded her tightly. "Cremia, I don't want you getting the idea I'm this really nice guy. The truth is, I've done more than my share of rotten things to really nice people. People who deserve your kindness more than I do."
"That's nonsense," Cremia responded waving the self-loathing statement away. "Why did you help Gabora escape from those Pirates when you could have easily saved yourself instead? Why did you stay with Gabora when you realized he didn't have anyone else? Why were you willing to sacrifice yourself to save Gabora and me? I don't place a bad name on a person until they've proven to me that that's what they are. You are not a bad guy Zubora. I don't care what you've done; you obviously feel sorry about it. How can anyone hold that against you?"
A few more moments of silence passed before Zubora responded. "Well," he said, "I don't think you'll feel that way much longer." He stood up. "I'm going to go take a bath," he stated and walked into the bedroom where a tub and a hot water faucet waited in the back corner. As the door closed behind him, Cremia wondered why he kept insisting on denying his good attributes. *Perhaps his parents abused him,* she thought and frowned. That just didn't seem right.
She shrugged away the thought and stood up. In truth, whatever was bugging him would continue doing so. He wasn't letting Cremia in and there was nothing she could do except sit back and watch as he beat himself up.
***
Dinner was less stressful that night; Cremia didn't have to worry about making too little to fill the void occupying Gabora's stomach. They ate in front of the hearth's crackling fire leaping and dancing in its blazing pit. To Cremia's surprise, it was Zubora who broke the silence first. "So I guess you can leave now that my arm's fixed."
"Absolutely not," Cremia replied calmly taking a bite from her potatoes.
"Why?" Zubora asked.
"I couldn't just leave without saying goodbye to Gabora. That would be both insensitive and rude. As if I weren't nice enough to stick around and let him known I'm going." She turned and gave Zubora a hard stare. "Why do you want me gone so badly?" she asked.
"Hey, ease up. I just thought.well with the way you go on about your sister, I thought you'd want to go see her as soon as possible."
Cremia's face lowered as she mournfully replied, "See her and tell her that we might have to move away from the only home she's ever known? Zubora, I simply couldn't do that to her. Her little heart would shatter." the tears welled up leaving a glassy sheen over Cremia's sapphire blue eyes. "I still have an answerless problem to figure out. I wouldn't even know where to go." Like raining rivers her teardrops rushed down the contours of her cheeks.
Obviously untrained in the arts of comforting grieving souls, Zubora set his plate down on the floor beside his feet and cautiously put a hand to Cremia's shoulder. She sobbed and leaned onto his chest weeping into the fabric of his clothing. Her plate slid to the floor with a dull crash, but both were too busy to notice. Very gently, Zubora slid his arms around Cremia's bawling frame. Subconsciously she moved closer trying, it seemed, to draw some unbeknownst strength from whatever Zubora might have possessed.
They stayed in the pose for a time until Cremia's cries became whimpers, then transformed into sniffles. "Is that better?" Zubora asked after a long quiet pause passed. She nodded her head brushing her flaming red hair against his neck. The embrace, while slightly alarming to Zubora, held a tinge of familiarity to it. As a matter of fact, he found the posture to be quite relaxing.
"Zubora," she murmured startling him with the tranquil sound of her voice.
He replied with a questioning, "Yes?"
"Would you tell me about your family?" she asked.
"My family?" the inquiry took him by surprise. "What's to tell? I had a mom, a dad, three sisters and two brothers."
"Where are they?" Crimea pressed.
"My parents still live in South Clock Town where I grew up. That's where they met." He felt Cremia's smile. "Emri-that's my oldest sister-stayed close to home. She lives next to the Clock Tower. Cati-my next oldest sister lives next door. They're twins those two, don't look a thing alike though. My last sister-Myrion -fell in love with this Zora. They ran off together to go live by the Great Bay I'd reckon. Butorn, my oldest brother lives down close to the swamp. He tests the properties of the water and stuff like that. My other brother- Zyrian lives in West Clock Town."
Cremia remained thoughtful with half-opened eyelids. "Do you still see them?" she asked.
"Yeah, sometimes," Zubora responded. Expanding on the simple explanation, he said, "I usually go see my parents during the Carnival of Time. Emri, Cati, and Zyrian are generally over at their house cooking or something. Butorn drops by every other year."
Zubora felt the shift in her facial features as Cremia frowned. "What about your other sister, Myrion was it?"
"I haven't seen her since she ran off and eloped with that Zora," he answered. Perhaps it was the low lighting or the smoke from the fire, maybe it was the fresh smell of her hair or the soft feel of her body. For whatever reason, Zubora felt like a fountain being turned on for the first time in a long while. His past, those things he tried to push away gushed forth and he felt helpless to stopper it.
"Did she love him?" Cremia asked jolting him from his thoughts.
"Who, Myrion? Yeah I guess she did if she felt it was urgent enough to run away." The bitter words rushed from his mouth before he had the chance to catch them.
"Then you shouldn't be angry with her," Cremia said.
"I'm not angry.well, I guess I was for a while. Myrion and me were the babies of the family. She was a year older than me. We were really close, I mean as close as siblings can be. Whenever Zyrian tried to boss us around we'd stick up for each other. We were inseparable until she suddenly grew distant. She didn't want to talk to me or anyone. Sometimes when I'd ask her what was wrong she'd look at me really sadly and say, 'Everything,' and that was it. I didn't know what to do; what could I do? And then she met that Zora fellow and ran away. She was only seventeen."
"That's why you left isn't it?" Cremia convicted.
"It was a lot of things. I grew distant myself as I got older. I got into lots of trouble looking for attention. I guess when I think about it, Myrion leaving was kind of the final straw," Zubora admonished.
"You miss her a lot, don't you?"
"Yeah," Zubora breathed with intensity. "Yeah I do. A lot."
"You should go see her," Cremia said.
"I've thought about that," Zubora admitted. "I used to image what she would look like and what the expression on her face would be like if I showed up on her steps one day. Maybe she'd have a few kids. I could be an uncle and not even know it. Then I'd wonder if she wouldn't just shut the door in my face like she did all those years ago."
"I think you should go see her," Cremia repeated. "You've got nothing to lose."
The silence sifted through he lazy atmosphere again. Cremia became entranced with the flames of the fire licking the roof of the hearth. "What about your family?" Zubora suddenly asked. "What happened to your mom? Your dad? Do you have any more brothers or sisters?"
"I don't have any more siblings, there's just Romani," Cremia started. "My dad.had an affair with some lady in a traveling troupe. He left when I was really little; two I think. My mother committed suicide when I was fifteen- right after Romani was born." A low hiss escaped from Zubora's throat. "I blame my father really. He suddenly showed up at our door one night and told my mom he missed her. I was fourteen then. He tried to hug me and tell me how much he missed and thought of me every day. Yeah right, that's a load of crap if I ever did hear one.
"Basically he and my mom had a one-night fling. He left the next morning. I caught him rummaging through the kitchen for some food to take with him. He saw me and straightened up like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I asked him where he was going and he said he didn't feel like he _belonged_ there anymore. Din I hate him so much. I found my mom later that morning with this empty look in her eyes-like she didn't have anything left to live for. She tried cutting her wrists while I was away in Clock Town one day. I was able to stop her before she did any damage. The day after that she found out she was pregnant with Romani and didn't try to pull any stunts like that again. I really thought she was starting to get better.
"Romani was born and I had to deliver her because we were too poor to afford a nurse. Mom fell asleep and I went to go feed Romani. When I finally got her to sleep, I went back to check up on mom, but she wasn't in bed where I left her. I looked all over the ranch. It was a quarter past ten when I finally found her in the barn-hanging from one of the banisters with a rope wrapped around her neck." Cremia stopped as the tears gush down her cheeks. She felt the salty liquor in her mouth but paid it no mind. "I screamed and cried and screamed again. I don't remember exactly what happened; I think I blacked out and woke to find myself in my own bed. Mr. Barton was there. He had come by because he hadn't seen my mother in over five months. He wanted to drop by and see what was going on. You can imagine how shocked he was to find a baby upstairs, a hysterical teenager in front of the barn, and a dead woman in the barn.
"It took me a while, but I was able to recover. Mr. Barton really helped me out a lot. He wouldn't admit it then, but I think he had a thing for my mother. So I became responsible for raising a child and managing a ranch on my own at the age of sixteen. I rented out some of the extra space to these two characters looking for a place to open up their businesses. I don't quite know just how I managed to luck out so much. Maybe Nayru is looking out for me. I'll tell you this much: I'd go through it all over again just to have Romani. She means so much to me-so much more than just a sister. She is my _child_. I raised her."
Through her entire story Zubora had been running a soothing hand up and down her arm. She didn't think about it much while reveling in her past, but now she liked the feeling of such intimacy. Goosebumps rose on the skin as he stroked and she leaned into him sighing deeply. Getting the burden off her chest was certainly relieving, but it was also tiresome. She could fall into a black oblivion and never wake if this kept up.
Zubora watched her as she drifted into a light doze. The new information spun through his head twirling his thoughts and upsetting the careful balance he had tried to maintain all his life. On impulse, he gently swept back a loose lock of hair fallen across her face. He didn't realize she was actually awake until she delicately held his hand to her face. Her eyes opened, Din those eyes; you could get lost in blues like that. Without realizing what he was doing, he leaned down as she rose up. Their lips met in a flurry of passion awakened by merging souls. He was at a loss and could neither think nor feel anything beyond the warmth of her body. And then it was cold. He looked up, baffled as she stood before the couch gazing bittersweetly through his hazy mind. "I've got to go to bed," she distantly whispered and he barely heard her through the dank recesses of his inner heart. What had happened? Coming back to his regular self, seated on _his_ couch in _his_ house at _his_ Mountain Village, his heart sped up and he shook his head. *What's she doing to me?* he wondered but didn't dare answer. Instead he watched as the fire burned down to grazing coals and then fell asleep.
***
That night Cremia dreamt with the nightmarish tendency of one who delves too deeply too quickly into the past. She was there before the stark red door of the barn again. Shadows loomed against the stormy sky quilted with ominous clouds. Her heart leapt through her mouth and her hand trembled violently as she touched the wooden frame of the barn door handle. A knot formed in her throat as she pushed on the reedy wood cringing as the splitting screech of unoiled hinges swung open. Far off a boom of thunder crept into the nightly chirrups of crickets and snoring cuccos. With rapid speed the storm descend ripping open the heavens and letting the onslaught of icy raindrops fall right on top of Cremia's head. Still she hesitated torn between knowing what lay inside and wanting to get out of the rain. That unspeakable force of Fate made her decision for her pushing against her back and forcing her body inside the dank structure.
The drone of pounding rain beat against the tin frame of the roof challenging the roar of the mighty thunder with its relentless patters. A strong draft of wind pushed her further inside of the barn slamming the door shut behind her and locking her inside. She shivered and drew her arms around her torso trying to fasten in the remaining warmth. Pitch black extended into every corner of the inside walls. It was abnormally quiet. Even the ever-mooing cows had ceased making any noise. She sat on the ground feeling panic wash through her body. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the room bringing to life the texture of the wooden stalls around her. Her scream caught in her throat at the sight of her mother's lifeless body swaying from a slight breeze by the rope bound to her neck. The corpse's head was cocked at an odd angle suggesting that her mother had not actually died from suffocation, but from her neck snapping. Curling into a little ball and wrapping her arms around her head protectively, Cremia rocked back and forth in place trying to comfort her self in the midst of such a terrorish display.
Another flash of lightning brought another strangled scream ripping from her constricting throat. Before her stood the corpse of the woman she had loved. Rope still bound around her neck, she held another clean noose in her other hand. Her skin was sickly yellow and festering slightly. It was only a fraction of a second that Cremia saw the ghost, but she had been standing completely still; her head still bent and her eyes still parted and dull.
Another flash of lightning reverberated through the room. Streams of tears laced Cremia's cheeks when the apparition was suddenly twice as close as before. The noose had been extended, as if in offering for her. She felt helpless and frozen with fear in a dark surreal setting.
Another flash. This time her mother stood before her, the noose had managed to drape itself around her neck. Cremia couldn't think. She couldn't breath either. The noose began to tease pulling slightly at first, then with more ferocity as it cut the airflow from her esophagus. Freeing herself from the paralyzing curse, Cremia tore and ravaged at the rope cutting open her fingers on the harsh tweed creating the cord. Her lungs burned with the lack of oxygen and white fuzz collect around the corners of her vision. Then she awoke.
Throwing herself into a sitting position, Cremia flailed her arms around in accordance to her previous nightmare. Sweat lined her forehead and neck in a thick layer. The knot in her throat throbbed achingly and her cheeks were soaked with moisture. Relieved that the dream had been just that, Cremia threw back the sheets of her bed and stepped onto the cold floor. Outside, the first rays of dawn tinged the snow-covered mountain. Stumbling over to the corner, Cremia began her day customarily by drawing a tub of warm water. She stayed in a bit longer than usual letting the heat seep into her muscles and relax them. The knot in her throat had been dislodged, and the dream had been pushed away from her mind. Cremia felt ready once again to face the challenge of the day.
Feeling much more refreshed, Cremia stepped out of the room into a big surprise. Zubora was hard at work in front of the stove juggling three pans and a pitcher of fresh tea. "What is this?" Cremia asked curiously sitting down on the couch.
He whirled to face her, obviously having been unaware of her presence. "Uhh, thought I'd give you a break," he sheepishly replied and turned his attention back to the food.
An uncomfortable moment of silence sidled between the pair. "So," Cremia started not wanting their previous intimacy killed because of awkwardness, "How did you sleep?"
"Fine," he replied scraping a fried egg onto a plate. "Had a crazy dream that the dodongo came back here and tried to eat us all, but other than that it was great. You?"
Cremia shuddered. Plastering on a phony smile she said, "Fine, just fine."
Zubora was quiet a moment as he flipped over another egg. "You know," he said, "you're a terrible liar."
Cremia was shocked, *Am I so transparent?* she asked herself but pushed the thought away. "You don't think." Cremia started tapering off when the words wouldn't form. "Dreams, I mean you don't think they're.real? I mean of course they're not _real_. I guess I mean.do you believe they can be signs?"
Zubora again went thoughtful as he waited for the egg. "I think they tell us what we really want, and what we really fear. Sort of a mixture of both I guess because sometimes what we want and what we fear go together."
***
The day drug with an unusual slowness. Cremia found herself washing clothes that were already clean and cleaning places that were already spotless. There was lunch, but Zubora announced that he was full and Cremia didn't feel much like eating. Zubora kept busy with the endless task of bills and records. He told Cremia that he was in fact behind. "Way behind," he had told her and she found this hard to believe.
"How can you be 'way behind'?" Cremia inquired, "You're constantly at it. That's all I see you do everyday; scribbling things down on that paper."
Zubora chuckled. "I'm right-handed," he answered and Cremia understood. It was his right arm that had been broken after all.
As for the affection shown previously, nothing was said, but Cremia could felt the mental wall breaking if it weren't already rubble. She wasn't quite sure why, but she felt that he was holding back-as if he were keeping something. They met glances more often than not as she busied herself around the house and he rose every once in a while to get something to drink.
The quiet in the small cottage was nerve grating in its absence. Because it was the only noise Cremia had ever heard upon coming to the house, an abnormal silence pressured her into making small conversations with Zubora. The task wasn't so difficult; Zubora explained a little of the basics on retailing their goods and what kind of metal and old tools looked for in market. Cremia in return told about the brief instance of extreme popularity when Chateau Romani had first arrived. "It was short-lived," Cremia sighed wistfully. "Still, it was nice being recognized around the town by people I didn't even know."
Cremia wasn't about to complain because of her lack of work and lack of familiarity. There were, after all, plenty of good points about the missing giant. The smell of liquid metal, for instance, was one. The pungent touch of copper burned her nose and stuck to her throat making her eyes water. And more than one time she found herself wandering if that huge hammer were going to land on her head by accident someday.
With dinner rapidly approaching, Cremia traveled once again down to the cellar choosing a small portion of meat to cook and a few potatoes, which would have to be peeled. Groping about in the limited light, Cremia kicked something soft across the floor. Holding up a candle, she found the mysterious substance to be a fallen chunk of meat. She picked it up and examined it thoroughly deducing that the meat could probably be saved if it were cleaned properly and packed with ice again.
Deciding to just boil the potatoes instead of taking the time to prepare them, Cremia quickly took care of preparing dinner and focused her attention on the venison. She scrubbed it and packed the outer edges with salt to keep in the juices. "I'm going out," she announced briefly to Zubora twirling a cloak around her body and grabbing a sack to haul up the ice.
Stepping out into the winter land, Cremia trod quickly listening to her even visible breaths and crunching boots. A small stream crossed in front of the cottage where Cremia stooped by the bank catching drifting lumps of ice in the bag. *I think we're a bit low on water,* Cremia mused standing from her crouch and stretching her limbs. *Maybe I should go back and get a jug.* Leaving the bag where it was, Cremia jogged back to the cottage within five minutes. Coming up the steps, her hand reached for the door latch and came across a surprise. *What's this?* she wandered seeing the door slightly ajar. *I could've sworn I closed this,* she thought shrugging off the notion and starting to pushed open the door.
She stopped. Zubora's voice rang out clear into the pass. "What do you want?" he said rather gruffly.
About to make a snide reply to the indignant question, Cremia's voice was lost in the shadow of another's. "Is she there?" the other voice asked.
"That depends," Zubora replied harshly.
"Listen," the other one said cutting off Zubora. "I want you to keep her there for a few more weeks, apparently the only offers I've received for this rancid milk are from two characters somewhere in the west. And don't try to pull any stunts like last time; I'm keeping all of my eyes open this time."
Cremia felt her heart surge abnormally. A dizzy spiral opened below her swallowing her up in a darkened abyss. She wasn't aware of her physical self-colliding backwards into a potted plant drooping miserably in the winter's deathly grip. The thundering shatter of the pot brought her to her senses. With a wild lunge, she tried to balance herself by reaching forwarding throwing the slightly ajar door completely open. Falling back onto her rump, she was still able to watch in a slowed sequence as Zubora turned to see the cause of commotion. His face crossed between a look of alarm and guilt. Behind him, the iridescent glow from the forgotten Communication Crystal showed the horrid face of her pale-faced attacker eradicating any lingering doubts. She had to run.
Adrenaline providing the extra strength, Cremia hastily stood and ran pounding the ground with her frantic footsteps. Just as in her dream, the skies parted allowing a thick cover of snow to fall gracefully around her scurrying form. A sob wrenched itself from her throat, and Cremia only then noticed the tears gliding down her face. In the back of her mind she heard (or she thought she heard) the distant voice of Zubora beckoning her to return. She didn't listen instead pressing forward into the white cold.
Good and lost, yet feeling quite a bit safer, Cremia paused to consider her options. The taunting option of sitting where she was and crying until she died sounded good to her, but she pushed the thought away. Besides, she'd always thought of suicide as a cowardly selfish thing to do. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and squeezed as closely as she physically could to the cloak still draped around her body. As far as she could see, the white stretched in its endlessness. She looked up and was pelted with more of the crystal fluff.
A crunch from behind drew her attention. Whirling around to face the noise, she shrunk back finding herself face-to-face with the gigantic body of a White Wolfos. Letting out a shrill howl of triumph, the beast hunkered over on its paws and began to circle her. His shifty violet eyes followed her actions as she backed up a few steps. It rose up on its hindquarters and rose a paw to strike at her. Turning, she dashed as fast as possible given her current situation-from bad to terribly worse.
She heard its growl of rage as it followed closely behind easily keeping stride with her. She didn't notice the dim outline coming toward her until it was too late. Glancing over her shoulder to check on the Wolfos's progress, the wheel of the wagon knocked her back into the snowdrift. She vaguely heard the victorious baying as the Wolfos moved in for the kill.
***
Awaking with a groan, Cremia found a weird feel of déjà vu overcome her senses. Sitting up, she found herself once again lying in the back of some foreign wagon. She groaned again. This was really becoming irksome. Looking around, her heart quickened as she caught sight of the glass jars with a cow head symbol stamped on the side. She became very quiet recognizing the cart as her own. But that meant-she glanced toward the front where her assailant sat handling the horse tied to the front. A strange tug on her wrists confirmed her other suspicion. A rope bound both of her hands together. She was a captive.
And she wasn't alone. Across from her also lay another woman. Being as silent as she could, Cremia wiggled over next to the other woman. Clothes reduced to rags from continuous wear clothed a fragile frame. Brunette hair fanned out behind her head like a pillow. In the half light, Cremia could make out her striking features. A broad face and an angular jaw gave her a determined look-even in sleep. Dark lashes and brows framed her closed eyes. Pink thin lips strained into a worried line. Cremia almost gasped aloud when further inspection revealed a large bulge near the woman's stomach.
Sputtering, the woman coughed and strained barely able to raise a delicate hand to her mouth. Cremia's heart twisted with the woman's weak state. What could she do? From the look of her, the woman had probably been both beaten and starved while with this man. She was very near delivering-the sudden sharp intakes of breath suggested that she was already undergoing labor. *What can I do?* Cremia fretted taking hold of the woman's hand and giving it a comforting squeeze; the only means of comfort she could provide at the moment.
*What can I do?* she wandered again staring straight at the nimble form of her subjugator. She pulled at her restraints finding them to be quite loose. This was an unexpected surprise. Welcomed surely, but unexpected nevertheless. She shed the ropes in no time. Once more, the containers of Chateau Romani caught her eye. She felt a smug grin spreading across her chin. *Payback time,* she thought quietly selecting one and hefting it up without a word. Tiptoeing while trying to keep her balance, Cremia stepped nearer the driver's seat feeling her heart leaping through her throat.
Swinging the heavy jar, she let out a scream of anger before hurling the pot at his head. He turned his head just in time to make contact with his stolen merchandise. Caught completely off guard, he didn't stand a chance. He toppled back out of the wagon.
Letting the suddenly heavy bottle fall to the floor, Cremia didn't waste a second jumping into the driver's seat and urging the horse into a hard gallop. She cried out in relief to find that the wagon was right next to the two wooden columns indicating the turn onto Milk Road. Never breaking pace, despite her concern for the horse's condition, Cremia looked back into the sinking sun as the space between the wagon and the man grew until she could no longer make out his form. A loud cry from the back drove a new purpose into her hurry. "Hold on honey," she called to the woman. "We're almost there."
***
Pulling the wagon to a screeching halt in front of the house, Cremia leapt into the back picking up the woman and easily carrying her into the house safely administering her onto the bed. Getting a fire going in the room, Cremia was able to bring a pitcher of water, plenty of towels, and a few rags up laying the items by the bedside. "It's going to be okay," she soothed the woman tenderly stroking her brow in an attempt to sooth the woman's whimpers.
Laying the towels about the woman's body, Cremia kept a constant fevered watch over her companion encouraging her to push when she felt a contraction and to breath in between. Sweat drenched the sheets, and Cremia wandered if it wasn't as much her own perspiration as her patient's. Three hours later, Cremia bundled the sleeping form of a tiny baby girl in a blanket. The woman, exhausted from the exertion of birth giving, passed out leaving Cremia a haunting feel of dread.
She pushed aside the notion bringing the newborn down to the kitchen to feed her a bottle of milk. Her mother would be too weak, even if awake, to try feeding her naturally. Cremia caressed the little newborn's soft arm relishing in the feel of baby skin. A sharp point protruding from the baby's wrist brought a frown to her face as she bent to examine it.
Upstairs, the clatter of disturbance brought a rush of fear flowing through her body as Cremia hurried back up the stairs. "Oh no," she breathed finding the room deserted. Shaking (and with good reason) Cremia gently laid the baby down onto the soft mattress of Romani's bed. The shutters from the window flapped wildly in the growing night breeze.
Cremia worked her way back down the stairs grabbing a metal rod used to tend the fire in the fireplace as she passed it. Out of the house and now proceeding to the infamous barn, Cremia was not at all surprised by the sudden birth of thundering clouds closing in overhead. The wagon from the front was gone, its tracks wound around in a circle disappearing inside the red wooden structure.
Taking a breath, Cremia edged into the pitch black of a half opened door. Black clouded all of her senses and she nearly choked on the familiar edge of her dream. The lightning from the brewing storm was still far off and too weak to reveal the dark corners of the barn. She noticed the bundle resting in the idle of the floor and ran to the woman's side. Kneeling down, she checked for a pulse on her neck. It was very faint, but there all the same.
Behind her, the door swung closed making her jump in apprehension. She turned as the grin of the pale face emerged from the shadows. "I don't think we've been properly introduced," he said. "I'm Sakon," he continued kicking out in one swift motion to send her iron rod clattering across the ground. "And I am going to kill you." With those words he brandished a silver knife from some unknown sheath. Cremia cringed. He chuckled over her unease. "But first her," he said pointing the wicked blade at the sleeping woman's exposed neck. Cremia scowled keeping her silence as he pushed with his mind games. "Perhaps I should skin her like I did her husband. I don't know though," he paused shrugging dramatically, "Zora's have tough skin and it's a lot harder to damage than human skin." He smirked maliciously at Cremia's disgusted look. "Or perhaps I should start with the baby." his voice was soupy and slimy.
"You keep away from her," Cremia growled lowly keeping her rage in check. One wrong move on her part and that blade would slip through the woman's neck.
Sakon squealed in a ferocious laughter. "Or you'll do what?" he taunted leaning closer so that his mouth was right next to her ear. "Will you _hit_ me again?" he asked, his breath stinging her ear. "Will you _kill_ me?" he whispered drawing the blade over her neck lightly. "Well, will you?" he demanded.
Cremia glared defiantly spitting in Sakon's eyes. He cried out and slashed the knife at Cremia. Swinging back, the blade missed her neck, but grazed her cheek sending a coat of blood down her face. He laughed again seeing the blood. "You're a little witch aren't you?" he asked backing up. "Perhaps I should burn you, that is how you should extinguish a witch after all. It would be too bad if this ranch went up with you." He laughed a little and then gave her an intense sadistic stare. "And then I think I'll go after that other little redhead. Romani, isn't it? She'll be a treat. And so easy to break, those young ones are. Unlike you, no, I wouldn't want to waste my efforts."
A boom from outside startled Cremia. *Thunder?* she asked herself but doubted it; it didn't to have originated from the heavens. Apparently Sakon's thoughts traveled along the same wavelength as he back up into the shadows. Another blast from beyond the door, followed by a crack brought the locked door of the barn down with a crash. A lumbering hulk wobbled inside the door. "Watch out!" Cremia's warning hung in the air as Sakon charged at the figure.
"URGHO!!!" the cry thundered. Cremia had little time to register the well- known voice before a smaller body darted in towards her.
"Zubora!" she cried out as he ducked down. Behind him, a flash of white appeared from nowhere. "Watch out," her warning once again too late as the hilt of the knife drove through his shoulder. He gave a cry and toppled down over the woman's body. Cremia scrambled up and kicked at Sakon's crazed face trying to draw him away from the two bodies.
He glared up at her standing and limping toward her holding out the bloodied knife before him. His breathing was ragged and uneven as he came closer. Cremia had no choice but to back up more tripping over an overturned pail and sprawling defenselessly on the ground. Eyes alight in hideous greed, Sakon dashed toward her in a clumsy manner. Tripping over a discarded rag, he fell forward bringing the knife-wielding arm before him to try and break the fall; managing only to land on top of the knife.
An eternity seemed to pass with Cremia still on the ground trying to comprehend what had just happened. Standing, she toed at Sakon's body rolling him over. The knife protruded from his heart and the wretched deranged look still held in his lifeless eyes.
Swallowing a knot in her throat, Cremia rushed over to where Zubora groaned trying to prop himself up. Behind him, Gabora moaned as well though still able to make it to his feet and hobble over. As if she were in a trance, the unconscious woman stirred opening her eyes slightly. Blinking several times, she groaned becoming fully aware of her surroundings for the first time. Her eyes focused more closely on Zubora's face and shock mixed with relief seemed to wash through her features. "Zubora?" she whispered and he smiled kissing her hand.
"Myrion."
Suddenly everything became clear, his reason for deceiving, his hesitancy to talk about Myrion, Cremia felt the tears dripping down her cheeks stinging the open wound. She wound her arms around his neck bringing his eyes to her astonishment. "I'm sorry," she whispered drawing him in for a hug.
"So am I," he responded embracing her back.
***
Cremia breathed in the sweet spring air of the ranch letting it fill her lungs. The birds chirruped in their trees and Romani's little dog yapped excitedly. In the distance, Romani, Little Kafei, and Gabora frolicked in the fields together. Feeling arms wrap around her waist, she turned to hug her husband. "Do you think Anju will be okay?" she asked Zubora who grinned.
"Of course she will. I'm more worried about Kafei if you want to know the truth. I thought he was going to pass out this morning."
Cremia giggled. "Do you think it'll be a boy or a girl?" she asked leaning back to recline against his frame.
"I don't know," Zubora answered and let the laughter of the children fill the atmosphere.
"I hope it's a girl," Cremia said. "Anju really wanted one."
"Mmh," Zubora answered.
Half drifting off, Cremia dozed lightly against Zubora's shoulder. Never had she felt such a feeling of peaceful serenity. She hoped it would last forever.
***
Author's Note: Sorry the ending was so rushed, I'll probably go back over it and edit. Please leave a review! Thanks!
-Veledore
"Yeah!" Zubora yelled back. "All winter it's like this!"
Cremia nodded and lurched forward suddenly as the wagon stopped. "Easy there Gabora!" Zubora called to the giant. To Cremia he said, "We're here."
'Here' was a quaint log cottage covered in drifts of snow. Zubora told her that the wagon's contents could be left in the cart until the storm blew over. The three hobbled through the stingy ice and harsh wind into the cold, yet considerably less windy, front room of the cabin. Zubora complained about the ache of his arm, but pushed Gabora's hand away when the giant offered him help.
Cremia wasn't very surprised upon entering the house; it fit Zubora and Gabora's personalities. A musky gray swirl of discolor swam through the room ashing the walls and corners. A large hearth caught Cremia's eye first being the largest object in the room. Two wooden counters set up a corner separated the hearth and a large green couch from the rest of the room. In the back, Cremia could see the dim outline of a door probably leading to another room.
Zubora moved over to the couch crawling across the counter and slumping onto the cushions while Gabora followed Zubora going to the fireplace and ritualistically lighting it. Cremia stood where she was feeling slightly out of place.
Zubora noticed her unease and motioned at the couch beside him. "Might as well make your self comfortable," he commented. "Looks like we're in for a long night."
Cremia easily cleared the counter sitting on the edge of the couch and watching Gabora as he finished fanning a budding flame. The fire roared to life and the warmth seeped into the air instantaneously. She slightly drew back her feet and felt them bump into something peculiar. A small frown on her face, Cremia leaned over slightly to inspect the mysterious object at her feet. "Say, what is this?" she asked reaching down and drawing forth the large chunk of white crystal. Her eyes lit in excitement. "Is this a Communication Crystal?" she asked scanning her memory for all that she knew of them. They were rare-very rare, and could let you talk to a person far away.
Zubora snatched it out of her hand quickly. "Yes," he answered sharply. "It only goes through to one person though."
"Who?" Cremia asked innocuously.
"Nobody, just a friend," Zubora replied smartly clinging to it. "It was a.present. That's right, a present."
Cremia frowned. Zubora was sure acting weird about it. She shrugged and didn't press the issue. Gabora, finished with his chore, sat back onto the floor delivering a small quake as his rear made contact with the floor.
"So I guess as soon as the storm clears, you can go to an inn or something," Zubora said into the quiet.
"You're kidding," Cremia answered. "You thing I'm just going to leave you like this? Out of the question. I'll leave when I feel that you are ready for me to leave."
"I'm fine," Zubora retorted. "I've been through a lot worse in plenty of bad situations without your help. I think I can manage this one alone-"
"I'm staying," Cremia cut him off with such finality that Zubora didn't try to sway her anymore.
He shrugged. "Suit yourself. You can take the bedroom," he pointed his thumb towards the door.
"Fine," Cremia replied. "Now, where's your food? I'll start dinner."
***
Cremia slid easily into her position in the smithing household. There was so much work to be done, she found herself exhausted at the end of the day. *I haven't felt this way since I started work on the ranch,* Cremia told herself while lying in bed one night. Her days were filled with making all three daily meals, loading finished materials into the wagon, assisting Gabora in whatever he needed assistance in, and tending to her patient.
Each morning started off routinely enough; Gabora would light the hearth and heat the liquefied metal while Cremia snagged a bit of the fire and warmed the oven to the left of the couch. Before she had come, Zubora told her that the two usually just heated up whatever there was to eat over the hearth so that they wouldn't have to bother stopping their work. "That's disgusting!" Cremia had exclaimed over the information and demanded Gabora to make her a stove lest she should rant all day about the unsanitary ways of the two men. Zubora had merely shrugged throwing a questioning look over at Gabora who had copied the shrug and started to work on crafting the stove. It was ready for use within hours.
Morning breakfast usually included eggs; Zubora had bought a winter's stock of them off of a traveling peddler last spring. They were kept with all of the other cold things down in a cellar Gabora himself had dug. In this cellar were meats packed with salt and frozen to keep fresh, and jars filled with berries and fruits Zubora had collected during the spring. There were also sacks of potatoes, which usually kept well enough if preserved in the right conditions. Flour, sugar, salt, and spices were also stored down there, but Zubora claimed it was to save room-not to benefit the seasonings.
Because the same thing was eaten every morning, Cremia tried to give the morning meal more variety by using all different types of techniques with cooking the eggs. The first few days she'd fry them, then the next few days she'd scramble them, then boil them, and so on. She could tell that both of the men appreciated her efforts; Gabora would also give her a hearty "Urgho Urg," after she set his plate down for him. Zubora was more of one to sulk and Cremia accounted this for his manly pride having taken a beating. His arm was still broken and he could do nothing but sit back and let Cremia overtake his home. He didn't really seem to mind all that much, especially when Cremia was suddenly struck by an ingenious idea for replacing bland water with berry flavored tea. Using the stored dried berries, she wrapped them in a bit of cloth and ground them up into a fine powder, and warming a bit of water, she let the ground berries sweeten the much blander liquid.
With breakfast completed, Cremia used the time before lunch for household chores. "This place is filthy!" she had commented seeing a thick layer of dust covering everything the morning after arriving.
"Hey, if you don't like it, you can leave," Zubora had grumbled not appreciating the sour remark about his home. Cremia had ignored Zubora of course immediately demanding a broom so that she could start with the floors.
After an hour or two of cleaning (Cremia estimated that two weeks would be her needed time to get the house in the best shape) she would start with the mountain of laundry heaped in the corner of her bedroom. Forcing Gabora to take a fifteen-minute break, she would heat a tub of water and soap and fill another smaller tub for rinsing. Then, sliding them under the counter to the open floor, she would wash and rinse the clothes. At first, the situation of where to hang and dry the garments put Cremia in a stump. She very well couldn't use the clothesline outside for the fabric would freeze. Zubora had provided the answer suggesting that she draw the string across the ceiling over the hearth so that the heat might speed the drying process.
After a load or two, Cremia would quit (she estimated the time for completing all the laundry to be an additional three weeks) and prepared lunch. This meal was usually a main dish of dried meat and a side of nuts. Being involved in the work by this time, Cremia didn't like the thought of taking too much time to cook anything. Not a fan of the midday meal herself, Cremia usually skipped it finishing the clothes by folding them and putting them away.
With lunch completed, Cremia would spend the afternoon helping Gabora handle the hot metal sometimes pushing on the large fan used to cool off the metal, and sometimes holding down a piece of metal with tongs while Gabora beat it with a hammer. When it cooled and hardened enough, Cremia would slip on a massive pair of leather gloves and move the newly created tools out to the wagon. Zubora had explained to her during the first day that during the winter, when customers found it hard to reach them, they compensated the income loss by making tools and weapons then selling them at Clock Town once every month. "As you can see," he had said holding up his broken arm, "We take a few risks of our own by traveling in this weather."
Zubora managed to keep himself busy as well figuring up costs of their items to be sold. If one article used a metal not very easy to come by, the price would have to be risen enough to make up the lost amount from the precious metal, but also enough to make some profit. "It's a delicate busy," he had plaintively put it one day.
When Gabora could handle the rest of the loading work himself, Cremia would retire to the stove to make the last meal-dinner. The meat from the cellar was cut and cooked. Sometimes Cremia added a few spices to give it more flavoring. She broiled the potatoes and baked a small loaf of bread using the flour, eggs, and sugar from below. The sky had considerably darkened by the time Cremia set these plates down in front of Zubora and Gabora. Already the hoots of owls could be heard through the thickness of the wooden walls.
By the late evening, the activities had wound down. Gabora sat by his fire sharpening leftover scraps of metal for arrowheads, then carving a Deku Stick, he would tie the two together brandishing a featherless arrow. Zubora mentioned that the arrows would remain that way until spring brought the fowl back.
Evenings were the times Cremia used to tend to Zubora. Having fresh strips of cloth for bandaging, she would redress the arm and reset the splints. Finished with the arm, she continued treating the cut on his brow with more alcohol to prevent infection.
Every evening, as she administered her treatments, Zubora would watch her intently with utmost scrutiny. When she was nearly finished, he would always say, "You can leave whenever you want, you know. You don't _have_ to stay here. I bet that sister of yours is awfully worried; how long was it going to be before you promised to write her?"
Each time those words were spoken Cremia would keep a calm exterior while cringing inwardly. "I'll leave when you're better. It's only too bad I don't have my milk with me. One sip of it and you would be good as new. Probably better than before." She would look up, finished with her healing and catch his eye. Every time a guilty flush would light his cheeks and she would puzzle over the gesture, and then drop it after too long.
For the rest of the night, Cremia would alter some of Zubora's warmer clothing to fit her self. She would also mend any tears or rips in the clothing she had previously washed. Usually during this time, the three would chat lightly. If they were feeling comfortable in one another's company, they would joke and tell stories. If an argument had arisen, a steely silence would settle into the grainy atmosphere until Cremia announced that she was off to bed.
Washing her face and brushing her teeth, Cremia would pull on an oversized discarded shirt to sleep in, and then crawled onto a worn mattress under a thick quilt. She would listen as Gabora tamed the flames from the hearth letting them die down to the point where they still provided some warmth, but they couldn't spontaneously grow out of control and burn down the house. Cremia would gently glide into sleep listening to the soft whispers of the snow outside.
***
Two weeks into her stay, Cremia found herself in the process of hanging clothes to dry when a knock came pounding on the door. Being the closest to the entrance, Cremia climbed down from her perch on her ladder and answered the insistent beatings. She found, to her great shock, a feebly hunched over old Goron. A long tangled tassel of white hair strung down around his eyes and ears and down his chin. Zubora called to him from the other side of the room. "Come on in," he said (rather rudely, felt Cremia).
The ancient Goron nodded and shakily walked inside taking the smallest steps Cremia had ever seen. She moved back out of his way standing in front of her washing tub accidentally bumping it and sloshing the sudsy water all over her skirt. Following closely behind the meager old Goron were two burly younger versions. *Must be his bodyguards,* Cremia logically deduced.
The old Goron stopped before the counter where Zubora was already waiting. He had bustled over the side as the Goron had slowly made his way to the front. Giving him a more proper form of respect, Zubora bowed deeply. The Goron waved away the formal pretensions saying in a wobbly voice, "Nice to see you again Zubora. Darmani, Grinam, don't be shy; come in out of the cold." His aged voice held a clear command full of power that awed Cremia.
The two other referred Gorons obeyed the other with a, "Yes Elder," before stepping more fully into the room so Cremia could shut the door behind them.
Turning, the 'Elder' faced Zubora. Chuckling he said, "I hear you got yourself into a bit of trouble." Turning to eye Cremia he added, "Don't see why you're _complaining_ though." He laughed and the other two Gorons joined suit. "Here," he said tossing a bottle at Zubora.
Fumbling to get a grip on the glass with his undamaged arm, he asked, "What's this?" while trying to uncork the wooden blockage at the top with his unbroken arm.
"Potion," the Elder replied. "Got a shipment of it last week." He watched as Zubora tilted his head back and poured the liquid down his throat. Making a face, he swallowed and stuck out his tongue. The Elder laughed again, "Doesn't go down well, does it?" he asked.
Turning to now face Gabora, he asked, "Well, are you ready lad?"
Gabora nodded excitedly. "Urg urgho urg!" he declared grabbing his discarded hammer and jumping over the counter.
"Good, good my boy," the Elder responded. He turned to face his other men. "Let's be off then!" he exclaimed taking a few frail steps toward the door. Cremia opened it for him and watched as the odd line-two young Gorons, one older one, and a massive giant-made their way through a forming blizzard to a foreign wagon waiting by the cottage. She watched as Gabora hopped into the back turning to pick up the Elder while the other two crossed over to the front jumping into the driver's bench. With a sharp whip of the reigns, the two horses tied to the cart sped off behind the house disappearing in a cloud of snow.
"What was that all about.your arm!" she exclaimed in surprise. Zubora had worked off the bandages and to Cremia's amazement he flexed the appendage as though it were never hurt to begin with. Common sense told her that magical healing properties must have been in the potion-nothing else could explain the extraordinary phenomenon. "Let me see that," she demanded extending the arm to check for herself. Sure enough, the bone had mended coming together perfectly. There wasn't even a scratch. Looking up at his face, she examined the cut on his brow. What she had felt earlier would surely have left a scar was now reduced to perfectly flawless skin. "Suppose that magic potion did alright then," she remarked returning his arm. Going back to her earlier question, she asked, "Where did Gabora go? And who were those Gorons?"
"He goes to their city every season," Zubora casually explained ducking underneath the counter and returning to his sofa. Cremia followed staying on the opposite end of the counter and leaning against it. As he finished stacking loose sheaves of paper, he continued with his explanation saying, "They have this fellow over there who makes these bombs. We met him two years ago while delivering a supply of metal rings to hold up the wooden barrels. He takes one look at Gabora and says, 'You're the strongest human I've ever seen! I bet you could handle one of my bombs easily.' So he gives Gabora a lit one and tells him some directions to put the bomb at. I wasn't allowed to go with him. He tells Gabora that this thing is going to blow in five minutes so he best get moving. Well, of course I'm nervous as anything, I don't want my buddy to get blown up; what would happen to my business? (Just kidding) So I'm waiting and this Goron (he's a giant) goes about his business like nothing special was happening. Ten minutes later I can't decide if I should try and sneak out of his cave so I can go looking for Gabora and then he's suddenly there. He tells the Goron that he did it, no sweat, and get this, the Goron understands him! He tells Gabora that he needs an assistant to help him out with making these bomb barrels and asks if Gabora would stick around. Of course Gabora was excited, but you know what? He told the giant that he couldn't just leave me. So the Goron makes this arrangement with the Goron Elder-that old one who came just a few minutes ago-so now Gabora gets to go with that same group every season to go get trained by that Goron in his bomb business. He only has two more 'lessons' (one more now) left before he becomes a certified Goron bomb maker."
"Wow," Cremia expressed upon completion of his story. "That's certainly impressive."
"Yeah, I guess it is. That guy's gonna do alright."
"What do you mean by that?" Cremia asked him. The decisiveness in his voice was slightly unnerving.
"You can't expect this to last forever," Zubora announced with a flourish of his hand. "As soon as he becomes certified, I'm gonna ask the Elder to take him in, you know, give him a place among them."
"But you can't do that!" Cremia cried. "What about your business?"
"You think that's more important than his happiness?" Zubora bit in return.
Taken aback, Cremia hesitated before responding, "No I suppose not, but how do you know he'll be happy? Those aren't his people, what if they don't accept him?"
"I've ridden with him through South Clock Town," Zubora said with a sudden haunted look on his face, "I know the jeers from other people, I know how they laugh and they tease him. People are so cruel Cremia. But these Gorons are different. They'll treat him right. They won't mock him or think any less of him just because he's different. Besides, he isn't as unlike them as you think."
"Oh yeah? Why's that?" Cremia asked curiously.
"You know that giant Goron I was telling you about?" Cremia nodded. "Well I was talking to the Elder one night after Gabora got back. He was exhausted; fell asleep as soon as he walked through the door. The Elder and me got to talking about a few things. He tells me about this Goron who's training Gabora; about how he disappeared for a few months twenty some years back. He tells me about how he had been so happy before leaving, then about how he didn't talk and didn't eat for weeks after he got back. There were rumors see, some Gorons saw him before he left with this human woman. She was really pretty, they said. They also said that she looked like she was with child." Cremia gasped. "Yeah, you see where I'm going with this. You'll also see how this is probably the best thing I could ever do for him."
Silence enveloped the pair. Cremia no longer felt the frenzied urge to finish the laundry instead crawling over the counter top and sitting beside Zubora on the couch. "What will you do?" she asked a bit tentatively.
He shrugged indifferently. "Don't know," he responded leaning back. "I'm sure I'll find _something_ to do. I was thinking of going down to the Western Coast. Maybe I can pick up a job on that new cruise liner."
Cremia sat thoughtfully for a few moments, savoring what he'd just said. "You know," she started, "I could really use a hand around the ranch. I hate doing bills and there are all those endless chores. Romani hates them. You can handle horses too. Maybe I could hire you on."
Zubora regarded her tightly. "Cremia, I don't want you getting the idea I'm this really nice guy. The truth is, I've done more than my share of rotten things to really nice people. People who deserve your kindness more than I do."
"That's nonsense," Cremia responded waving the self-loathing statement away. "Why did you help Gabora escape from those Pirates when you could have easily saved yourself instead? Why did you stay with Gabora when you realized he didn't have anyone else? Why were you willing to sacrifice yourself to save Gabora and me? I don't place a bad name on a person until they've proven to me that that's what they are. You are not a bad guy Zubora. I don't care what you've done; you obviously feel sorry about it. How can anyone hold that against you?"
A few more moments of silence passed before Zubora responded. "Well," he said, "I don't think you'll feel that way much longer." He stood up. "I'm going to go take a bath," he stated and walked into the bedroom where a tub and a hot water faucet waited in the back corner. As the door closed behind him, Cremia wondered why he kept insisting on denying his good attributes. *Perhaps his parents abused him,* she thought and frowned. That just didn't seem right.
She shrugged away the thought and stood up. In truth, whatever was bugging him would continue doing so. He wasn't letting Cremia in and there was nothing she could do except sit back and watch as he beat himself up.
***
Dinner was less stressful that night; Cremia didn't have to worry about making too little to fill the void occupying Gabora's stomach. They ate in front of the hearth's crackling fire leaping and dancing in its blazing pit. To Cremia's surprise, it was Zubora who broke the silence first. "So I guess you can leave now that my arm's fixed."
"Absolutely not," Cremia replied calmly taking a bite from her potatoes.
"Why?" Zubora asked.
"I couldn't just leave without saying goodbye to Gabora. That would be both insensitive and rude. As if I weren't nice enough to stick around and let him known I'm going." She turned and gave Zubora a hard stare. "Why do you want me gone so badly?" she asked.
"Hey, ease up. I just thought.well with the way you go on about your sister, I thought you'd want to go see her as soon as possible."
Cremia's face lowered as she mournfully replied, "See her and tell her that we might have to move away from the only home she's ever known? Zubora, I simply couldn't do that to her. Her little heart would shatter." the tears welled up leaving a glassy sheen over Cremia's sapphire blue eyes. "I still have an answerless problem to figure out. I wouldn't even know where to go." Like raining rivers her teardrops rushed down the contours of her cheeks.
Obviously untrained in the arts of comforting grieving souls, Zubora set his plate down on the floor beside his feet and cautiously put a hand to Cremia's shoulder. She sobbed and leaned onto his chest weeping into the fabric of his clothing. Her plate slid to the floor with a dull crash, but both were too busy to notice. Very gently, Zubora slid his arms around Cremia's bawling frame. Subconsciously she moved closer trying, it seemed, to draw some unbeknownst strength from whatever Zubora might have possessed.
They stayed in the pose for a time until Cremia's cries became whimpers, then transformed into sniffles. "Is that better?" Zubora asked after a long quiet pause passed. She nodded her head brushing her flaming red hair against his neck. The embrace, while slightly alarming to Zubora, held a tinge of familiarity to it. As a matter of fact, he found the posture to be quite relaxing.
"Zubora," she murmured startling him with the tranquil sound of her voice.
He replied with a questioning, "Yes?"
"Would you tell me about your family?" she asked.
"My family?" the inquiry took him by surprise. "What's to tell? I had a mom, a dad, three sisters and two brothers."
"Where are they?" Crimea pressed.
"My parents still live in South Clock Town where I grew up. That's where they met." He felt Cremia's smile. "Emri-that's my oldest sister-stayed close to home. She lives next to the Clock Tower. Cati-my next oldest sister lives next door. They're twins those two, don't look a thing alike though. My last sister-Myrion -fell in love with this Zora. They ran off together to go live by the Great Bay I'd reckon. Butorn, my oldest brother lives down close to the swamp. He tests the properties of the water and stuff like that. My other brother- Zyrian lives in West Clock Town."
Cremia remained thoughtful with half-opened eyelids. "Do you still see them?" she asked.
"Yeah, sometimes," Zubora responded. Expanding on the simple explanation, he said, "I usually go see my parents during the Carnival of Time. Emri, Cati, and Zyrian are generally over at their house cooking or something. Butorn drops by every other year."
Zubora felt the shift in her facial features as Cremia frowned. "What about your other sister, Myrion was it?"
"I haven't seen her since she ran off and eloped with that Zora," he answered. Perhaps it was the low lighting or the smoke from the fire, maybe it was the fresh smell of her hair or the soft feel of her body. For whatever reason, Zubora felt like a fountain being turned on for the first time in a long while. His past, those things he tried to push away gushed forth and he felt helpless to stopper it.
"Did she love him?" Cremia asked jolting him from his thoughts.
"Who, Myrion? Yeah I guess she did if she felt it was urgent enough to run away." The bitter words rushed from his mouth before he had the chance to catch them.
"Then you shouldn't be angry with her," Cremia said.
"I'm not angry.well, I guess I was for a while. Myrion and me were the babies of the family. She was a year older than me. We were really close, I mean as close as siblings can be. Whenever Zyrian tried to boss us around we'd stick up for each other. We were inseparable until she suddenly grew distant. She didn't want to talk to me or anyone. Sometimes when I'd ask her what was wrong she'd look at me really sadly and say, 'Everything,' and that was it. I didn't know what to do; what could I do? And then she met that Zora fellow and ran away. She was only seventeen."
"That's why you left isn't it?" Cremia convicted.
"It was a lot of things. I grew distant myself as I got older. I got into lots of trouble looking for attention. I guess when I think about it, Myrion leaving was kind of the final straw," Zubora admonished.
"You miss her a lot, don't you?"
"Yeah," Zubora breathed with intensity. "Yeah I do. A lot."
"You should go see her," Cremia said.
"I've thought about that," Zubora admitted. "I used to image what she would look like and what the expression on her face would be like if I showed up on her steps one day. Maybe she'd have a few kids. I could be an uncle and not even know it. Then I'd wonder if she wouldn't just shut the door in my face like she did all those years ago."
"I think you should go see her," Cremia repeated. "You've got nothing to lose."
The silence sifted through he lazy atmosphere again. Cremia became entranced with the flames of the fire licking the roof of the hearth. "What about your family?" Zubora suddenly asked. "What happened to your mom? Your dad? Do you have any more brothers or sisters?"
"I don't have any more siblings, there's just Romani," Cremia started. "My dad.had an affair with some lady in a traveling troupe. He left when I was really little; two I think. My mother committed suicide when I was fifteen- right after Romani was born." A low hiss escaped from Zubora's throat. "I blame my father really. He suddenly showed up at our door one night and told my mom he missed her. I was fourteen then. He tried to hug me and tell me how much he missed and thought of me every day. Yeah right, that's a load of crap if I ever did hear one.
"Basically he and my mom had a one-night fling. He left the next morning. I caught him rummaging through the kitchen for some food to take with him. He saw me and straightened up like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I asked him where he was going and he said he didn't feel like he _belonged_ there anymore. Din I hate him so much. I found my mom later that morning with this empty look in her eyes-like she didn't have anything left to live for. She tried cutting her wrists while I was away in Clock Town one day. I was able to stop her before she did any damage. The day after that she found out she was pregnant with Romani and didn't try to pull any stunts like that again. I really thought she was starting to get better.
"Romani was born and I had to deliver her because we were too poor to afford a nurse. Mom fell asleep and I went to go feed Romani. When I finally got her to sleep, I went back to check up on mom, but she wasn't in bed where I left her. I looked all over the ranch. It was a quarter past ten when I finally found her in the barn-hanging from one of the banisters with a rope wrapped around her neck." Cremia stopped as the tears gush down her cheeks. She felt the salty liquor in her mouth but paid it no mind. "I screamed and cried and screamed again. I don't remember exactly what happened; I think I blacked out and woke to find myself in my own bed. Mr. Barton was there. He had come by because he hadn't seen my mother in over five months. He wanted to drop by and see what was going on. You can imagine how shocked he was to find a baby upstairs, a hysterical teenager in front of the barn, and a dead woman in the barn.
"It took me a while, but I was able to recover. Mr. Barton really helped me out a lot. He wouldn't admit it then, but I think he had a thing for my mother. So I became responsible for raising a child and managing a ranch on my own at the age of sixteen. I rented out some of the extra space to these two characters looking for a place to open up their businesses. I don't quite know just how I managed to luck out so much. Maybe Nayru is looking out for me. I'll tell you this much: I'd go through it all over again just to have Romani. She means so much to me-so much more than just a sister. She is my _child_. I raised her."
Through her entire story Zubora had been running a soothing hand up and down her arm. She didn't think about it much while reveling in her past, but now she liked the feeling of such intimacy. Goosebumps rose on the skin as he stroked and she leaned into him sighing deeply. Getting the burden off her chest was certainly relieving, but it was also tiresome. She could fall into a black oblivion and never wake if this kept up.
Zubora watched her as she drifted into a light doze. The new information spun through his head twirling his thoughts and upsetting the careful balance he had tried to maintain all his life. On impulse, he gently swept back a loose lock of hair fallen across her face. He didn't realize she was actually awake until she delicately held his hand to her face. Her eyes opened, Din those eyes; you could get lost in blues like that. Without realizing what he was doing, he leaned down as she rose up. Their lips met in a flurry of passion awakened by merging souls. He was at a loss and could neither think nor feel anything beyond the warmth of her body. And then it was cold. He looked up, baffled as she stood before the couch gazing bittersweetly through his hazy mind. "I've got to go to bed," she distantly whispered and he barely heard her through the dank recesses of his inner heart. What had happened? Coming back to his regular self, seated on _his_ couch in _his_ house at _his_ Mountain Village, his heart sped up and he shook his head. *What's she doing to me?* he wondered but didn't dare answer. Instead he watched as the fire burned down to grazing coals and then fell asleep.
***
That night Cremia dreamt with the nightmarish tendency of one who delves too deeply too quickly into the past. She was there before the stark red door of the barn again. Shadows loomed against the stormy sky quilted with ominous clouds. Her heart leapt through her mouth and her hand trembled violently as she touched the wooden frame of the barn door handle. A knot formed in her throat as she pushed on the reedy wood cringing as the splitting screech of unoiled hinges swung open. Far off a boom of thunder crept into the nightly chirrups of crickets and snoring cuccos. With rapid speed the storm descend ripping open the heavens and letting the onslaught of icy raindrops fall right on top of Cremia's head. Still she hesitated torn between knowing what lay inside and wanting to get out of the rain. That unspeakable force of Fate made her decision for her pushing against her back and forcing her body inside the dank structure.
The drone of pounding rain beat against the tin frame of the roof challenging the roar of the mighty thunder with its relentless patters. A strong draft of wind pushed her further inside of the barn slamming the door shut behind her and locking her inside. She shivered and drew her arms around her torso trying to fasten in the remaining warmth. Pitch black extended into every corner of the inside walls. It was abnormally quiet. Even the ever-mooing cows had ceased making any noise. She sat on the ground feeling panic wash through her body. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the room bringing to life the texture of the wooden stalls around her. Her scream caught in her throat at the sight of her mother's lifeless body swaying from a slight breeze by the rope bound to her neck. The corpse's head was cocked at an odd angle suggesting that her mother had not actually died from suffocation, but from her neck snapping. Curling into a little ball and wrapping her arms around her head protectively, Cremia rocked back and forth in place trying to comfort her self in the midst of such a terrorish display.
Another flash of lightning brought another strangled scream ripping from her constricting throat. Before her stood the corpse of the woman she had loved. Rope still bound around her neck, she held another clean noose in her other hand. Her skin was sickly yellow and festering slightly. It was only a fraction of a second that Cremia saw the ghost, but she had been standing completely still; her head still bent and her eyes still parted and dull.
Another flash of lightning reverberated through the room. Streams of tears laced Cremia's cheeks when the apparition was suddenly twice as close as before. The noose had been extended, as if in offering for her. She felt helpless and frozen with fear in a dark surreal setting.
Another flash. This time her mother stood before her, the noose had managed to drape itself around her neck. Cremia couldn't think. She couldn't breath either. The noose began to tease pulling slightly at first, then with more ferocity as it cut the airflow from her esophagus. Freeing herself from the paralyzing curse, Cremia tore and ravaged at the rope cutting open her fingers on the harsh tweed creating the cord. Her lungs burned with the lack of oxygen and white fuzz collect around the corners of her vision. Then she awoke.
Throwing herself into a sitting position, Cremia flailed her arms around in accordance to her previous nightmare. Sweat lined her forehead and neck in a thick layer. The knot in her throat throbbed achingly and her cheeks were soaked with moisture. Relieved that the dream had been just that, Cremia threw back the sheets of her bed and stepped onto the cold floor. Outside, the first rays of dawn tinged the snow-covered mountain. Stumbling over to the corner, Cremia began her day customarily by drawing a tub of warm water. She stayed in a bit longer than usual letting the heat seep into her muscles and relax them. The knot in her throat had been dislodged, and the dream had been pushed away from her mind. Cremia felt ready once again to face the challenge of the day.
Feeling much more refreshed, Cremia stepped out of the room into a big surprise. Zubora was hard at work in front of the stove juggling three pans and a pitcher of fresh tea. "What is this?" Cremia asked curiously sitting down on the couch.
He whirled to face her, obviously having been unaware of her presence. "Uhh, thought I'd give you a break," he sheepishly replied and turned his attention back to the food.
An uncomfortable moment of silence sidled between the pair. "So," Cremia started not wanting their previous intimacy killed because of awkwardness, "How did you sleep?"
"Fine," he replied scraping a fried egg onto a plate. "Had a crazy dream that the dodongo came back here and tried to eat us all, but other than that it was great. You?"
Cremia shuddered. Plastering on a phony smile she said, "Fine, just fine."
Zubora was quiet a moment as he flipped over another egg. "You know," he said, "you're a terrible liar."
Cremia was shocked, *Am I so transparent?* she asked herself but pushed the thought away. "You don't think." Cremia started tapering off when the words wouldn't form. "Dreams, I mean you don't think they're.real? I mean of course they're not _real_. I guess I mean.do you believe they can be signs?"
Zubora again went thoughtful as he waited for the egg. "I think they tell us what we really want, and what we really fear. Sort of a mixture of both I guess because sometimes what we want and what we fear go together."
***
The day drug with an unusual slowness. Cremia found herself washing clothes that were already clean and cleaning places that were already spotless. There was lunch, but Zubora announced that he was full and Cremia didn't feel much like eating. Zubora kept busy with the endless task of bills and records. He told Cremia that he was in fact behind. "Way behind," he had told her and she found this hard to believe.
"How can you be 'way behind'?" Cremia inquired, "You're constantly at it. That's all I see you do everyday; scribbling things down on that paper."
Zubora chuckled. "I'm right-handed," he answered and Cremia understood. It was his right arm that had been broken after all.
As for the affection shown previously, nothing was said, but Cremia could felt the mental wall breaking if it weren't already rubble. She wasn't quite sure why, but she felt that he was holding back-as if he were keeping something. They met glances more often than not as she busied herself around the house and he rose every once in a while to get something to drink.
The quiet in the small cottage was nerve grating in its absence. Because it was the only noise Cremia had ever heard upon coming to the house, an abnormal silence pressured her into making small conversations with Zubora. The task wasn't so difficult; Zubora explained a little of the basics on retailing their goods and what kind of metal and old tools looked for in market. Cremia in return told about the brief instance of extreme popularity when Chateau Romani had first arrived. "It was short-lived," Cremia sighed wistfully. "Still, it was nice being recognized around the town by people I didn't even know."
Cremia wasn't about to complain because of her lack of work and lack of familiarity. There were, after all, plenty of good points about the missing giant. The smell of liquid metal, for instance, was one. The pungent touch of copper burned her nose and stuck to her throat making her eyes water. And more than one time she found herself wandering if that huge hammer were going to land on her head by accident someday.
With dinner rapidly approaching, Cremia traveled once again down to the cellar choosing a small portion of meat to cook and a few potatoes, which would have to be peeled. Groping about in the limited light, Cremia kicked something soft across the floor. Holding up a candle, she found the mysterious substance to be a fallen chunk of meat. She picked it up and examined it thoroughly deducing that the meat could probably be saved if it were cleaned properly and packed with ice again.
Deciding to just boil the potatoes instead of taking the time to prepare them, Cremia quickly took care of preparing dinner and focused her attention on the venison. She scrubbed it and packed the outer edges with salt to keep in the juices. "I'm going out," she announced briefly to Zubora twirling a cloak around her body and grabbing a sack to haul up the ice.
Stepping out into the winter land, Cremia trod quickly listening to her even visible breaths and crunching boots. A small stream crossed in front of the cottage where Cremia stooped by the bank catching drifting lumps of ice in the bag. *I think we're a bit low on water,* Cremia mused standing from her crouch and stretching her limbs. *Maybe I should go back and get a jug.* Leaving the bag where it was, Cremia jogged back to the cottage within five minutes. Coming up the steps, her hand reached for the door latch and came across a surprise. *What's this?* she wandered seeing the door slightly ajar. *I could've sworn I closed this,* she thought shrugging off the notion and starting to pushed open the door.
She stopped. Zubora's voice rang out clear into the pass. "What do you want?" he said rather gruffly.
About to make a snide reply to the indignant question, Cremia's voice was lost in the shadow of another's. "Is she there?" the other voice asked.
"That depends," Zubora replied harshly.
"Listen," the other one said cutting off Zubora. "I want you to keep her there for a few more weeks, apparently the only offers I've received for this rancid milk are from two characters somewhere in the west. And don't try to pull any stunts like last time; I'm keeping all of my eyes open this time."
Cremia felt her heart surge abnormally. A dizzy spiral opened below her swallowing her up in a darkened abyss. She wasn't aware of her physical self-colliding backwards into a potted plant drooping miserably in the winter's deathly grip. The thundering shatter of the pot brought her to her senses. With a wild lunge, she tried to balance herself by reaching forwarding throwing the slightly ajar door completely open. Falling back onto her rump, she was still able to watch in a slowed sequence as Zubora turned to see the cause of commotion. His face crossed between a look of alarm and guilt. Behind him, the iridescent glow from the forgotten Communication Crystal showed the horrid face of her pale-faced attacker eradicating any lingering doubts. She had to run.
Adrenaline providing the extra strength, Cremia hastily stood and ran pounding the ground with her frantic footsteps. Just as in her dream, the skies parted allowing a thick cover of snow to fall gracefully around her scurrying form. A sob wrenched itself from her throat, and Cremia only then noticed the tears gliding down her face. In the back of her mind she heard (or she thought she heard) the distant voice of Zubora beckoning her to return. She didn't listen instead pressing forward into the white cold.
Good and lost, yet feeling quite a bit safer, Cremia paused to consider her options. The taunting option of sitting where she was and crying until she died sounded good to her, but she pushed the thought away. Besides, she'd always thought of suicide as a cowardly selfish thing to do. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and squeezed as closely as she physically could to the cloak still draped around her body. As far as she could see, the white stretched in its endlessness. She looked up and was pelted with more of the crystal fluff.
A crunch from behind drew her attention. Whirling around to face the noise, she shrunk back finding herself face-to-face with the gigantic body of a White Wolfos. Letting out a shrill howl of triumph, the beast hunkered over on its paws and began to circle her. His shifty violet eyes followed her actions as she backed up a few steps. It rose up on its hindquarters and rose a paw to strike at her. Turning, she dashed as fast as possible given her current situation-from bad to terribly worse.
She heard its growl of rage as it followed closely behind easily keeping stride with her. She didn't notice the dim outline coming toward her until it was too late. Glancing over her shoulder to check on the Wolfos's progress, the wheel of the wagon knocked her back into the snowdrift. She vaguely heard the victorious baying as the Wolfos moved in for the kill.
***
Awaking with a groan, Cremia found a weird feel of déjà vu overcome her senses. Sitting up, she found herself once again lying in the back of some foreign wagon. She groaned again. This was really becoming irksome. Looking around, her heart quickened as she caught sight of the glass jars with a cow head symbol stamped on the side. She became very quiet recognizing the cart as her own. But that meant-she glanced toward the front where her assailant sat handling the horse tied to the front. A strange tug on her wrists confirmed her other suspicion. A rope bound both of her hands together. She was a captive.
And she wasn't alone. Across from her also lay another woman. Being as silent as she could, Cremia wiggled over next to the other woman. Clothes reduced to rags from continuous wear clothed a fragile frame. Brunette hair fanned out behind her head like a pillow. In the half light, Cremia could make out her striking features. A broad face and an angular jaw gave her a determined look-even in sleep. Dark lashes and brows framed her closed eyes. Pink thin lips strained into a worried line. Cremia almost gasped aloud when further inspection revealed a large bulge near the woman's stomach.
Sputtering, the woman coughed and strained barely able to raise a delicate hand to her mouth. Cremia's heart twisted with the woman's weak state. What could she do? From the look of her, the woman had probably been both beaten and starved while with this man. She was very near delivering-the sudden sharp intakes of breath suggested that she was already undergoing labor. *What can I do?* Cremia fretted taking hold of the woman's hand and giving it a comforting squeeze; the only means of comfort she could provide at the moment.
*What can I do?* she wandered again staring straight at the nimble form of her subjugator. She pulled at her restraints finding them to be quite loose. This was an unexpected surprise. Welcomed surely, but unexpected nevertheless. She shed the ropes in no time. Once more, the containers of Chateau Romani caught her eye. She felt a smug grin spreading across her chin. *Payback time,* she thought quietly selecting one and hefting it up without a word. Tiptoeing while trying to keep her balance, Cremia stepped nearer the driver's seat feeling her heart leaping through her throat.
Swinging the heavy jar, she let out a scream of anger before hurling the pot at his head. He turned his head just in time to make contact with his stolen merchandise. Caught completely off guard, he didn't stand a chance. He toppled back out of the wagon.
Letting the suddenly heavy bottle fall to the floor, Cremia didn't waste a second jumping into the driver's seat and urging the horse into a hard gallop. She cried out in relief to find that the wagon was right next to the two wooden columns indicating the turn onto Milk Road. Never breaking pace, despite her concern for the horse's condition, Cremia looked back into the sinking sun as the space between the wagon and the man grew until she could no longer make out his form. A loud cry from the back drove a new purpose into her hurry. "Hold on honey," she called to the woman. "We're almost there."
***
Pulling the wagon to a screeching halt in front of the house, Cremia leapt into the back picking up the woman and easily carrying her into the house safely administering her onto the bed. Getting a fire going in the room, Cremia was able to bring a pitcher of water, plenty of towels, and a few rags up laying the items by the bedside. "It's going to be okay," she soothed the woman tenderly stroking her brow in an attempt to sooth the woman's whimpers.
Laying the towels about the woman's body, Cremia kept a constant fevered watch over her companion encouraging her to push when she felt a contraction and to breath in between. Sweat drenched the sheets, and Cremia wandered if it wasn't as much her own perspiration as her patient's. Three hours later, Cremia bundled the sleeping form of a tiny baby girl in a blanket. The woman, exhausted from the exertion of birth giving, passed out leaving Cremia a haunting feel of dread.
She pushed aside the notion bringing the newborn down to the kitchen to feed her a bottle of milk. Her mother would be too weak, even if awake, to try feeding her naturally. Cremia caressed the little newborn's soft arm relishing in the feel of baby skin. A sharp point protruding from the baby's wrist brought a frown to her face as she bent to examine it.
Upstairs, the clatter of disturbance brought a rush of fear flowing through her body as Cremia hurried back up the stairs. "Oh no," she breathed finding the room deserted. Shaking (and with good reason) Cremia gently laid the baby down onto the soft mattress of Romani's bed. The shutters from the window flapped wildly in the growing night breeze.
Cremia worked her way back down the stairs grabbing a metal rod used to tend the fire in the fireplace as she passed it. Out of the house and now proceeding to the infamous barn, Cremia was not at all surprised by the sudden birth of thundering clouds closing in overhead. The wagon from the front was gone, its tracks wound around in a circle disappearing inside the red wooden structure.
Taking a breath, Cremia edged into the pitch black of a half opened door. Black clouded all of her senses and she nearly choked on the familiar edge of her dream. The lightning from the brewing storm was still far off and too weak to reveal the dark corners of the barn. She noticed the bundle resting in the idle of the floor and ran to the woman's side. Kneeling down, she checked for a pulse on her neck. It was very faint, but there all the same.
Behind her, the door swung closed making her jump in apprehension. She turned as the grin of the pale face emerged from the shadows. "I don't think we've been properly introduced," he said. "I'm Sakon," he continued kicking out in one swift motion to send her iron rod clattering across the ground. "And I am going to kill you." With those words he brandished a silver knife from some unknown sheath. Cremia cringed. He chuckled over her unease. "But first her," he said pointing the wicked blade at the sleeping woman's exposed neck. Cremia scowled keeping her silence as he pushed with his mind games. "Perhaps I should skin her like I did her husband. I don't know though," he paused shrugging dramatically, "Zora's have tough skin and it's a lot harder to damage than human skin." He smirked maliciously at Cremia's disgusted look. "Or perhaps I should start with the baby." his voice was soupy and slimy.
"You keep away from her," Cremia growled lowly keeping her rage in check. One wrong move on her part and that blade would slip through the woman's neck.
Sakon squealed in a ferocious laughter. "Or you'll do what?" he taunted leaning closer so that his mouth was right next to her ear. "Will you _hit_ me again?" he asked, his breath stinging her ear. "Will you _kill_ me?" he whispered drawing the blade over her neck lightly. "Well, will you?" he demanded.
Cremia glared defiantly spitting in Sakon's eyes. He cried out and slashed the knife at Cremia. Swinging back, the blade missed her neck, but grazed her cheek sending a coat of blood down her face. He laughed again seeing the blood. "You're a little witch aren't you?" he asked backing up. "Perhaps I should burn you, that is how you should extinguish a witch after all. It would be too bad if this ranch went up with you." He laughed a little and then gave her an intense sadistic stare. "And then I think I'll go after that other little redhead. Romani, isn't it? She'll be a treat. And so easy to break, those young ones are. Unlike you, no, I wouldn't want to waste my efforts."
A boom from outside startled Cremia. *Thunder?* she asked herself but doubted it; it didn't to have originated from the heavens. Apparently Sakon's thoughts traveled along the same wavelength as he back up into the shadows. Another blast from beyond the door, followed by a crack brought the locked door of the barn down with a crash. A lumbering hulk wobbled inside the door. "Watch out!" Cremia's warning hung in the air as Sakon charged at the figure.
"URGHO!!!" the cry thundered. Cremia had little time to register the well- known voice before a smaller body darted in towards her.
"Zubora!" she cried out as he ducked down. Behind him, a flash of white appeared from nowhere. "Watch out," her warning once again too late as the hilt of the knife drove through his shoulder. He gave a cry and toppled down over the woman's body. Cremia scrambled up and kicked at Sakon's crazed face trying to draw him away from the two bodies.
He glared up at her standing and limping toward her holding out the bloodied knife before him. His breathing was ragged and uneven as he came closer. Cremia had no choice but to back up more tripping over an overturned pail and sprawling defenselessly on the ground. Eyes alight in hideous greed, Sakon dashed toward her in a clumsy manner. Tripping over a discarded rag, he fell forward bringing the knife-wielding arm before him to try and break the fall; managing only to land on top of the knife.
An eternity seemed to pass with Cremia still on the ground trying to comprehend what had just happened. Standing, she toed at Sakon's body rolling him over. The knife protruded from his heart and the wretched deranged look still held in his lifeless eyes.
Swallowing a knot in her throat, Cremia rushed over to where Zubora groaned trying to prop himself up. Behind him, Gabora moaned as well though still able to make it to his feet and hobble over. As if she were in a trance, the unconscious woman stirred opening her eyes slightly. Blinking several times, she groaned becoming fully aware of her surroundings for the first time. Her eyes focused more closely on Zubora's face and shock mixed with relief seemed to wash through her features. "Zubora?" she whispered and he smiled kissing her hand.
"Myrion."
Suddenly everything became clear, his reason for deceiving, his hesitancy to talk about Myrion, Cremia felt the tears dripping down her cheeks stinging the open wound. She wound her arms around his neck bringing his eyes to her astonishment. "I'm sorry," she whispered drawing him in for a hug.
"So am I," he responded embracing her back.
***
Cremia breathed in the sweet spring air of the ranch letting it fill her lungs. The birds chirruped in their trees and Romani's little dog yapped excitedly. In the distance, Romani, Little Kafei, and Gabora frolicked in the fields together. Feeling arms wrap around her waist, she turned to hug her husband. "Do you think Anju will be okay?" she asked Zubora who grinned.
"Of course she will. I'm more worried about Kafei if you want to know the truth. I thought he was going to pass out this morning."
Cremia giggled. "Do you think it'll be a boy or a girl?" she asked leaning back to recline against his frame.
"I don't know," Zubora answered and let the laughter of the children fill the atmosphere.
"I hope it's a girl," Cremia said. "Anju really wanted one."
"Mmh," Zubora answered.
Half drifting off, Cremia dozed lightly against Zubora's shoulder. Never had she felt such a feeling of peaceful serenity. She hoped it would last forever.
***
Author's Note: Sorry the ending was so rushed, I'll probably go back over it and edit. Please leave a review! Thanks!
-Veledore