Gormglaith | Page 4

pumpkins on pine needles Pulling moon to light what's sown...
She stared outside as the waxing moon lofted higher, the sun fell behind dark clouds rimmed with broken orange and elms swayed, ruffling in the wind.
Gormglaith wandered into a bath with cool, swatched walls of scrubbed bluestone, the smell of natron soap over freshly laundered cotton towels. She hooked thumbs under the wide, folded wrap below her chest and yanked grey linen down the chalkenly sheer, blue green veined skin of belly, thighs, knees and big feet, then sat on her heels. A sprinkling in the water below wafted a fallain hint of leaf and root as she stared hard into grainy folds of feldspar and quartz.
She stood, nudged a swab snugly between her thighs and tapped the pink goblin on the floor with a bare foot. A puff of white hit the whirlpool like a shattered tulip blossom. She went to the sink and gazed at herself, short straw blond thatch falling over an eye, glowing in dusk light. She sucked in her breath, frowned, splashed water on her face, opened a wall cupboard, put on white longstockings (keeping them so rimpled behind the knees), dipped her feet into bighty bright yellow wooden klompen with cheerfully drawn flowers, glanced at bare chest and face in the looking glass and spun out the door.
sheaf 2
Harvest Home
Gormglaith sat with Geileis at the latticed blond elmwood board, Giorsal with Gobnait crosswise when Flann tore by, late from some errand, a bright blear of long red hair and freckles, platinum nose ring gleaming, still smelling like her run and the outdoors as she came back (having swapped longstockings) and slid onto the bench by Gormglaith. Clothed and shod alike, they talked clanninishly.
"Where's the wicked witch?" asked Gormglaith, looking about.
"On the skate back to Kin Dails," Geileis answered with a shrug. "She said she was thrilled to see thee, though."
Enid and Aine came scrubbed and clad like the others to alight on smooth elm benches.
"Aine of Knockaine," Geileis said wistfully, chin in hand. "Have I ever told thee how I flip for thy braids? Someday I'm going to grow my hair and have swank brat braids like thine."
Aine smirked.
"Spog," said Enid raising thumbs up, short braids swishing. "Blue cheese string noodyls!"
They told rundling tales, each put starkly with input from the others, handing chalky dishes clockwise as a skeletal house robot of like hue whistly filled in the gaps.
"So I frobbed the new vax first thing," said Giorsal, taking a sip of bluish milk. "A pink bamfed in for a peek and feeped at me! It was the wabbit," she sighed, "like they give a luzz at Skeinbanden."
"Kludgethorpe," Flann answered, grinning, "where twinks munch mung and toast."
"I think it's chavel," said Enid, heedfully wrapping strands of blue cheese string noodyls onto her fork. "The only grass wabbits anyone runs anymore are those dodgy hacks from Skeinbanden."
"Jittery jags..." Aine put with raised forefinger, thick braids sweeping across the wide pink brims on her figgish chest.
"...and hex hags!" Geileis said brightly as the others laughed.
Aine giggled, shoving a stringy forkful into her mouth as Enid wagged a sandy blond head.
"So there's that porcelain dish at school," said Gormglaith, munching on a tomato, "...the one with gold and blue bands they say is more than 6000 years old..."
Most nodded.
"From afar it looks sound but if you peer close there're thousands of these teeny twining cracks..."
Gobnait, affixing a huge, billowing glob of chocolate almond mush to a fat slice of gingerbread, gazed up with forefinger to chin and said,
"So Gormglaith, I hear Findabair wants to plight. How thrilling."
Gormglaith twirled her eyes in a throe.
"...Thought so!" sang Enid, digging her fork into the open top of a baked orange pumpkin.
"Gobnait," Gormglaith put to her smug little sister, "it so happens Findabair can't plight me alone. It takes three."
"I think it's chavel," said Gobnait, taking up the loaded gingerbread with both hands, "how Gweneth did y'all dirt..."
"...So who's the lucky third!?" asked Giorsal, slicing in.
Gormglaith lowered her head.
"Elowen Ynseyder," she sighed, staring into a tangle of string noodyls, whirlish and flaxen with spoggens of cheese riddled in blue-green.
"I like Elowen!" said Giorsal.
Nods broke out across the board. Aine's braids swished as her eyes darted from face to face.
"What is with everyone?!" asked Gormglaith. "This isn't how it's meant to be! Where's the puzzling? 'Th'ast time! Th'art barely maegden! Maybe th'artn't bent with Elowen!' What's with all this nodding?!"
She glanced at Geileis who was eating a morsel of sprout.
"So... are those thy feelings," asked Enid, "about Findabair and Elowen?"
Gormglaith stared at her.
"Yes! I mean no! I mean why is everyone being so mum about this? You're my kynn! Now's the time to ask all kinds of stirring things and make me think about it!"
"My bat..." Enid said with freckled dimple, holding up