I really like this excerpt. I wrote it while I was living in a farmhouse in rural Georgia (the country, not the state). A lot of the stuff from this scene was pulled directly from my own experience. We had chickens, cows, pigs, sheep (dumbest animals I’ve ever seen!), and grew grapes, pomegranates, persimmons, and a whole bunch of other stuff. It was pretty awesome.
In the late summer, the hens had chicks. At first, there were about twenty little fuzzballs following each hen, but as the chicks got bigger, their numbers became fewer and fewer. Then, just as the winter snows started to hit, a wolf came down from the mountains and ate one of the mother hens. Only one of her chicks survived—the smallest of the brood. He almost didn’t make it, but I went out the way to take special care of him, and he survived.
So yeah, this section is pulled almost directly from my own experience. Nika is the kind of gentle boy who would do exactly that sort of thing, and that carries over into his friendship with Tamuna.
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“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”
Nika stopped at the farmhouse gate and sheepishly turned to face his father. “To the tavern,” he muttered, hoping that was an acceptable response.
“Why, son? The tavern’s closed.”
“Sopiko said she still needs me.” And Tamuna’s been sick all day.
His father jabbed the pitchfork into the ground and cursed. “That damn woman had better be paying you for this. Have you had your supper yet?”
“No, sir, I—”
“Good. Eat it there.” He turned to the yard, where Nika’s two older brothers had paused in their work. “Giga! Lasha! What are you doing standing around? Get back to stacking those cornstalks!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Remember, who doesn’t work, doesn’t eat!”
Nika took that as his cue to leave. He slipped out the gate and pulled it shut before dashing across the dusty lane and into the fallow field across the farmhouse. The tall grass brushed against his legs, ticking his skin through the holes in his pants, but he kept running until he was well out of his father’s sight. Only then did he slow down enough to catch his breath.
Tamuna had been sick all day, so sick that Sopiko had closed down the tavern, which she never, ever did. When he’d arrived in the morning, the door had been locked—only after knocking for several minutes had Sopiko finally opened it.
“You’d better come back later,” Sopiko had told him when he’d come around back. “Tamuna’s taken ill, and we’ve closed down the tavern until she comes around again.”
“She has?” Nika had asked, his stomach falling. “What do you mean? Is she going to be all right? What happened?”
“We don’t know. We found her passed out on the floor in the private room, and she hasn’t woken up since. Come back this evening—we may need you then.”
Nika had wanted to ask more, but Sopiko had pressed a few coppers into his hand and sent him on his way home. His father had thrown the money angrily against the wall, and probably would have beaten him, except that his mother had intervened. He was a harsh man, and as the youngest, Nika wasn’t his favorite. Sometimes, Nika wondered if his father cared about him at all.
Thoughts like these always made him feel dark and oppressed, as if he carried a heavy weight on his shoulders. But the cool autumn breeze and the splash of gold across the evening sky soon lightened his spirits. A rooster crowed somewhere in the distance, and the sound of cows mooing in the thicket made him smile. Old Tom’s cow had had a calf just a few days ago, and he’d been there to see the birth. It was amazing, how the little ones could walk almost from the moment they left the womb. He always loved the way the mothers cared for their young—not just cows, but every animal.
Sometimes, when he wasn’t busy, he liked to sit in the shade of a tree and watch the mother hens roam the yard with their brood. While the little chicks pecked and played, the mothers always stood watch over them, chasing away anyone who dared come close. And in the evening, while the other chickens flew into the trees to roost, the mother would stay on the ground and gather all her chicks under her wings, keeping them safe throughout the night.
Of course, there was always a straggler who was smaller than all the others, who didn’t get to the food as fast, or couldn’t keep up with the rest. Nika’s heart always went out to them—he knew that the mother hen wanted to help, but with so many other chicks to look after, there wasn’t much she could do. He would often take the straggler aside and hand-fed him to make sure he grew up strong. It didn’t always work, but sometimes, it was enough to save them.
The footpath through the field opened up to the wide lane that led from the village to the mountains just beyond. He passed a few cows and a small clutch of geese, who moved to the other side of the road as he walked past. He stepped quickly, almost running even though the tavern wasn’t far and there was still a good hour of daylight left. If Tamuna was still sick, that would be very bad. He wished there was something he could do for her.
She had a habit of coming to him, after her chores were all done and she had a chance to talk. He often stayed in the stables late into the night just to hear from her. In a lot of ways, she was a straggler just like him. She didn’t have any older brothers or sisters to push her around, but she didn’t have a lot of friends either. Everyone in the village still saw her as an outsider, including her own aunt. Just as the mother hens knew the difference between their chicks and the ones that didn’t truly belong to them, Sopiko knew that Tamuna wasn’t her true daughter. It showed in the stern way she often treated her, though Tamuna would never believe it, no matter how much he tried to point it out to her. When she needed someone to talk to, though, he was always there. Life was tough without a friend to confide in—he knew that all too well.
When he arrived at the tavern, the CLOSED sign hung on the front door, but a strange commotion seemed to be coming from inside. Nika frowned as he opened the gate and walked over to the stables. To his surprise, he found them almost completely full—not with the short, gray-haired Kartlis that were so common in the Kevonas, but mighty Arbuli war horses. They whinnied and stomped their hooves as he entered, clearly not used to being confined.
“There, there,” he said, picking up his brush. “It’s all right, it’s all right.” He glanced over his shoulder at the house—something was clearly happening over there, but much as he wanted to see what it was, he knew he’d be chided for lapsing in his chores. Still…
Tamuna is in there, he told himself as he returned the brush to its hook on the wall. I have to make sure she’s all right.
