Ch. 1 – No. 5: Peculiar Critters

Clove has a surprise on her first morning in the house.

---

Just to Clove’s left, on the floor, was her basket pack filled with figs. Two of the fruits now lay on the floor. A dark pointed snout and bright white eye peeked around from behind the basket, gazing up at Clove as she stared in wonder, pulse soaring. Emerging from behind the other side of the basket pack, a long pointed tail lay on the floor.

“Umm…” Clove turned tentatively toward the creature. “Hi there.”

The two stared at one another for a beat. Clove shifted, slowly, standing and then kneeling next to the stool while the creature remained still, though followed her with his dark pupil. Reaching for a fig, Clove picked up the fruit and held it out in her flat palm.

“Here,” she said softly. “You can have a fig. Have as many as you want.” Keeping his eyes fixed on her, the creature approached, revealing three stout legs on each side of a plump body. He met her eyes for a moment, studying her face, her demeanor, probing into the core of her very essence with an extrasensory keenness. Holding her eyes with his, he took the fruit from her hand, consuming it whole and swift. A thin forked tongue cleaned juices from his snout before he gobbled down the other fig on the floor.

“You’re a peculiar little critter,” Clove pondered as she studied him. “You probably think the same of me.” The creature drew closer, his long snout wiggling as he sniffed her hand.

“Um…can I call you Fig?” Clove asked, and the creature looked up at her. His thick tail swished to and fro on the floor, and with little warning, he flicked his long tongue to make contact with her nose. Clove cautiously reached to stroke his side. Course, dense, short fur lay flush with his body such that his figure appeared completely smooth, almost hairless on first glance. Fig, seeming satisfied with this interaction, scuttled away toward the bed, climbing onto the sleeping pad and curling up on Clove’s blanket. He had expertly remained hidden from her, not out of shyness or fear but simply awaiting the right time to make himself known. Now, he promptly settled into his new companionship with no reservation. Something made Clove certain that he’d been here this whole time; that he was as much a part of the house as the hearth, the roof, the front door.

“So…there’s that,” Clove said to herself, regaining her bearings while the creature’s eyelids slid closed.

Watching as Fig’s round little body fell into a pattern of deep sleeping breaths, Clove finally rose from the floor. She again settled onto the stool, ate the sliced fig and drained the cup of tea, then stood and opened the trunk that sat at the foot of the bed. She retrieved her day clothes, got dressed, and splashed water onto her face from the bucket. Fish must be caught today, and she must decide how to preserve the figs; jam, or sun-dried? Water must be fetched from the well in town, and she planned to bathe by the pond. A sheet of parchment sat on the corner of the table scrawled with an unfinished short story.

But there was something she had to do before beginning the day’s tasks. Standing rooted to the floor, frozen with a hesitation she couldn’t explain, a small pouch in her trunk called to her now as it had for so many years.

As she stood wrapt in idle stasis, her own shadow strolled autonomously toward the trunk and stood distorted against the geometry of the worn wood.

“Fine, okay” Clove mumbled. Following suit, she lifted the lid. Fig opened one eye as the hinges groaned. Rummaging to the very bottom, she retrieved a tattered rag, balled up tight and wrapped in twine.

Setting it on the table, she untied the twine and rolled out the rag to reveal a small cloth bag the size of her palm, tied shut with a thin ribbon which fell loose as she gently tugged at one end. Opening the scrunched top of the bag, she emptied its contents into her open palm.

Reference Materials: