“Come on. You need to learn how to do this.”
“I know, Emory. Just...what do I do with...how do I put this on?”
The stocky, brown-haired young man grinned affectionately at his sister. “Like this, Taite,” he said, stepping across the soft, sun-warmed soil, taking hold of the leather reins that led to the plow beside them. A wren sang in the hazel thicket while he looped the strap over her left shoulder, and then under her right arm, so that it sat diagonally across her body.
The girl looked down at the contraption, examining what he had done. The reins ran loosely to the plow in front of her, and then to the body of a bored-looking mule who stood flicking his ears and whisking away early-spring flies with his stringy tail. Moss-green eyes peered at the plow with determination, and she set her hands on the wooden handles as she had seen her father do, once upon a time. “Like this?”
Emory took a long swallow from a flask in his fist, nodding as he swallowed. “Aye, just like that,” he panted, scrubbing his sleeve over his lips. “Just a tug on the reins to tell him where to go. Left or right.” Beneath the messy locks of his hair, his earth-colored eyes were rimmed with pink.
Taite squinted against the bright sunshine, peering across the field. “I have to do the whole thing myself?” she asked softly.
Her brother chuckled. “It’s barely an acre, Taitey.”
She heard another gulp and glanced up to see his throat bobbing as the flask left his lips. “It’s early to be drinking that,” she murmured.
His hand landed heavily on her shoulder. “Let a man drink if he wants to,” he replied, looking down at her with an exaggerated frown that was perhaps meant to be humorous.
“Pa wouldn’t have liked it,” she remarked, her brows drawing together as she turned her eyes away from him. Wishing to move away from the topic, both literally and figuratively, she grabbed the reins and slapped them lightly against the mule’s rump. “Let’s go, Red.“
Red stirred from his half-nap with a snort and started forward. Taite hurriedly clamped her hands onto the plow’s handles and followed behind.
“Well, he’s not here to not like it, is he?” her brother shouted after her.
His words were like a lash to her heart. She bit her lips together, clenching her jaw. Refusing to allow even a hint of tears. She focused on the sound of the mule’s hooves sinking in the yielding earth, somehow heavy and soft at the same time, and the pleasant scrape of the plow’s share moving through the soil.
A glance over her shoulder revealed that her brother had turned his back and was walking away. “Emory!” she called. “Don’t leave me out here. You have to help me!”
Emory’s hunched shoulders paused. She was forced to turn away again, having to follow the plow, to keep it straight, to not stumble over the rocky furrow left in its wake. A faint voice was carried to her ears on the warm breeze, saying something along the lines of “You’ll be fine.”
“Emory!” she shouted again, her voice dropping into an irritated growl. She stole another quick look backwards. His fist was at his lips, his head tilted back. He was still walking away from her. She mumbled words under her breath that would have made her late mother blush.
“All right, Red,” she called to the mule. “Turn left now. Left!” She tugged on the rein as she’d been instructed. Red decided that this meant stop, and he came to a halt, turning his russet head around to give her a baleful look.
“No, not stop!” Taite chuckled, putting a fist on her hip. “Did I say ‘whoa’? I did not say ‘whoa’. Silly critter. Come on.” She flicked the left-hand strap against his rump again. “Red! Go!” She shoved the plow pointlessly as if this might trigger him to obey. A sharp sigh huffed out of her chest, and she turned again to see if her brother might be anywhere in sight. Knowing that he wouldn’t be.
“Red. I don’t want to be out here all aftern…” she began, her face coming round again, before something froze her and choked the words in her throat. A long, thin shape moved in the grass at the edge of the field, not three feet from the mule’s front hooves. Taite watched in helpless horror as it slithered out into the sunshine, its body undulating across the lumpy soil. Dark grey scales shimmered in the light, betraying its identity; a venomous black adder.
“Don’t see it,” she whispered under her breath. Her eyes flicked to the mule. Red stood quietly, chewing on his own lips, shaking his ears. Oblivious to the threat that oozed ever closer to his legs.
“...Emory…” she croaked weakly, feeling panic rise in her gut. She looked again over her shoulder, praying to see him. It was a vain hope. The sunny field and small farmhouse felt like a mockery in their idyllic charm, bathed in golden light, flowering vines trailing over the fence and along the eaves.
Seconds crawled past in agonizing slowness. She looked back at Red. The snake had moved directly into his path and stopped, lifting its head. “Red, don’t… don’t move… don’t look…Red, look at me…” she whispered desperately.
Hearing his name, the mule swished his tail and finally consented to stop being stubborn. He started forward.
“Red, no!”
The words had barely left her mouth when the front hoof came down, and in eerie slow motion, she saw the adder tense, coiling his head back, and faster than her eyes could follow, it struck.
The world exploded all at once. Red gave a terrible, screaming bray, recoiling violently. Taite cried out in shock and alarm as the plow lurched backwards and tipped over. Before she could think or react, the mule did what his blood instinctively told him to do; he jolted forward and ran.
There was a tiny fraction of a second where she saw his hindquarters tense and bulge, the muscles propelling his body. She saw the toppled plow launch after him. There was no time, however, to think about the leather strap that was still wound about her torso. She didn’t think about it. She only felt it.
She was ripped off her feet and flew through the air. A passing fear that she might land on the adder was quickly exchanged for the pain of striking the earth face-first, and the breath pushed out of her lungs. There was no pause, no chance to stop and gain her feet or her senses. All was in motion, a cacophony of fearful braying, thundering hooves, clattering plow, and an abrupt, merciless assault of dirt, rocks, and grass against her face and body.
“Stop!” she choked out, as soon as she could gasp in a breath. “Stooop!” Her voice shuddered with the vibrations of the violent assault. She felt her dress being shredded, her skin tearing and bruising as she scraped against the hard earth. The dust kicked up by the panicked mule was a beige cloud, choking her, leaving her unable to see.
“Emory!” she screamed, desperately hoping that she was not being taken in a direction away from the farm.
The ground fell away briefly, some sort of dip in the earth, and her body spun in the air. Frantic hands tried to pry the reins away from her waist. In a moment that felt surreal, the strap slipped down over her hips, she thought she could kick it free. She landed heavily on her back, and felt it tighten instead around her right thigh. Red galloped on, blind in his terror, the plow and the hollering woman chasing him, making him charge all the faster across the open fields.
“Red, stoooop! Whoa!!” she cried hoarsely, coughing against the dust and soil being flung over her. “Emory, help!!”
The mule’s hooves clattered over something, and immediately after she felt it collide with her backside, tossing her into the air again. Her feet kicked madly, urgently trying to untangle the reins from her leg. With her right leg extended straight out, she slammed into the earth again, and both felt and heard a sickening crack.
Her scream of agony was drowned under the thundering hooves and the rattling, bouncing plow. She could not reach down and grab at her limb. She could not put out her hands and bring the terrible, nightmarish journey to a halt. All she could do was scream.
“Emoryyyyyy!”
