Free Words Like Coins by Robin Hobb Page B

bucket. She left the porridge simmering while she went to her chores.
    She counted the chickens as they emerged from the coop. They’d all survived the night, but there were only crushed shells and smeared yolk on the straw inside the nesting boxes. She stood, fists clenched. How had the rats got in? She’d find their hole later today.
    She milked both cows, and gave each a measure of grain and a drink from the covered bucket outside the stall before she turned them out to find whatever grazing they could in the dusty pasture. Every day they gave less milk, poor creatures. 
    The well in the yard had a good tight cover. She unpegged the wooden hatch in the top and swung it open. Dark and the cool of water greeted her. She scowled to see that the edge of the hatch had been gnawed. The rats could smell the water. If they chewed through and drowned in the well, all the water would be spoiled. What could she do to stop them? Nothing. Not unless she sat on top of the well all night and guarded it. With a sinking heart, she knew that was exactly what she would have to do. The creek had gone dry weeks ago. The well was their last source of water. It had to be protected.
    The bucket dropped endlessly before she heard the small splash. She jogged the rope up and down until the bucket tipped and took in water. Drake had promised to put up a proper windlass for the bucket, but for now, it was hand-over-hand to haul it up. Every day, its trip was longer as the water receded. Her straining fingers nearly lost their grip when a small gray face suddenly peered at her from the other side of the well cap. Its staring eyes were the color of verdigris. The hands it lifted seemed disproportionately long. The creature cupped them, begging and bared pointed teeth as she mouthed the foreign word. “Please. Please.”
    Mirrifen set the dripping bucket down. As she stepped back in astonishment, the small creature collapsed. 
    Cautiously Mirrifen took two steps around the well cap. The pecksie lay where she had fallen. Yes, unmistakably a ‘she’ now, for her pregnant belly protruded from her bony frame. Mirrifen stared. A real pecksie. Witch Chorly had never bothered to teach her the spells against them. “Not enough of them to worry about now,” the sour old woman had declared. “Keep your mind to practical matters. Go chop some kindling. Pecksies! Pesties, I say. Just be glad they’re gone.”
    Her knowledge of pecksies was small. They dressed in leaves, fur and feathers, and would thieve anything they could carry. They detested cats, and some pecksies had webbed feet. They were reputed to be dangerous, but she couldn’t recall why. The little creature collapsed by the well didn’t look dangerous. Her bark cloth garments contrasted oddly with silvery gray skin. She was half the size of a cat, and thin. She was curled around her pregnant belly and knobs of spine jutted out from her back. Her bare feet were long and narrow. A fine gold chain showed at the nape of her neck.
    As if she felt Mirrifen’s scrutiny, the pecksie slowly turned her face up. Her chapped lips parted and a small tongue licked uselessly at them. Eyes green as a cat’s opened to slits. The pecksie stared up at her, pleading silently. Then her eyes closed again.
    Mirrifen didn’t pause to think. She dipped a finger in the milk bucket and held it to the pecksie’s lips. A drop fell, wetting them, and the pecksie gaped after it, shuddering. Mirrifen dripped milk into the small mouth. Funny little mouth, with a split upper lip like a kitten’s. At the third drop, the pecksie blindly seized Mirrifen’s fingertip in her mouth and suckled at it. At a hint of pointed teeth, Mirrifen jerked her hand away. The pecksie’s eyes fluttered opened. Mirrifen spoke to her. “I’ll tip the bucket and you can dip up some with your hands.”
    The pecksie pulled herself to a sitting position, her belly in her lap. She leaned into the tipped bucket, scooping up handful after handful