Call of the Herald by Brian Rathbone Read Free Book Online Page B

Catrin handed
him a mug of stew. While he ate his breakfast, Catrin ladled a mug
for her father, who had begun to stir. She knew he would be hungry
when he emerged. He grunted in acknowledgment as he accepted the
food, and she left them to their meal.
    Lighting her lantern, Catrin left the warmth
of the cottage and walked into the damp coolness of the early
morning air. Millie, a gray and white tabby cat, greeted her at the
door, weaving in and out of her legs. By the time she reached the
feed stall, a mob of cats surrounded her, demanding attention and,
more emphatically, food. Catrin kept a supply of dried meat scrap
and grain in an old basin, and she used a bowl to scoop out enough
for all of them.
    A parade of scampering felines following in
her wake, Catrin put the food outside the barn. The cats fell on
it, each wanting their share and more, and they were soon begging
again. Catrin stopped and looked at the cats trailing her. "Now
listen to me. If I feed you any more, you'll get fat and lazy and
not catch any mice," she said, shaking her finger and smiling. The
cats looked at her and dispersed to various hay bales and horse
blankets, content to preen or nap for the moment.
    Catrin mixed oats and sweet grain into neatly
organized buckets. Some horses required special herb mixtures in
their feed, and Catrin took great care to be certain the mixtures
went into the correct buckets. Giving an animal the wrong herbs
could have dire consequences, and it was not a mistake she wished
to repeat. A week of cleaning Salty's stall after giving him oil of
the posetta by mistake had left a lasting impression on her.
    Growing impatient, the horses banged their
water buckets and pawed the floor to let her know they wanted their
food immediately. Benjin came into the barn and started dumping the
small buckets into the larger buckets that hung in the stalls. He
knew the order; this was a dance they had performed many times.
    "How much wikkits root did you put in Salty's
feed, li'l miss?"
    "Two small spoons of wikkits and a large
spoon of molasses," Catrin replied, and Benjin chuckled.
    "You did good; looks like you mixed it in
fine. Never thought I'd see a horse eat around a powder, but he'll
eat the grain and leave a pile of powder in the bucket. I'm telling
ya, he does it just to spite me," he said, walking into Salty's
stall. He gave the gelding a light pinch on the belly. Salty
squealed and stomped and grabbed Benjin's jacket in his teeth,
giving it a good shake. Without missing a beat, Benjin emptied the
feed into the bucket and patted Salty on the forehead.
    "Nice horsy," he said, and Catrin had to
laugh. "Ah, there is that smile, li'l miss. It's good to see it
again," he said with a wink.
    She made no reply, unsure of what to say, and
returned to her work. As she opened a bale of hay, mold dust
clouded the air. They had lost too much hay to mold this year, and
she knew not to feed the horses moldy hay. There was not much more
they could have done to prevent the problem, though. The weather
had turned bad at harvest time, and they had not been able to get
the hay fully dry before bailing it. Forced to store the hay damp,
they salted it to reduce moisture, stave off mold, and help prevent
fire. Mold claimed much of the hay nonetheless, but at least it had
not caught fire.
    Her grandfather had lost a barn to a fire
caused by wet hay. When hay dries, it goes through a process called
a sweat, where it sheds water and produces heat. If packed too
tightly, intense heat can build up and cause spontaneous
combustion. The lesson had been passed to her father then down to
Catrin. It was something she planned to teach her own children
someday.
    The moldy bale of hay she threw to the steer,
which could eat just about anything, and she grabbed another bale
for the horses. After giving each horse two slices of hay, she
collected the water buckets, carrying them to the well her father
and Benjin had dug long ago. It was something the men took