The fire burned well and shot up little embers as another log was added to the hearth, the faint crackling mixed with the high-pitched whistle of the iron kettle that was hanging above the flames. The large oak table in the centre of the room was just wiped down after the women of the household had finished making bread-dough and now it was baking nicely in the bread-oven in the wall besides the hearth. Chores were done for now, and the three women had time to rest for a few moments while the bread baked.
First to sit down in the old chair by the fire was the elderly woman with her apron tied tightly around her black worn dress. She was the matriarch of the family, each white hair stood as a strand of wisdom in the eyes of her family. Grandmer they call her, and Grandmer Twigs is what everyone in Bree-land call her. Her ancient bones creaked along with the chair as she sat down, sharp eyes looking at her granddaughter.
“Maggie, dear, pour the barley tea from the kettle, won’t you? This frost has settled in my bones and it will do well to warm me up.” Her wrinkled lips smiled, lowering her frail hand down to an old ginger cat called Tom, who would scratch anyone at first sight apart from this old woman.
“Yes, grandmer!” Maggie, a young girl of only thirteen, gathered the cups from the impressive dresser where the cats slept under at night, setting them out on the table before gathering a cloth to fetch the kettle and to pour them out before taking the steaming cup to her grandmother and sitting down on the floor by the fire.
“I’ll be glad for this winter to go, I tell you ma, the boys are wanting extra feeding this time of year! Don’t know how our larder will manage the next few months!” Megan said as she stood over the wash-basin looking out through one of the windows over the farmyard.
“It won’t be long, just a cold spell will come first, then it’ll pass, dear.” Grandmer said as she slurped her tea, stroking one hand along the old Tom cat that jumped onto her lap.
Out in the farmyard, the men were gathered. Rhys, as usual, was standing and resting on his shepherds crook, old weathered hands running along the smooth sheep horn handle. His flat cap was leaning down on his head as he puffed from his pipe. By his feet sat the all black sheepdog, Ben, a nasty dog but a hard worker and obedient to only Rhys.
Sitting down on the wood splitting log was Bill, the eldest son, fingers running around his moustache as he pondered deep in thought alongside his father, still not a word between them apart from the occasional sniffle from Bill’s dripping nose.
Finally, there was Griff, in his usual working shirt and waistcoat and sweat trickling down his brow. He was not idle like the others, instead he was focussing on keeping the large draft horse, Dusty, still though he did not have mind for it. Snorting and stamping, though he dared not kick out yet. Another sheepdog, black and white called Jess, was wandering around the horse, crouched low as if trying to herd it.
“Right.”, Rhys finally spoke out, “We’ll get new shoes on him in a couple of days, and we’ll take him into town on the cart and see what we can get.” He glanced over to Bill, silent brow raised.
“Aye, sounds good, pa. Mary’s father has some spares for us to take, she said.” Bill sounded out, nodding his head as he straightened up. Mary was his wife, of three years now, and the mother of his child; Little Bill as everyone called him, coming up a year old now.
“If I wake up early tomorrow, I’ll get the forge lit early, and I can shoe him then by noon.” Griff said, patting the horse on the neck and walking him around in circles as he grew more and more restless. The stubborn thing.
“Good. Now take him back to the stables. Dinner will be ready soon and I’m starving. Bill, check for eggs. Ben, come.” With a simple puff of his pipe, Rhys turned off and wandered across the farmyard to the farmhouse, Ben the dog following close at his heel though remained outside while his master went in. Bill went on then to the coop around the back, wrestling with the rooster as he searched for the delicious treasures. Griff finally took the horse back to his stall, removing the halter and moving swiftly from the place before he could get crushed by the big beast.
“Come now, Jess, I’ll throw you the bone so you can fight over it with Ben and the others.”
