An SF/Fantasy Reader

III

IIIWHEN I WOKE UP, I LOOKED at my hand and its fingers that just cast a spell at that troll and made him disappear. That was really weird. Because I couldn't see him to begin with, but after I fell... Wait.

I rolled over on my side and here was now a full-sized man laying next to me, arms under his head and smiling at me.

"Well, good morning. My name is Trimble. You must be the proud owner of that milk cow grazing over there." And he pointed out said cow, who had cleaned up the contents of that spilled grain bucket and was now grazing contentedly in the ferns and leaves nearby.

"Wait, Trimble. Weren' t you just about three foot high and pointed ears when I nearly fell on you?"

"Yes ma'am. I was. But we wood nymphs can take a human form when we need to."

At that I sat up. And looked him over briefly. His woodland green and brown tunic and pantaloons seemed to match his story.

"So was that monster - did I - did you - how could you - I - cloud - wind..." I finally had to stop and take a breath.

He just kept looking at me. I was wearing sturdy blue jeans and dark brown boots, a chambray shirt with a red bandanna around my neck. And I looked over these to make sure they'd stayed fastened where they were supposed to. The way he was looking seemed like he was fascinated with me for some other reason than what I was wearing, more like he wanted to know more about what was underneath. I frowned at this.

My wide-brimmed hat had fallen onto my back, suspended by the leather thong around my neck. I moved to put it back on my head, but of course, my hat was a little crushed from falling on it.

"And what can I call you?" He asked with an honest smile.

"Beth. My name is Beth. You're Trimble and I'm Beth. And the cow's name is Bessie." I was shaking by now, the shock wearing off and the reaction coming through.

I had to get moving, back to my little farm and doing something - like fixing that smashed gate. So I stood up on unsure legs, but they'd firm up once we started moving. "You coming?"

Trimble looked down at his leg and shook his head. "Sorry, I've only got one good leg. That troll caught me with his stick. Lucky he only caught me once."

I could see a little blood there. "Oh, that could be a problem." I knelt down and felt it gingerly. No contusion, just swelling. No mushy parts underneath the fabric, so we didn't seem to have anything worse than scrapes and small cuts. "Bessie might be able to carry you up to the house if you're able to ride on her back."

Trimble forced a smile, even though the touching I'd done made him wince with pain. "Here, let me make it simpler for you." And he shrunk back to his normal 3-foot nymph size, complete with the pointed ears again.

Of course, that was a shock to me. But he had a point. At that size, he was more like a doll than a big human male. Bessie wouldn't have much of a problem with that light a weight. Nor would I.

"OK, this isn't going to be comfortable, but you wait while I get Bessie nearer." I walked over to where Bessie was grazing, picked up that empty bucket, then took hold of her halter, leading her back to Trimble's spot. Once she arrived, she sniffed Trimble and then went back to grazing around him.

"We get along with animals sometimes better than humans. To her, I smell like someone else's calf." Trimble managed to sit up, with another wince. He then felt his own leg. "Well, it's better than I was thinking. Cracked, probably, along with a bone bruise. But not an actual break. I've had worse. Given enough time, it will heal itself. Here, can you help me up?"

I moved around behind him and put a hand under each arm by his chest. Picking him up was simple, as he hardly weighed as much as a block of salt. I draped him over Bessie's front so his legs went over both sides, and his arms had to drape down to keep his balance. He was in pain, and a milk cow doesn't have a lot of padding, so it wouldn't be comfortable on a good day.

But carrying something like a forty-pound salt block for a quarter-mile in my arms wasn't anything I wanted to do, especially with having to keep my footing among the sticks, logs, rocks, and vines we had to travel through. Tall grasses were bad, but we'd be able to find cow paths in them.

I grabbed Bessie's halter again and started to lead away. Glancing back, I saw that somehow Trimble had managed to levitate himself off Bessie's back about a quarter inch. And found myself accepting that as normal, even wanting to learn how to do that. I could remember some hard folding seats and church pews where being able to conjure a cushion would have come in handy.

At least Trimble was as comfortable as he could be. His face looked pale, so the pain was present at every step Bessie took, although much less than walking.

Even with that, we hadn't crossed even a quarter of the distance before he was starting to make painful sounds. Turning back, I saw his face was even paler than before. So I stopped. And managed to catch Trimble before he slid off to the opposite side.

"This just isn't working." I said to no one but Bessie, as Trimble was unconscious. I centered him on her back again, balanced against another fall.

Sighing, I sized up the scene. Fireman's carry would have to do. At least his weight would be on my back, not in my arms. And Bessie should want to follow me back up to her shed. I'd already picked up the bucket, so she would follow that without having to be pulled by her halter. I untied my bandanna, and threaded it through the bucket bail-handle and my belt, so it would hang off my waist. With any luck, it wouldn't be in the way, and Bessie wouldn't try to put her head into it for more non-existent grain.

Taking Trimble's arm, I backed up against Bessie to grab his leg and bent down slightly to slide his weight onto my shoulders. With my right arm though and across his leg, I could hold onto his arm.

With any luck, he'd stay passed out until we could get back to the house.

The rest of the trip was pretty routine, once we got on one of Bessie's cow paths. I often let her graze in the woods when the pastures got too hot in the summer. She beat out several direct paths from the farm to the best grazing and back. Single-file was the only way to travel these. That clanking and squeaking steel bucket on my hip seemed to keep Bessie reminded of her promised grain this morning. Plus, her milk still needed relieving.

Me with a mini-male on my shoulders, leading a Jersey-brown milk cow through the woods. Again, no one else seeing this mini-parade of fools.

. . . .

I was able to let Bessie into the corral, and she went over to her feed bunk, expecting and finding what corn I left there. I stalked the rest of the way to the bunkhouse, where I was able to push its wide door open. I needed to find a place where I could set Trimble down as gently as possible. It had one remaining bunk, which was dusty from disuse, but padded. And the bunkhouse joined up with the main house through another door, so I could check in on him later.

He slid off my shoulders pretty simply, to a sitting position. Then I lowered him down and pulled the pillow out from under the tarp where he wouldn't have all that dust to breathe. That went under his head. And I moved his arms to his side and his legs together. Above the bunk was a shelf with some sturdy dark wool blankets. One of these would help keep his body heat.

I felt his injured leg again before I covered it over. Again, it felt just normal. My hands came away with no blood. Of course, what I knew of nymph anatomy was nothing. I felt his head - no fever. For what good that was.

He seemed to be sleeping now. His face was relaxed. Maybe with all the jostling and bumping over, he could just rest.

Not that I could. Having some flirty male nymph in my bunkhouse didn't mean I still didn't have to get that cow milked and the eggs collected. And I'd have to fix that gate before I could let Bessie out of the corral, so that meant pulling some hay down for her.

A thousand thoughts filled my mind. Trimble would have to just rest and wait until I could do whatever I was supposed to for him. But I pushed that train of thought off onto a side track so I could get the immediate chores done.