Little Volka's birthday was coming up. Iroia reminded him one day, randomly, over one of their battles. Otherwise he would neither have known or cared. Such a celebration held no meaning to him as anything more than one of 'those' things that other people did. However, it involved Volka, and it involved Iroia, and so he couldn't ignore it.
Birthdays, she had also reminded him, involved gifts. Gifts, he didn't think were a problem. He'd given Volka plenty of gifts when she was little, and she'd given him plenty too. Of course, then, what they'd had was shared. Survival made possession a stupid, silly idea.
Now, though, she could own things of her own. But what would she want? Weapons? Ruelash couldn't get her a weapon – he knew nothing about crossbows and she had a perfectly good dagger. But what else was there in life?
Clothes
Clothes were always useful to protect against the elements! But what could Ruelash get for her? Or, better yet, make? Making things for each other had always been something they did, so that would work. Ruelash could make a coat, but it was too warm here in the jungle for a coat. Coats were hard besides, and the things he made didn't always fit well, or comfortably. They were too comfortable, and there were too many things to keep track of when making clothes.
Except... There was a simple item of clothing that Ruelash felt he might be able to make – a skirt! That was it! It was just some cloth, and a tighter bit, and he could make it pretty by sewing stuff onto it. Of course, little Volka was not so little anymore, but with a skirt he didn't have to figure out all the little measurements and stuff.
He grinned – yeah! That was what he was going to do!
He bought the cloth – something pretty, durable, and light. Volka would appreciate that, wouldn't she? He bought a few decals to sew on – they'd weight it down or something, so that it wouldn't ride up. The fish ones were especially nice – silvery and gorogorum like, from a wind trader in Neued.
That had been something he and Volka had talked about – whether to hunt the gorogorum, where the new air holes were in the lake near their cave. For a while, she'd been drawing them on the walls, too. So it would be nice – a fish skirt.
Why not, right?
----
Skirts were much harder than he thought. He growled, flinging half-curses half-snarls into the air as he – yet again – managed to stab himself in the hand with his sewing needle. His hands were hurting, and he was pretty sure that skirts were not supposed to look like random tatters of patched cloth. He grumbled angrily and threw the whole mess at a nearby Tale tree.
“Chi take you.” he snarled at the pile of cloth and tangled thread. Daylight had long faded, leaving only himself, his fire, and the smell of burnt wood and food. Grumpily, he ate some of it and went to sleep.
He'd have to find something else to give her...
Reply
