Speak with Hand

The grandfather clock which her mother had inherited from a twice removed cousin Donnygal was putting away in rhythmic fashion. Scrubbing on a pan she used to fry a slab of cauliflower in a butter reduction with copious pepper. Even now as she fought the pan her mind was absorbed in the flavors and aroma of the cracked long pepper, then her hand twitched.

She stepped back and tried to wrestle control back before allowing it autonomy. It did not beckon or flail. It moved as a cautious soul, testing the weight and reach of its limbs.

“You must tell me now, are you my friend!?” She shouted to her hand. It moved slowly in response, only subtle movements like a spider that’s being watched. Then it tried to move past where her wrist and arm went. It could twist from the wrist, but not move it totally. But she willingly moved her arm to help it explore.

It touched the drenched wooden bucket, years old wrinkled cracked wood which ridged the skin when pressed. Finding a blanket nearby, it relished the running through a forest of fuzzy frost, all wool but magical for the forlorn.

Havilah then asked, “were you alone before?” The hand paused, “I’m alone too. My mama is sick and even if I get her this medicine she won’t last long. She is old. Her body is toiled and battered. I just keep trying to make her stay. It’s selfish. I don’t want to be alone, im not strong enough. Men see me as an easy target. I know. I used to have friends, we would all spend nights by the riverbed. But three of them were boys and when my friend Elise left, it was only them. Kenneth, Tomas, and Hunter. They tried to hurt me. I told them no. Only my mama stepped in, she threatened to lop their heads off. That’s how she was, now it’s my turn to protect her.

The hand showed it’s palm to her as though peering. “I protect you, you protect me, okay?” she asked followed by a brief silence before she was whole once more.

+1 WIS

+1 STR