I'll finish my work.

I returned from my break with a spring in my step and a whistle upon my lips. Everything was going swimmingly, aside from my near-**** experience a few days back. I didn't really have a goal, admittedly, but I had the seeds of an inkling of a fragment of a plan.

It was nearly dusk by the time I finished with the stables, and I was starting to feel somewhat hungry; for food, not the other kind. I put up the pitchfork, stretching out, and started towards the double-doors. Then, to my surprise, a silhouette appeared in the way. I took a step back in surprise, putting myself closer to the pitchfork by habit. My hand crept towards my dagger, but came up empty; I'd left it in the barn.

"Howdy, stranger." A masculine voice reached me. It wasn't Donnie, and it took me a moment to guess the identity of the man; I'd never heard him talk, but I suspected this was the son.

"Yeah. Howdy." I said, plastering on a smile.

"Oh, calm down, I ain't gonna attack you or squeal on you."

"Oh?" I said, thinking quickly. There was something about what he said, the way of it or the words. "Care to explain?"

"One second." He said, starting to close the doors. "Could use some privacy. Told pa I'd be roughing you up ta remind you of yer place."

I leaned back against a wall, feeling sparks of curiosity flare. He was, if my guess was right, implying that he'd found out about either my midnight escapades, or about my little outing in the outhouse. More interesting was that he wasn't going to squeal, which implied he wanted something other that my being murdered by his father. My merchant nose smelt the chance for profit.

"I take it I'll have to take a few lumps after, to keep your pa placated." I steepled my fingers, focusing my eyes on him. Suddenly the colors of the dim stables became brighter and I could see him with daylight clarity; a hunger rose in me at the same moment.

"Probably." The young man, I wish I could remember his name, smiled. He seemed perfectly calm, and I suddenly felt a chill. I hadn't even thought about the boy since the moment I met the family; he was almost perfectly non-descript. He had medium brown hair and dark brown eyes, he was neither skinny or fat, or tall or short, ugly or handsome. He was so blaringly generic it was almost scary. I had to assume he knew everything, or risk being surprised. "But, I doubt it'll hurt you overly. You healed from starved pretty damn quick. I assume that's parcel of your 'curse'?"

"I'm guessing you don't think very highly of my 'curse'."

"No, I think real highly of it," He smiled, spreading his hands. "Considering how quickly you turned my mother into a cock-hungry whore."