chsdbacks #724 - Giant's Footprints, Mortal Abyss
#724 - Giant's Footprints, Mortal Abyss
Not long after the enraged envoy from Smashed Rock Plains left, news arrived from the border.
Piles of shepherds' heads were stacked into a small pyramid, and except for those daring Norn merchants, no one dared to sell wool on the border anymore.
In just one month, wool imports to Smashed Rock Plains decreased by 30% to 50%, while prices rose by more than 20%.
For the nobles of Smashed Rock Plains, the loss was not that great.
Because Smashed Rock Plains has a special geographical location, its climate and hydrological conditions are comparable to those of several mountain counties in Thousand River Valley, with agriculture only possible in some river valley basins.
Its greatest advantage lies in its abundant pasture resources and a warm and humid environment suitable for raising sheep.
Therefore, the people of Smashed Rock Plains are divided into two categories: shepherds who build huts on the wasteland to raise cattle and sheep, and farmers who build cities and cultivate the land in the river valley areas.
Currently, most of the nobles in Smashed Rock Plains are agricultural nobles, and they were also the first Norns to convert to the Misella faith.
The nobles of Smashed Rock Plains, who controlled the vital land and water routes and grain supply, relied on grain and knights to force the shepherds to work for them.
They exchanged high-priced grain and water for low-priced wool.
In other words, the tax in the Smashed Rock Plains region is in sheep, not in cash.
The biggest advantage of wool from Smashed Rock Plains being able to compete with wool from Golden Fleece Beach is its cheapness.
And this cheapness is entirely built on the suffering of the shepherds.
Previously, when Thousand River Valley was blockaded, the nobles did not need to rely on Thousand River Valley to digest wool; it was a spontaneous trade by the folk shepherds.
They were only greedy for the profits of this trade, but after being severely beaten by Melia Tey, they did not dare to directly help the Leia people invade Thousand River Valley.
From the perspective of Horne or even a group of high-ranking monks, life was just a little harder.
But in South Mound County, for some families who depended on this for a living, it was simply the end of the world.
Before twilight penetrated the mist of South Mound County, old Raffer was already squatting in the cowshed, milking the animal.
The black and white cow mooed in a low voice, its black and pink udder rising and falling between old Raffer's rough palms, and tiny bubbles appeared in the tin bucket.
This Norn cow, which cost him four months' wages as a weaver, was now looking at him with gentle almond eyes, its nostrils exhaling white air that formed ice crystals in the cold wind.
"A little more effort and it'll be half a bucket full," old Raffer's wife said, wrapped in a faded wool shawl, standing outside the fence, as if comforting the cow and encouraging old Raffer.
"It can be exchanged for three pounds of rye at the market."
Whether it was an illusion or not, old Raffer felt that her voice was like a broken branch scraped by the north wind, with fine cracks.
Fifteen-year-old little Raffer suddenly poked his head out from behind the woodpile, his nose red with cold: "Dad, can I have a sip? To taste the saltiness..."
"This is for selling!" The mother's voice suddenly became sharp, startling the cow to wag its tail, and little Raffer was even more frightened.
"If you don't give it, then don't give it, what are you yelling about?" Little Raffer thought his complaint hadn't been heard, but he felt a tearing pain in his ear.
"You're going to learn accounting from Brother Ansel later. Your Uncle Laroel gave you the spot, but all you can think about is eating!"
Old Raffer looked at his son, who was screaming like a pig being slaughtered, his face round but full of frost and cracked wounds.
The milky white liquid swayed in the bucket, and he suddenly pushed the tin bucket in front of the boy: "Drink."
When little Raffer's greedy swallowing sound rang out, the mother turned her face away, and the red light of the setting sun leaking from the roof of the cowshed shone on her trembling shoulders.
Those silver coins that were originally used to buy a new spinning wheel, those whirring sounds of the loom in the deep night, were now all turned into milk foam on the lips of the cow-drinking boy.
They had saved up the money they had before, and borrowed some more, before they bought this cow.
Now that the price of wool has risen and the volume of trade has decreased, Brother Ansel is even processing materials at a loss at the original price, but after all, only a very few people can be allocated this qualification.
Old Raffer failed to draw the red ball from the cloth bag.
As dusk dyed the thatched roof red, the stew in the cast iron pot was boiling.
The mother, returning from the cowshed, took out the venison wrapped in oil paper from the deepest part of the oak cabinet—this was left over from last year's Holy Spirit Festival, and the edges were already turning blue-gray.
She sprinkled on the last bit of rosemary, and the sound of the oil sizzling at the bottom of the pot echoed the evening bells of the village chapel.
"Eat." The mother handed the plate to her husband.
When the golden-brown steak was brought to the table, little Raffer's Adam's apple immediately rolled violently, and he looked at his father like a puppy.
The mother's copper spoon fell with a whoosh, and red marks instantly appeared on the boy's hand, just like the evening crescent moon.
"This is for your father!" The woman's voice was like a broken piano string.
Old Raffer didn't seem to see it, and cut half of the steak with a chipped knife and pushed it to his son, oil splattering on the rough linen tablecloth, blurring into dark spots.
"The vultures of Smashed Rock Plains can't carry away my bones." His thick voice shook the pickled vegetable soup in the earthenware bowl, rippling, "When I come back from the border sentry post, I can not only pay off the debt, but also buy three more cows."
The mother, who was still grabbing her son's ear, suddenly covered her face with her apron, and sobs leaked from behind the coarse cloth, mixed with the crackling sound of the charcoal exploding in the stove:
"That white-eyed she-wolf Melia Tey, we're being bullied like this, and she actually rejected the proposal to attack Smashed Rock Plains..."
"The people of Smashed Rock Plains are bullying us so much, and she doesn't say a word.
How long has she been a despotic duke, and it was the Holy Grandson who finally gave us a good life..."
"If I had known, I would have chosen His Majesty as the despotic duke. The people of North Mound County said they couldn't make sausages without spices, and he immediately went to conquer Black Serpent Bay..."
"Foolish woman!" Old Raffer's fist slammed the wooden table, shaking it, "Do you think spiced meat can fill your stomach?"
The roar startled the crows under the eaves, and the sound of fluttering wings came in the night.
"If you have the ability, go and shout at Melia Tey, you only know how to bully me!"
"Is that a problem you can talk about? We can be like this now, all thanks to the Holy Father's grace..."
Taking advantage of the quarrel between his parents, little Raffer quickly freed his ear from his mother's hand and stuffed the meat into his mouth.
The oil flowed down his chin from the corners of his mouth, and like Pigsy eating ginseng fruit, he sucked the steak into his stomach with a "burp--" of satisfaction.
After finishing dinner, the family was still silent.
Little Raffer and old Raffer practiced with short swords in front of the fireplace, while the mother sat next to the packed luggage, sewing clothes with tears.
As the moonlight climbed up the holly treetops, Laroel staggered into the yard with a pottery jar: "Cousin, I brought you some wine."
Smelling the aroma of wine, old Raffer immediately rushed out of the house, looking at the thin Laroel, he said with some jealousy: "You lucky dog, you've gotten on good terms with Brother Ansel, and you won the lottery again this time."
Laroel smiled bitterly: "The damned Smashed Rock Plains people have inflated the price of wool more expensive than velvet, and I can barely pay the loan. Can we talk inside?"
"Let's talk outside, like when we were kids."
The two men squatted next to the millstone, drinking honey wine brewed from acorns with wooden cups.
"This time I go to the border, the family is up to you."
"Don't worry, no one will bully them."
"If I don't come back in three years, you can sleep in Tatari's bed."
Laroel suddenly turned his head, carefully discerned it, and shook his head after confirming that old Raffer was not joking: "She will poke my eyes out with a spinning wheel."
"She will understand." Old Raffer looked at the window lattice revealing the dim light, and the murmuring sound of little Raffer reciting the multiplication table could be vaguely heard, "Just like your old man stuffed half a bag of your family's last bag of oats to my mother."
"My mother was furious at the time, and even came over to argue."
"Yes, in the end, it was your old man who pulled her away..."
As the morning star rose, the sound of the cow ruminating came from the cowshed, and the sound of troop carriers rolling over the frozen earth awakened the entire village.
Tatari stuffed her husband's wool socks into a canvas bag, and suddenly felt the iron ring hidden in the bottom of the sock.
This was a gift from the old blacksmith when they got married, and the iris pattern on the ring surface had long been smoothed by the years.
When the sleepy little Raffer chased to the entrance of the village, the morning mist wet his linen shirt, sticking tightly to his back.
He saw his father throw the wine pot to Laroel, saw his mother clenching the ring until her knuckles turned white, and saw the ruts carving two dark scars on the frosted ground.
Just like the gold thread edging on the robe of the Smashed Rock Plains envoy.