Marcus found his place in the line of work, hands steady and getting steadier with each bull calf that gave him experience. One calf at a time was guided down, flanks secured with practiced care, the process efficient and calm, the animals more confused than frightened. After each castration he placed his palm on the animal's back leg, letting his magic pulse down to sew together sinew and skin. The calf would still almost immediately, breath even, body relaxing as if the whole thing were little more than an odd interruption in its morning, before being let back up by the ground crew.
Wiping sweat from his brow and squinting in the sweltering heat, Marcus blinked. "The… what?" he asked, almost appaled. His expression twisted before he could stop it. He glanced down at the testicles still in his hand and felt his stomach roll. The idea that those would end up on a plate did not sound appetiing, but not wishing to gain any ill-will this far into his work, he did as he was told.
Marcus works and keeps the balls against his better judgement.
Wiping sweat from his brow and squinting in the sweltering heat, Marcus blinked. "The… what?" he asked, almost appaled. His expression twisted before he could stop it. He glanced down at the testicles still in his hand and felt his stomach roll. The idea that those would end up on a plate did not sound appetiing, but not wishing to gain any ill-will this far into his work, he did as he was told.
Marcus works and keeps the balls against his better judgement.
marcus
a song for a scribbled out name
