Nate !
Nathaniel’s dark eyes narrow, his features closing off just slightly, as the stranger disappears around the house. Some part of him wants to follow, to keep her in sight. The dog obliges for him, though, and Nathaniel returns to finish mucking out the chicken coop.
They return soon enough: the woman, the wheelbarrow, the dog a large grey sentinel behind her. It sniffs with dignified interest at her heels, its tail curling high over its back. As they draw near, Nathaniel straightens up to watch, intrigued despite himself. He can’t think of any good ulterior motive for this help, though he certainly tries.
“Rexanna,” he repeats, doubt lacing every syllable. Nathaniel’s own voice is flat, though not because he wants to convey disinterest. He turns to scoop up a shovel from the pile he’s made and drop it into the barrow. Should he give her his name? Yes — he probably should. “I’m Nathaniel.” He almost adds, I live here, but that’s an embarrassingly obvious thing to say and he catches himself just in time. Continues filling up the wheelbarrow instead. “This is first.”
Once it’s full, Nathaniel straightens and gestures toward a spot in the distance, near the edge of the trees. “It gets dumped over there.” He gives her a second glance. Can she wheel it all the way over there? She is small… He doesn’t want to ask her to do something she can’t. He can’t tell by looking what her occupation might be, and he certainly doesn’t recognize her. “The rugs inside need to come out,” he adds after a moment, internally wincing at the idea of this stranger wandering around loose in his house. “And the porch needs to be fixed…” but he could do that later. “Actually — have a look in the nesting boxes,” Nate instructs, gesturing at the chicken coop. Free of straw and manure at least, it shouldn't be too unpleasant unless there are a lot of broken eggs.
Telling anyone else what to do makes him feel like an asshole, but he can’t exactly take it back. “If there are any worthwhile eggs in there, you can keep them.” That should be fair. He moves to take the wheelbarrow himself once she’s out of the way, adding, “So, did you just come out here to do good deeds?”
They return soon enough: the woman, the wheelbarrow, the dog a large grey sentinel behind her. It sniffs with dignified interest at her heels, its tail curling high over its back. As they draw near, Nathaniel straightens up to watch, intrigued despite himself. He can’t think of any good ulterior motive for this help, though he certainly tries.
“Rexanna,” he repeats, doubt lacing every syllable. Nathaniel’s own voice is flat, though not because he wants to convey disinterest. He turns to scoop up a shovel from the pile he’s made and drop it into the barrow. Should he give her his name? Yes — he probably should. “I’m Nathaniel.” He almost adds, I live here, but that’s an embarrassingly obvious thing to say and he catches himself just in time. Continues filling up the wheelbarrow instead. “This is first.”
Once it’s full, Nathaniel straightens and gestures toward a spot in the distance, near the edge of the trees. “It gets dumped over there.” He gives her a second glance. Can she wheel it all the way over there? She is small… He doesn’t want to ask her to do something she can’t. He can’t tell by looking what her occupation might be, and he certainly doesn’t recognize her. “The rugs inside need to come out,” he adds after a moment, internally wincing at the idea of this stranger wandering around loose in his house. “And the porch needs to be fixed…” but he could do that later. “Actually — have a look in the nesting boxes,” Nate instructs, gesturing at the chicken coop. Free of straw and manure at least, it shouldn't be too unpleasant unless there are a lot of broken eggs.
Telling anyone else what to do makes him feel like an asshole, but he can’t exactly take it back. “If there are any worthwhile eggs in there, you can keep them.” That should be fair. He moves to take the wheelbarrow himself once she’s out of the way, adding, “So, did you just come out here to do good deeds?”
