RORY
i told the stars about you
Rory's life had a rather distinct pattern: he woke up, he ate something, he worked hard on various things (there was always something that needed fixing), he ate some more, and eventually went and crashed in bed. There wasn't much time for social niceties, barely even time to go into the Settlement and barter for things he actually needed. Left alone with a workload that had always been shared by at least two he found that while he could manage it, it had begun to wear him out in a way he had not experienced before.Because between everything that needed doing around the farm—feeding, weeding, making sure goats and ponies were healthy, the kiddings weren't over, the occasional slaughter, putting debris away, fixing broken fencing, watering, the list goes on ad infinitum—he still had his leatherworking business to take care of. While he was fairly self-sufficient on the farm, it was the leatherworking orders that actually afforded him a bit of freedom. Flour, baked goods, his own projects, a safety fund in case of drought or an accident—it was possible only because of what he did.
He was in the workshop that afternoon. Upon his desk sat a small parcel, wrapped up in bright cloth and tied off with a string. He threw it pensive glances every so often, as if unsure about it, like it might pop up and bite him at any moment.
His hands were busy working on what was to become a leather jerkin, carefully punching holes along the edges of long strips of thin leather, so that he could eventually stitch it together. Right now, though, it just looked like a mess, but he knew exactly what he was doing.
There was a hint of dark shadows under his blue eyes, which once again drifted to the little parcel, before returning to his work, when he heard the sound of a distant knock through the open workshop door. A moment later, Vaya barked from the goat pen. "I'm in the workshop!" he called out.
