Righting Things (Braeldia) [May 3010]
Feb 26, 2019 23:24:59 GMT -5
Post by Wynfled on Feb 26, 2019 23:24:59 GMT -5
“Oh Mjúki!” Wynfled mourned, glaring daggers at the cat for brief moments, clenching handfuls of her cloth in her hands. Braeldia had taken the cat up in arms before Wynfled could shoo her away and she groaned deeply in exasperation as she stepped forward to touch the now imprinted rolls.
“Mjúki how could you?” the woman moaned as she clenched hands against her stomach and then moved to begin picking at the dough.
“You know better than this. You know you’re not allowed on the counter… oh, fool animals. You’re enough trouble as is… Braeldia I do not know how you stand to live with hounds, when cats do as much damage…” Rolls were pulled up and squished together. One could not feed cinnamon rolls that had been kneaded by cats to any living soul. All the better for the confounded birds to peck the dough, and Wynfled strode to the window with the ruined dough in hand and flung it out.
“Wynnie, what are you...” Bjarr appeared again near the window, after having been fixing the fence out front.
“It’s Mjúki,” Wynfled frowned, “He pounded the dough.” And so forlorn the words came from Wynfled’s mouth that the afternoon with Braeldia had gone so terribly, between falling in the river, and the dough, and everything a mess… she had been trying to work favor on the woman for the sake of her… beau… and nothing seemed to be going right.
Bjarr was leaning in the window. “Wynnie, don’t cry, it’s just a lump of dough, and look you have half left. Put them in the oven.”
“Oh,” Wynfled groaned, and her shoulders slumped. “I suppose you’re right.”
And there Mjúki sat in Braeldia’s arms, looking pleased with himself.
“Mjúki how could you?” the woman moaned as she clenched hands against her stomach and then moved to begin picking at the dough.
“You know better than this. You know you’re not allowed on the counter… oh, fool animals. You’re enough trouble as is… Braeldia I do not know how you stand to live with hounds, when cats do as much damage…” Rolls were pulled up and squished together. One could not feed cinnamon rolls that had been kneaded by cats to any living soul. All the better for the confounded birds to peck the dough, and Wynfled strode to the window with the ruined dough in hand and flung it out.
“Wynnie, what are you...” Bjarr appeared again near the window, after having been fixing the fence out front.
“It’s Mjúki,” Wynfled frowned, “He pounded the dough.” And so forlorn the words came from Wynfled’s mouth that the afternoon with Braeldia had gone so terribly, between falling in the river, and the dough, and everything a mess… she had been trying to work favor on the woman for the sake of her… beau… and nothing seemed to be going right.
Bjarr was leaning in the window. “Wynnie, don’t cry, it’s just a lump of dough, and look you have half left. Put them in the oven.”
“Oh,” Wynfled groaned, and her shoulders slumped. “I suppose you’re right.”
And there Mjúki sat in Braeldia’s arms, looking pleased with himself.