(no subject)
Jan. 2nd, 2026 02:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
renfysSo, I started writing something and it's more worldbuilding than it is a story, but enjoy.
1630 words
Rated G
Fantasy setting.
Tali is late starting the house this year.
Normally they would start in September, when the flowers were done growing and the platforms that are hung between them are secured, pulled taught between the green stems of the bright violet flowers they call home. The first mushrooms of the season start appearing in Augus and they're fully grown now, long overdue for harvesting by time Tali gets starting on hollowing out the beige mushroom he found just outside the village. It's already getting cold, the October chill is growing, and the nights are shortening. It's already too cold to sleep in the spring leaf house his father had made just seven months ago. The leaves are brown, dry, too dry to risk a fire but with the old man gone and Tali's brother away - who knows where - there are extra blankets. He's made a nest of them as far from the doorway as possible and found a spare leaf to add to the door to help with the breeze. Still, he's cold at night and it doesn't help with the motivation to hollow out the mushroom. It's warm work, but he doesn't want to get up in the morning and do it.
As he digs out the inside, he realised it's way too big for just him. He picked a mushroom the same size as last year, the same size as always. He chooses the mushroom his father would've chosen. They chose the mushroom that would accommodate the family, the whole family.
But his mum was long gone, and their brother in the wilderness and now, now his father has gone too he doesn't need such a big mushroom, they don't need the room. There is no they. Just him. He doesn't need bedrooms or room to entertain the neighbours or a dining room for four.
It's too late to start over on a new mushroom, far too late, but Tali supposed he could still have a room set aside for his brother in case he came back. And he could have a bigger room for himself. And perhaps people would still want to see him, still want to spend evenings in his company without the gregarious character his brother Reth is, without his mother's cooking and his father's quiet wisdom.
Once enough room has been carved out of mushroom, Tali moves some of his things in - just enough bedding and food to sleep comfortably and have breakfast and snacks. It's warmer than the leaves, even without the door in place. Without the honey and wax coating, it smells of mushroom and damp but given that Tali is spending all day digging it out, it doesn't bother them much. It's part of the work, the ritual; the smell of mushroom becomes the smell of honey and then when it's set and a few weeks have past, the smell of the cold winter air and warm meals cooking will set in until spring.
Tali knows it won't quite be that simple, he can bake but his father did all the cooking after his mother passed and without him Tali knows his meals with be simple, less aromatic, hardly enough to fill the mushroom with scents that have your jumping down to their ground lever rather than struggling with the rope ladder.
As more of the mushroom is carved out, Talie thinks about decorating. Perhaps just a few pictures or maybe some dye mixed in with the wax. It's a nice daydream to have while digging out. evening he decides on green and wastes a day looking for the right leaves to add to the wax and realising it's too late in the season. Any green leaves are already fading, and the pines are too far awa to be worth the trip. A long hot summer has left the grass dry, and, in the end, Tali finds out blackberries. Purple will have to do and it's just another reminder of how far behind he is.
There is a sense of achievement in a finished mushroom his father always said. A leaf house is easy; the sap does all the work but with mushrooms there's graft. His father liked the word graft, liked how it sounded, moaned regularly about how the river folk didn't understand graft. How they built one house, in twigs or soil and were done. One and done. Tali didn't understand it either, but then, he'd only ever lived in the grasses, only ever done this; year after year since they were old enough to hold a shovel. His great-grandfather’s shovel. River folk didn't even own shovels, let alone ones passed down for generations.
No sense of family history his father said.
As Tali scrounged up enough wax for the walls and the last sap for the door leaves, they thought the River folk might be onto something with the one and done.
It's harder alone, he reminds himself. Reth was strong, his father a grafter. Talie aways worked hard but was under no illusion on how much he contributed compared to them. Even as the end nears and the front door is roped into place, and the hinges are miraculously level. Even as he managed to find an old pane of glass of the windows - family glass - it's hard work. Even as the damp mushroom smells because warm honey and blackberry that he's sure he's managed to get in his nose, it's hard work.
Every task feels like a graft, like it needs two people at least, everything from moving in the cooking pots to hanging the curtains - all passed down from some distant relative or ancestor that Tali can't remember the name of, or exactly how they're related. The bedding is already in the mushroom, but it needs moving upstairs and the rope ladder was installed early but needs readjusting and even when he's finally done and dusted - literally - even just sitting in the house feels like hard work.
So, when the voice from the doorway says, "It didn't need to be such a graft," Talie considers hitting someone for the first time.
Except Reth us standing in the doorway, with long haor and a smart waistcoat of leather and Tali doesn't know how to react.
Anger, it seems, it still the way to go but even as he winds up for a punch, or a slap, or a sharp word, Reth puts a hand on his shoulder to hold him back.
Tali collapses into a soft chair that belonged to a great aunt that had needed restuffing this year,
"I heard about dad," Reth says, something odd about their voice Tali doesn’t understand, "word came down the river."
When Reth steps into the house Tali finally looks at him properly. Reth is wearing a skirt, the beard is gone, the haor is longer and the face thinner, a little more pointed. It's not the same person that left to explore down the river a few years ago but it's definitely Reth.
"I didn't need you to come back," Tali says.
"I know."
"Is, is this why you left?" he asks, waving a hand up and down at Reth.
"No, but it's why I stayed away," Reth says. "I wanted to explore, do down the river, dad never would have understood."
That's true enough their father had a lot of opinions on River folk and none of them good. Tali isn't sure how they would take Rith coming back as a woman; it could've gone another way. Tali is aware the most likely outcome would be begrudging support to Reth's face and ranting about River folk indoctrinating him.
"Have you changed your name?" Tali asks, not sure if it's actually polite to ask that. "And -other stuff?"
He's not even sure what other stuff he's asking about, not sure he really wants to know but his brother - no, sister - smiles anyway, and sits down on the chair that had once belonged to a second or third cousin of their mothers who hadn't had children to pass it down to.
"Yes, I took on Eiran."
"The whole name?" Tali asks.
"Yes."
"Is that what the River folk do?"
Eirian shakes her head.
"Would it matter if they did? I have chosen a name for me, a life, a gender, an appearance. It's all for me and my life."
"It's hard to imagine such a thing," Tali admits.
"All your life, all our lives, have been about others. Family names, family things, family lives. Until I left, I had done nothing for myself, my name wasn't my own, my life wasn't my own. Even the clothes I wore were passed down to me from family. I didn't even know who I was until I left."
Tali doesn't disagree.
All he's done since his father died, since Reth left, since they've been alone, is to do the same things he's always done, lived life the same way he always had.
But he doesn't know anything else.
"Are you staying?" he asks. "You can, if you wanted," he adds hastily because he really wants her to stay.
"I could," she says, "seeing as you made enough room."
Tali laughs at that.
"It was habit," he says. "Much like everything else."
"I will stay on one condition," Eirian says.
"Which is?"
"We leave the field together," she says. "Not for good, not if you don't want to, but come with me to the river, for a while."
Tali thinks it over, they haven't known anything else, only the field.
"You don't have to change your name, your gender, or even your clothes, but come, and see something else. Do something else."
"I can come back?" Tali asks, looking around the home they've spent weeks making.
"Whenever you want," Eirian says.
"Okay," he says and Eirian smiles and lights up in a way he can't ever remember her doing before. "Welcome home Eirian," he adds.
"Thank you, it's good to see you."
"You too."
It is, he realises, it's good to see their sibling, see her as she is and to see her happy and healthy and in the home he made too big out of habit but she's here to fill it.
1630 words
Rated G
Fantasy setting.
Link to A03 or read below:
Enter your cut contents here.
Tali is late starting the house this year.
Normally they would start in September, when the flowers were done growing and the platforms that are hung between them are secured, pulled taught between the green stems of the bright violet flowers they call home. The first mushrooms of the season start appearing in Augus and they're fully grown now, long overdue for harvesting by time Tali gets starting on hollowing out the beige mushroom he found just outside the village. It's already getting cold, the October chill is growing, and the nights are shortening. It's already too cold to sleep in the spring leaf house his father had made just seven months ago. The leaves are brown, dry, too dry to risk a fire but with the old man gone and Tali's brother away - who knows where - there are extra blankets. He's made a nest of them as far from the doorway as possible and found a spare leaf to add to the door to help with the breeze. Still, he's cold at night and it doesn't help with the motivation to hollow out the mushroom. It's warm work, but he doesn't want to get up in the morning and do it.
As he digs out the inside, he realised it's way too big for just him. He picked a mushroom the same size as last year, the same size as always. He chooses the mushroom his father would've chosen. They chose the mushroom that would accommodate the family, the whole family.
But his mum was long gone, and their brother in the wilderness and now, now his father has gone too he doesn't need such a big mushroom, they don't need the room. There is no they. Just him. He doesn't need bedrooms or room to entertain the neighbours or a dining room for four.
It's too late to start over on a new mushroom, far too late, but Tali supposed he could still have a room set aside for his brother in case he came back. And he could have a bigger room for himself. And perhaps people would still want to see him, still want to spend evenings in his company without the gregarious character his brother Reth is, without his mother's cooking and his father's quiet wisdom.
Once enough room has been carved out of mushroom, Tali moves some of his things in - just enough bedding and food to sleep comfortably and have breakfast and snacks. It's warmer than the leaves, even without the door in place. Without the honey and wax coating, it smells of mushroom and damp but given that Tali is spending all day digging it out, it doesn't bother them much. It's part of the work, the ritual; the smell of mushroom becomes the smell of honey and then when it's set and a few weeks have past, the smell of the cold winter air and warm meals cooking will set in until spring.
Tali knows it won't quite be that simple, he can bake but his father did all the cooking after his mother passed and without him Tali knows his meals with be simple, less aromatic, hardly enough to fill the mushroom with scents that have your jumping down to their ground lever rather than struggling with the rope ladder.
As more of the mushroom is carved out, Talie thinks about decorating. Perhaps just a few pictures or maybe some dye mixed in with the wax. It's a nice daydream to have while digging out. evening he decides on green and wastes a day looking for the right leaves to add to the wax and realising it's too late in the season. Any green leaves are already fading, and the pines are too far awa to be worth the trip. A long hot summer has left the grass dry, and, in the end, Tali finds out blackberries. Purple will have to do and it's just another reminder of how far behind he is.
There is a sense of achievement in a finished mushroom his father always said. A leaf house is easy; the sap does all the work but with mushrooms there's graft. His father liked the word graft, liked how it sounded, moaned regularly about how the river folk didn't understand graft. How they built one house, in twigs or soil and were done. One and done. Tali didn't understand it either, but then, he'd only ever lived in the grasses, only ever done this; year after year since they were old enough to hold a shovel. His great-grandfather’s shovel. River folk didn't even own shovels, let alone ones passed down for generations.
No sense of family history his father said.
As Tali scrounged up enough wax for the walls and the last sap for the door leaves, they thought the River folk might be onto something with the one and done.
It's harder alone, he reminds himself. Reth was strong, his father a grafter. Talie aways worked hard but was under no illusion on how much he contributed compared to them. Even as the end nears and the front door is roped into place, and the hinges are miraculously level. Even as he managed to find an old pane of glass of the windows - family glass - it's hard work. Even as the damp mushroom smells because warm honey and blackberry that he's sure he's managed to get in his nose, it's hard work.
Every task feels like a graft, like it needs two people at least, everything from moving in the cooking pots to hanging the curtains - all passed down from some distant relative or ancestor that Tali can't remember the name of, or exactly how they're related. The bedding is already in the mushroom, but it needs moving upstairs and the rope ladder was installed early but needs readjusting and even when he's finally done and dusted - literally - even just sitting in the house feels like hard work.
So, when the voice from the doorway says, "It didn't need to be such a graft," Talie considers hitting someone for the first time.
Except Reth us standing in the doorway, with long haor and a smart waistcoat of leather and Tali doesn't know how to react.
Anger, it seems, it still the way to go but even as he winds up for a punch, or a slap, or a sharp word, Reth puts a hand on his shoulder to hold him back.
Tali collapses into a soft chair that belonged to a great aunt that had needed restuffing this year,
"I heard about dad," Reth says, something odd about their voice Tali doesn’t understand, "word came down the river."
When Reth steps into the house Tali finally looks at him properly. Reth is wearing a skirt, the beard is gone, the haor is longer and the face thinner, a little more pointed. It's not the same person that left to explore down the river a few years ago but it's definitely Reth.
"I didn't need you to come back," Tali says.
"I know."
"Is, is this why you left?" he asks, waving a hand up and down at Reth.
"No, but it's why I stayed away," Reth says. "I wanted to explore, do down the river, dad never would have understood."
That's true enough their father had a lot of opinions on River folk and none of them good. Tali isn't sure how they would take Rith coming back as a woman; it could've gone another way. Tali is aware the most likely outcome would be begrudging support to Reth's face and ranting about River folk indoctrinating him.
"Have you changed your name?" Tali asks, not sure if it's actually polite to ask that. "And -other stuff?"
He's not even sure what other stuff he's asking about, not sure he really wants to know but his brother - no, sister - smiles anyway, and sits down on the chair that had once belonged to a second or third cousin of their mothers who hadn't had children to pass it down to.
"Yes, I took on Eiran."
"The whole name?" Tali asks.
"Yes."
"Is that what the River folk do?"
Eirian shakes her head.
"Would it matter if they did? I have chosen a name for me, a life, a gender, an appearance. It's all for me and my life."
"It's hard to imagine such a thing," Tali admits.
"All your life, all our lives, have been about others. Family names, family things, family lives. Until I left, I had done nothing for myself, my name wasn't my own, my life wasn't my own. Even the clothes I wore were passed down to me from family. I didn't even know who I was until I left."
Tali doesn't disagree.
All he's done since his father died, since Reth left, since they've been alone, is to do the same things he's always done, lived life the same way he always had.
But he doesn't know anything else.
"Are you staying?" he asks. "You can, if you wanted," he adds hastily because he really wants her to stay.
"I could," she says, "seeing as you made enough room."
Tali laughs at that.
"It was habit," he says. "Much like everything else."
"I will stay on one condition," Eirian says.
"Which is?"
"We leave the field together," she says. "Not for good, not if you don't want to, but come with me to the river, for a while."
Tali thinks it over, they haven't known anything else, only the field.
"You don't have to change your name, your gender, or even your clothes, but come, and see something else. Do something else."
"I can come back?" Tali asks, looking around the home they've spent weeks making.
"Whenever you want," Eirian says.
"Okay," he says and Eirian smiles and lights up in a way he can't ever remember her doing before. "Welcome home Eirian," he adds.
"Thank you, it's good to see you."
"You too."
It is, he realises, it's good to see their sibling, see her as she is and to see her happy and healthy and in the home he made too big out of habit but she's here to fill it.