Almatter Farm I: The Ring

3/27/2026

Worldbuilding and storytelling. Directly related to Ordin Willowbrim's Diary.

There truly was too much work for just two young women here on this property. It was all we could do to keep place clean and the groundhogs under control. A massive pig sty with no pigs. Bales of hay for just two sheep. An animal-driven plow with no ox or ass to pull it. I hauled on my oversized muck boots and apron, securing them with fabric strips so I wouldn't be hampered by their size as I mentally plotted out the day. 

Our dairy cow Drina was still inconsolable. She cried out all through the night and continued rush the pen gate when we entered the barn, panicked and straining at the wooden posts on her pen. Her udders remained swollen despite daily milking and nursing. Her calf, so tiny it could be a twin, did not leave its spot in the corner. The poor thing trembled despite the pleasant weather and blanket draped over it and its eyes remained transfixed on the groundhog-burrow on the other side of the barn. I sighed and made a mental note to cover it up before one of the animals stepped in it and hurt themselves. 

Come to think of it, I couldn't remember ever actually seeing any of the pests. After a few minutes, I was able to calm Drina enough to collect some milk, and coax her calf into feeding. Running my hand through its shaggy brown fur, my eyes landed on the golden ring on my finger. I caught myself smiling softly, despite the throbbing in my temples. 

As I scrubbed the milk buckets clean, I planned how to best deal with the groundhog problem. I could try to use one of the bows around the property, but they were too heavy for me to draw to full. They were all wrong too, arrow rests on the wrong side as if they were made for an awkward-handed hunter. Same story as the wheat scythe, too, actually. Every damn tool on this farm was too big for me and my sister, built like they were made for some left-handed man. I idly fingered the golden band on my left hand. --My thoughts fell on it and I realized I couldn't remember where I'd gotten it. Was it a gift from my mother? No, that was all wrong, the inscription on the inside had a man's name. 

My breath hitched. M.. Mar... Mark? Panic rising, I dropped the milk buckets. My mind reeled. The pounding headache returned instantly. I tore the band from my finger, ignoring the sting, and felt for the indented letters. I could not read them through the tears. I choked back hysterical sobs and clawed at my eyes, trying to clear them. My blood was ice. I couldn't breathe. 

The memories flitted to life and then away like sparks from an anvil no matter how hard I clung to them. A kind face. A gentle laugh. A broad chest that quivered as he read his vows. Strong hands wrapped around mine, guiding a left-handed arrow into proper position on the bow. Summer afternoons spent chasing the hogs we'd been gifted after the wedding feast- Then nothing. Gone like sand passing through fingers.

"Forever Always, Marcus & Lucille", it read. Then, something like fingernails nails against steel flooded my ears, drowning out the wild, desperate laughter coming from my throat. It was a terrible, nonsensical melody. It came from everywhere at once. No. It was always there. How had I never noticed? I threw my wedding band as far as I could and screamed. --

I woke up under a blanket with a warm towel on my forehead, my sister's hands on mine, stroking gently. I could still feel the chill of the damp soil on my clothes. I could still see the pale, vaguely humanoid face full of jagged teeth from my dreams. 

"We should sell this farmstead and move to the city, Lucille. The work's getting to you. Getting to me too. We've barely got enough wood to keep ourselves warm this winter, much less the animals. and that damnable axe is too big for either of us to chop with any kind of speed. Terrible purchase, was that me or you?"

You could see the gears in her mind turning as she paused. Her eyes turned cloudy for just a moment as they welled with tears we both ignored. 

"Hell, we've got a single sheep and a dairy cow, we could probably bring them inside to warm up with us. Doesn't speak well to our chances at market this season, though. Especially if you keep knocking half our milk stock over every time you have an episode."

My thoughts wandered as I answered her absent-mindedly. I couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness, the pang of longing in my chest, the sensation of emptiness in a deep place.

"We still don't even have an ox to hook up to that old plow. What are we going to do this spring with a half-tilled field that's infested with groundhogs?"

I fidgeted with my empty ring finger, half-expecting to find cool metal there. She was right. There was so much land to maintain with such few hands and animals. Why the hell did we buy such a large estate? What was the plan? Was there even one? More pain.

After an hour, I was able to push the headache aside and climbed out of the bed, pawing at watery eyes. Hazy, upsetting thoughts of the land deed sitting among my documents -with six names on it, no less- came and went; I had to be misremembering, because only three people lived and worked on this farm. Wait... Three? No, two people. Me and my sister. We continued the day's errands together, a somber quiet settling between us. I wondered if she was as sad as I was, but couldn't bring myself to ask. 

We split for our final rounds, and my last task was a check-in on Drina. The poor dairy cow seemed despondent. She was probably lonely, having an entire pen all to herself the way she did. It was a mess and she seemed to have spent some time thrashing around. She was probably in pain from her swollen udders. Her condition made no sense considering she had no calves. Wait... What -had- happened? She was pregnant at one point. But there was no calf. My temples throbbed. Was it a stillborn? Or was I misremembering altogether? The cow met my gaze with the eyes full of fear buried by grief. Like she'd given up.

Across the barn, there was a drag path from Drina's pen to the groundhog-hole. It  looked as though my sister went at it with a shovel. It was partially collapsed with churned earth all around. Curious. I'd ask about it tonight

As we washed up for supper and bed, I recoiled from a stinging pain in my left hand. Sweat in a fresh wound. I inspected my left ring finger, trying to understand the raw skin there. There was a band of discoloration, like you'd expect from a long day half-covered in the sun. Or a long-worn piece of jewelry. My breath hitched. My headache threatened to return. I swallowed hard and pushed the feelings down. They made no sense. And if they made no sense, then I had to be mistaken.

Obviously, it must be from the rusted bucket handle and the lye soap. And the pain in my head faded. Obviously it's not a tan line from a ring. The tightness in my chest passed. 

Because, obviously, I've never been married.

An exercise in word-building and loose prequel to Ordin Willowbrim's Diary, because I'm back in my [redacted] bag lately.
DnD superfans might know what's going on already. It's going to be a mess.