Work Text:
There was little that Muriel loved more than the simple pleasure of routine. He could count on the sun rising in the East each morning, the new day announced by his hens in the yard. Each evening, the sun set in the West and Inanna greeted the moon with song. Every twenty-eight days, he would be fully freed from the pressures of humanity and join in jubilation.
It wasn’t a glamorous life, but it was his and his alone.
Muriel rose before the dawn, enjoying a luxurious stretch after hours of stasis. As usual, he crossed the humble, one room home to the wash basin in precisely thirteen steps. He rubbed his hands over his face four times, refreshed by the cold water. He took a moment to examine his reflection, feel over the rough stubble of his jawline, trail light fingers over the scar on his cheek. He traced the worry lines between his brows that had appeared when he was entirely too young. The longer he stayed on his farm, the lines of his smile grew deeper instead.
He dressed quickly, the chickens were already beginning to stir and call for their breakfast. He opened the light wood door to their coop, and one by one the pecking order emerged. Muriel clucked back at them softly as he scattered their feed and vegetable scraps. They didn’t fear his lumbering form or mind how coarse his voice was from disuse.
Stepping carefully around the brood, he entered the coop and found the gift of four brown eggs, still warm from their roost. He smiled in gratitude, one more than the day before.
The sun was half over the horizon before he entered the garden, which needed to be tended before the heat of the day. Lowering his voice, even more lovingly than with his dear chickens, Muriel began to sing. Simple songs of a farmer’s life, songs that soothe the colicky child. When he was young, he had heard of the magic of song. How it could nourish the soul of the plants and allow one small bean to fill an entire family. He suspected that was just to quiet their growling stomachs, but tradition was tradition.
The beans weren’t yet ready to pick, but he managed to dig up a potato and his carrots were flowering spectacularly. Lacy and delicate blooms reached up towards the sky, towards his gentle palm. He carefully snipped a few clusters, adding them to the basket of his spoils.
The last chore for the morning was to prepare a modest meal for one, something hearty to prepare him for a long day in the workshop. As his scramble sizzled, he gingerly placed the carrot tops in a tall cup on the table. It was no crystal vase, but it was a beautiful centerpiece in his eyes.
Fully nourished and daily chores done, it was time to get cracking on the real work for the day. Part of his porch had rotted over the years and needed to be replaced, his faucet had a drip, and he had plenty of things to create for Asra to take to the artisan market.
The late afternoon was dedicated to his favorite piece at the moment. He smiled another kind, gentle smile as he coaxed a giraffe out of the wooden headboard. Asra had told him of the patrons for this piece, an older couple who were welcoming a child into their home. They deserved a beautiful place to rest their head, the kind he would have wanted.
Time flew, and dusk was upon him before he knew it. He put the chickens to bed, shutting their coop tightly for the night. He washed up in the sink, wood shaving after wood shaving wafting out of his hair, his clothes, and even his ears. He lit the lanterns and the stove. Another meal prepared, enjoyed, and tidied.
At last, his routine came to a close. His muscles ached, confirming the end of another successful day. He lit a fire, bathing the cottage in a warm glow. Asra had brought him some special cocoa from his travels, and because today had been especially pleasant, he would indulge. He was settling into his comfortable, hand-carved armchair when he heard a noise just outside.
He hauled himself up with a groan, and walked precisely eight steps to the door.
Upright ending
“You’re home late, Inanna,” He scolded, though his scowl did not meet his eyes. The wolf followed him inside, golden eyes gleaming in the firelight. He dropped heavily into the chair, the day catching up to him. Inanna followed, trotting over to his side. Completely ignoring his stern look, she leapt right up onto his lap as though it were her assigned seat, and licked Muriel from chin to forehead.
“Inanna! That’s enough of that!” He practically giggled, weakly pushing her away. She acquiesced, dropping down to sit so that her head rested on his knee. She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh of contentment. Muriel chuckled, dropping a heavy hand onto her head and slowly stroking her fur. He sipped his cocoa and watched the fire flicker, before releasing a happy sigh of his own.
It wasn’t a glamorous life, but he was never alone.
Reversed ending
“You’re here unexpectedly, Asra,” He rumbled, the worry lines between his brows creasing. Asra rarely showed up announced, let alone this soon after nightfall. He stood aside, letting the broken pieces of his best friend come to rest near his hearth.
“Have you not had enough of this?” He asked quietly, unable to meet Asra’s gaze. Asra’s limitless life was the antithesis of routine. He thrived on entropy, eschewing a strong foundation to move wherever the wind took him. But spontaneity had come at a terrible cost, one that may break him beyond repair.
“Well,” Asra began, tearfully running a hand through his mop of white hair.
Muriel returned to his seat, handing Asra a second cup of the cocoa. He couldn’t make eye contact, couldn’t drink another sip. He could only stare pensively into the fire and listen to his friend fall apart at the hands of others.
It wasn’t a glamorous life, but he was happy to be alone.