Chapter Text
It was that time of year again. The weather was taking a turn for the warm and the wet, and the city was getting to be five kinds of too loud.
It takes about three hours to reach Celine's private ranch and Rumi drove it happily with her music loud for the first leg of the trip, then in complete silence as soon as she hit the country line. Rolling down the windows, her hair whipped and twisted nearly out of its braid in the roaring wind. Sweet grass wafted beneath her nose, her eyes filled with nothing but the road and the misty haze of mountain faces staring back at her.
She'll be there soon, came the promise. She'll be there soon.
For the past five seasons, Rumi has taken this trip with the intent of helping her adopted mother tend to her flock of sheep. The usual rotation of ranch hands were unreliable during the summer as most of them migrated into the city to make and save up more money that'll get them through the winter. Rumi, meanwhile, made a point of doing the opposite, and she was far better off for it, or so she thought.
Celine was already in her chair on the porch when Rumi's headlights cut through the twilit gloam, casting bright yellow against the chipping blue paint of the main house to make green. Dressed in a white tank top and sweatpants, she sipped from a heavy mug of herbal tea. She watched Rumi climb out of the car, haul her luggage out of the backseat, slam the doors with her elbow, and trudge up the driveway towards the warm glow of the house.
"You look tired."
"Long day of work," Rumi shrugged.
"And how was the drive?"
She walked on, not missing a step in her stride. "It was good."
"Did you eat?"
"Not yet." She swung open the screen door.
"There's dinner on the stove."
"Thank you."
"Lights out by ten."
"Yeah, I remember," she assured and the screen closed behind her.
The first thing Rumi did was unpack her things in her old room and went straight into the shower. She stood there in the low pressure tap, hands braced against the tile and eyes closed to let steady hush of running water take her imagination until her breaths slowed.
When she finished, she turned off the tap and toweled off and dressed. She draped the towel over her shoulders, taking up both ends of it to run through her hair and behind her ears. Padding out out of the room she followed the glow of the stove light and found a steaming bowl of juk waiting for her on the dining table.
The light to Celine's room was out and all was quiet in the house. She smiled, then made her way over to the electric kettle and tested it with the back of her hand before grabbing a ceramic mug off the drying rack and fixing herself up some tea. With her hands full she shouldered open the front door and walked out onto the porch and sat where Celine had. She ate, looking out at nothing where the night swallowed the land. She ate and looked up at the bright stars as they twinkled by the dozens, free of the light pollution that had blinded her from them.
She sat back in the chair and traded the bowl for the mug, listening to the song of crickets. Here, they sounded less frantic, less desperate to be heard over the noise of commuter traffic and late night bars opening their doors until dawn. Here, things could simply be. She once read a poem about cricket songs: that it was their mating season and they could find each other by sound even in the darkest night or the whitest dark of the moonlight. It had sat with her a long time, and it sat with her right then—a silent, person shaped presence in the chair beside her she couldn't put a form or face to. Hearing the crickets now in full choir, she wonders if maybe she's been stewing in the cacophony of her own noise all along, hoping that another would finally hear her.
But soon there'll be even more miles setting her apart from her own kind, and nothing else will even matter.
She checked her watch and saw the minute hand making its way closer to striking ten o'clock. With one last look out at the night, Rumi gathered up her empty porridge and half drunk tea and went inside, closing the front door soundly behind her with a click. She made her way through the kitchen, her socked feet padding across the wood floor and she turned out each wall switch and table lamp along the way. She washed the bowl in the sink and set it to dry on the rack, careful not to make too much noise. Then she went back to her room and turned out the final light in the house.
The crickets sang on and on.
At first light the following morning, Rumi saddled up one of the horses and took a blissful ride around the ranch's perimeter, breathing in the fresh, cool mist in the air as it shone gold in the dawn that turned the sky a shy shade of pink. Her ears rang slightly in the absence of cars and the white noise of the office before she turned her focus on the inhales and exhales from her own lungs and the smoking huffs of her horse.
The wind blew from the east, scattering the mist like a miracle of wealth, and the grass wore whatever they caught like royalty donning jewels. Rumi leaned over in the saddle to run the tips of her fingers through the dew. She rubbed her fingers together, spreading the moisture before taking up the reins again and riding on.
On the route back to the house, she went through a mental checklist of what to pack before she'll have to head up the mountain proper. Presently, a team of herders who've been there since the start of spring were already there with the flock and she'll be ready to take over without a hitch. She wonders idly who Celine had wrangled up for the spring job this year, but it was in passing curiosity only. The answer had little consequence by the by and she liked the simplicity in that.
When she spotted a car she didn't recognize parked in front of the house, Rumi sat her horse a moment and in all kinds of confusion as she gave it a long and hard look, It was silver. A four door sedan covered half way up the height of the doors in the dust of the dirt roads. She was too far to make out the emblem at the center of the trunk. She sat willing for some kind of memory to place it but only drew blanks. Then her horse stamped its front hoof and smacked his lips impatiently and she led him on back towards the stables to untack and cool off.
It wasn't until much later that she finally made it back up to the house and by then, Celine was half way down the porch steps with her flat crown hat in hand and saw her approaching.
"Ah, Rumi," she said. "You're just in time."
"In time for what?" She gestured to the car. "Who's is that?"
Then out the front door stepped another woman. She was tall, and wore a light brown plaid shirt rolled up to her elbows with boots that looked too new to have seen any kind of work besides walking. Rumi only had a moment to catch the head of dyed pink hair before it disappeared beneath the brim of the woman's cream colored hat. Her features were long, and sharp; the whetstone of life having shaped her expression a wary frown. When their eyes met, browns on calculating browns, they both flickered up and down—sizing one another by some invisible metric only they could see.
"This is Mira," Celine introduced in the midst of the stare down. "She's going to be accompanying you with the flock this season."
Rumi's head snapped over to her. "I never needed help before."
"Well, that was before I made an acquisition of some thirty more sheep. And they're reckoning that the weather is going to bring some rough days."
Rumi clicked her tongue, her disapproval worn as plain as the sun perched up on the mountaintops. But Celine wasn't done. "It'd give me peace of mind knowing that you're not up there alone either."
"I can take care of myself fine—"
"Rumi," she intoned in that challenging cadence that dared her to push and see what happens.
Knowing better than that, Rumi bowed her head and hooked her thumbs through her front belt loops. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."
"Good. If you both would follow me, please." She put on her hat and walked down the last step, making off towards the stables.
Mira followed suit, still looking at Rumi appraisingly and like she was ready to try and say something.
Frankly, Rumi would much rather she didn't so she just tipped her hat at her and walked on without another glance. The crunch of gravel under a second pair of boots was Rumi's only indication that Mira was following behind.
"You each take a horse of your choice with you to the main camp," Celine began as soon as they were within hearing range. "I expect you both to take good care of them up there. Don't run them harder than you need, especially when the conditions start taking a turn for the worst. Last thing any of us need is a horse with a knotted joint or a broken leg. I'll have a couple of boys come up to run up supplies and ferry the horses as needed. Rumi, you know the drill."
"Every Friday have a grocery list ready, Saturday is the delivery, plan accordingly and ride down to the meeting spot to pick them up," Rumi rattled off unerringly.
"Got that, Mira?"
"Yes, ma'am," she said. It was the first time she'd spoken and Rumi felt her ears perk up at how deep her voice was. For a damnable second, she almost wished that she'd let her speak earlier. Almost. It was bucking her attention into a frenzy well enough already.
"Good," Celine continued, "because I expect you to stay and tend to the main camp. Keep everything orderly, get to those deliveries on time, fix up your meals."
"Right."
Celine raised a brow. "What's so funny?" she asked, and seeing that look on her face made Rumi turn to look back at Mira. It was gone in a blink, but she caught it just as well as Celine had: that short, sardonic quirk on the corner of her mouth.
"Nothing, ma'am. I just didn't expect that I'd be playing housewife out here."
Rumi fought to keep a straight face, to betray the urge to tell the woman how much a mistake she just made and not burst out laughing herself.
Celine said nothing for a long time—so long that when Mira finally began to shift uncomfortably on her feet, she said, "I'm not paying you to play, girl, I'm paying you to keep my herder alive. And I'm paying you a lot more than that what a housewife makes, wouldn't you say?"
Mira cleared her throat, cheeks bright red. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."
"You'll have a horse. Take a ride around if you get antsy. Good for the lungs."
Mira could only nod.
"Moving on. You'll also be contacted regularly by Forest Services. As I mentioned before, I came into the possession of thirty more sheep. Adding in the lambs reared from this past season, the flock is up to eighty-five."
Rumi almost let loose a curse. No doubt the plan is to sell a greater portion of the flock later down the line, but that meant that it was up to her to make sure they're fat and healthy. She could do that no problem when it was forty-five to keep track of—maybe sixty, if she were being optimistic. But eighty-five?
Well, never let it be said that she doesn't like a good challenge. "Am I still keeping to the usual route?" she asked.
Celine shook her head. "Parts of it may be overgrazed. The rain wasn't good last year, which is where Forest Services decided to cut in. I expect that you'll have to expand the perimeter. Bobby says that he's already marked out where you can go. That being said," and she gave her a pointed look, "don't skip any meals. I've given Mira full permission to send word to me if you so much as show up a minute late to breakfast or supper."
"Yes, ma'am," Rumi said, just shy of sighing.
Celine nodded firmly then swept an arm behind her. "Pick a horse and meet me by the trailer." Then she left.
Rumi got two sets of bridles in hand and sauntered over to the horse she had just ridden this morning. He'd finished off his oats and at the sound of her footsteps he turned to her, ready to work. She smiled at him and got to work affixing the bridle over his nose to lead him out of his stall. She threw a glance Mira's way where she'd been standing in front of the stall of one of the paint horses.
The mare had a black and white coat with a white star pattern running down the length of her black nose. Her mane had been freshly trimmed and brushed, and the glint of her hooves showed off new shoes. Rumi herself didn't ride that one often but she could recognize her at a glance just fine and called out offhandedly, "That's Magpie."
Her voice cut through the quiet so fiercely it startled Mira well and good. She smiled, amused. "Didn't take you as the skittish type."
"I'm not," Mira defended, smoothing out the wrinkles in her shirt that weren't there. "I just didn't think you knew any other words that weren't 'Yes ma'am' or protest."
"That makes two of us then." Rumi reached up, pushing her hat back with her thumb. "You don't have to get used to it if it bothers you."
"That's not what I said."
"Right. Sorry."
They stared on at each other, waiting for the other to speak.
Then Mira stepped up and held out a hand. "Mira. Hong Mira."
Rumi raised a brow, looking at the proffered hand, then back to her. "Yeah, Celine said as much."
"I'm the business of speaking for myself."
Rumi hummed a neutral note, looking down at the hand again. She stepped forward, took it, and shook firmly. "Rumi."
Mira smirked. "Your parents just stopped at 'Rumi', princess?'"
"Princess?" she balked and nearly took her hand back at the sheer audacity.
But Mira shrugged, as if the nickname were the obvious thing to call her. "Just a vibe."
She resisted the urge to sigh. This was going to be a long season. "Ryu. Ryu Rumi."
"Good to meet you, then." Their hands separated and Mira rocked back on her heels to where she stood before. "So is this a good horse or no?"
"She's got some attitude, but she's reliable." Then she tapped her temple. "Just mind your hat."
"Mind my—hey what the—!" Mira ducked out of the way just in time as Magpie had snuck up behind with her mouth open and poised to snatch at the brim.
"Yeah," Rumi snickered. "Never figured out why or where she got that habit of hers. Aw, look, she likes you."
Sure enough, Magpie was craning her neck further out of the stall in Mira's direction.
Hesitantly, Mira reached out a hand and the horse shoved her nose right against her palm. After a moment, she stroked Magpie's face and ventured a step closer. "Well I'll be damned," she chuckled like she could hardly even believe it.
It wasn't until a long minute had passed that Rumi realized that she had been smiling during the exchange. She cleared her throat and tossed Mira the second bridle who caught it in one hand.
"Blankets and saddles are over there," she said, pointing out to the end of the stables and, purely from a professional standpoint, gave Mira's long legs a once-over. "They all have adjustable stirrups, if you need."
"Great," was all Mira said in response before she unlocked the gate and went about fitting the bridle over Magpie's face. "Does your horse have a name?"
"Tiger," Rumi answered as she lead him on past towards the stable doors.
"So Magpie and Tiger?"
"Better than the names I gave them when I was younger."
"Oh yeah? What were they?"
"Nothing. It was a long time ago," Rumi deflected. "Now come on, Celine doesn't like to wait up."
The drive up was quiet and unremarkable. The horse trailer pitched and rattled at the tail-end of Celine's truck while Rumi sat passenger, and Mira held on to the side as she rode in the truck bed.
When Rumi was little, she had so badly wanted to ride in the back and she begged Celine until the woman finally relented. Every jump and jostle in the road sent her sliding all over like a janky carnival ride. The bags of feed and topsoil did little to cushion her until she finally got her scrawny arms to hang on to the side of the truck, but by then they'd already made it home. Her limbs were a garden of bruises in bloom after that, but she'd be hard-pressed to find a regretful bone in her body.
She glanced through the back window at Mira who stared out into the middle distance as they rode on. She took in her side profile as it caught the morning light, her sharp features cut the light into stark shadows that fell beneath her cheekbones, and the golden hue brightened her irises to the color of summer tree bark—strong, steady, beautiful…
"I know you want to ask about her, so best do it before I turn you both loose on the campsite," Celine said.
Rumi clicked her tongue, remembering herself and the present predicament that now had her staring down the barrel of what this season had in store. "You really hired her to look after me?"
"Among other things, yes. Bigger flock. Harsher weather. You'll have your hands full and knowing you, you'll start to neglect yourself. Besides, I've been meaning to hire another person for a while now, there just hasn't been anyone willing to stay for the whole season like you."
"I would've liked to have been included in the decision."
"When your name is printed on the deed, then you can call all the shots you want."
Rumi held up her hands, acquiescing at least that much. The truck jumped and rattled as Celine turned onto a dirt road leading straight up through the mountain pass. "So how'd you find this one? I've never seen her around before."
"I didn't. She found me. Word around town said that she's been looking for work. Eventually, someone must've pointed her down my way."
"So what's her story?"
"What little I could get out of her? She's from Busan and needed a change of pace. Her family doesn't know she's here, but they're not worried enough to go looking."
Celine said nothing else and Rumi waited, thinking that was more.
But when the silence only continued, she asked, "That's it?"
"That's all she was willing to say."
"You could be sending me up there with a serial killer."
Celine smiled, a rare slip of her careful mask of professional distance. "Justice would be swift, then."
"Comforting."
"It's just until first snow. You'll be fine."
She sat up in the seat, looking at her. "First snow? That's a little soon." In past years she would be with the flock well into autumn before having descend back down the mountain.
"I'm preparing for the worst, but we'll see what the weather wants to do. For now treat that as your deadline."
She swallowed down her disappointment. "Alright. First snow it is."
The main camp itself didn't take up much land, but the steady pass of boots and hooves over the course of every season had packed the grass and dirt down within a twenty yard radius and a wide creek drew a defining border to the southwest. First there was the big tent where Mira was set to stay in—the possessions of the previous tenant already cleared out. In the middle was a clearing for a campfire marked off by a ring of rocks and a stack of kindling and firewood. And, lastly, sat parked with its wheels weighed down in place by sand bags between the spokes was cook wagon equipped with a comfortable amount of kitchen fixings needed to keep a warm and happy camp.
Celine helped their horses out the trailer after giving Mira the tour of things. Before she left them to their work, she handed Rumi a thick documents folder and a satellite phone to Mira with instructions to use it to either contact Celine in case of an emergency and Forest Services for reports.
Her truck kicked up dirt and grass from a dry patch as she drove away, leaving the two women behind to stare after her until the truck was no more than a pinprick on the horizon.
Unsurprisingly, that first day saw two strangers giving one another a wide berth, going about their tasks in wordless efficiency. But there was a palpable charge there, the kind that buzzed in the back of the brain in constant awareness of another body moving nearby. And neither of them really knew what to do about it.
First Mira took stock of their supplies. Everything in the wagon was clean, organized, spacious enough to accommodate storage of delivered goods. There was even an ice chest to keep perishables. There was a few bottles of soda pop inside along with a scant amount of ice, likely left over from the previous herders. Other than that, it was clean and she made a mental note to put ice on the grocery list.
Meanwhile, she could hear Rumi speaking with a representative from Forest Services, a man called Bobby whom she seemed pretty familiar with already. Peeking around the wagon, she could see the presentation of permits and the letter of intent penned by Celine confirming the amount of sheep in this year's flock , and the people in her employ who will be presiding here for the duration of the season. That list, to Mira's understanding, includes herself, Rumi, and the errand boys who come at the end of the week.
Mira watched the exchange for a while, then was beckoned over so that she could be formally introduced. From now until the end of the pasturing tenure, she was to report directly to Bobby regarding weather conditions, any changes to the route, injuries sustained, et cetera. He gave her a friendly smile and he left soon after.
After that, she excused herself and retreated into the main tent where she set the phone off in the corner next to her rucksack. She reached into the bag for a leather bound journal and pen, then settled over her sleeping bag to write.
She wrote about the drive into town and the diner where she took breakfast. She wrote about how while the people regarded her warily, they were friendly enough to answer her questions. She wrote about Celine and the woman's no-nonsense attitude, but also her unspoken sympathy for what Mira aimed to do with herself and offered her a job despite her limited experience at this kind of work. By the fourth page, she wrote about Rumi—an entry with more questions than observations.
When she eventually emerged from the tent, the herd of sheep arrived like rolling fog over the hill. The trio of herdsmen they were taking over for rode along with a pair of working dogs trotting at a steady pace with their tongues lolling and eyes bright as they kept the sheep in line. They tipped their hats to Mira in polite disinterest and shook hands with Rumi without dismounting. For about fifteen minutes, they combined their efforts to count out the sheep, making sure that all eighty-five were present, before the trio gave them their well-wishes and good luck with the season and rode on back down the mountain towards civilization. Not once did they look back.
Somehow, it was at that moment when it felt truly final and the season had officially begun. Mira leaned back on one leg, looking out at the mountainous landscape filling with the bleeting of sheep and the sun climbing up and up towards its noontime zenith. Her thumbs caught the waistband of her jeans as she sighed, and unbidden her gaze found Rumi, and the way the woman looked back at her was as if the significance of the present had just been made clear to her too.