Chapter 3 - section 2

The ride was spent in a curious silence as all of them stared openly at me and I tried my best not to stare back. In spite of my initial reaction, they didn’t look all that much like pigs, beyond being fleshy and having tusks. Even so, having named them the piggy people in my mind, however unjustly, they would remain so unless and until I learned a more accurate name for them. Most of them had exquisite variegated eyes in shades of tan and gold like a tiger’s eye stone; all but the driver whose eyes boasted a dull and beady brown.

They wore clothing of a kind, many layers of tunics, skirts and pants. The clothing looked rough but well stitched and was dyed in earthy colors: browns and rusts and greens. Of decoration, most wore necklaces of clay, dried flowers and gold and a few had even decorated their tusks.

I wondered if I had happened on a single family and turned my attention to inspect the non-living cargo. Clever net bags displayed their contents without allowing anything to roll around during the often bumpy ride. Green hides and balls of textile probably came from the honking llama creatures. Mottled brown balls about the size of softballs rested on top of the softer goods and I grew curious of whether they were fruit or eggs. Netted against the baseboard and serving as a back rest for one of the piggy-people were several barrels that sloshed liquidly. Chances are the sour milky odor was coming from those vessels.

They probably were farmers of some sort or perhaps traders. The real question was if they heading towards a town or away from one? If they were farmers, this wagon was probably filled with their produce for sale. If they were traders, the cargo was more likely a sign of a successful trip completed. Lacking the capacity to inquire further, I thought it best to simply watch and wait. And pray they’d be able to help ease the growing pangs rising from my blueberry waffle deprived belly.

It took around an hour for us to reach a village. It was dirty and poor, but not without a certain rural charm. A few young pig-people were romping in a field filled with long, furry grass stalks still green in spite of the chill. Brightly glittering insects darted around like flying jewels, gleaming in the sun. The crisp air made it feel colder than it looked, but from the exertion and their laughter, the children looked warm enough.

The houses had been carved into the hills and mounds. Just by looking at them, I couldn’t tell which had come first: the geographical topography or the architecture. Other dirt paths intersected with our own. The excitement of my wagon companions was growing ever stronger as the dark green llamas tugged us forward.

It was then that I noticed the first hole in my pants. Hopefully, I could find some method of bartering for more clothing, not to mention food. At the very worst, I had to hurry things along so I could move on before my clothing disintegrated entirely. With a wry smile, I recalled Vicky’s and my pushing of our father when he explained to us the phenomenon of crossing over.

“You mean, everything will disappear? What about your clothing?” I demanded, disbelieving.

Our father smiled tolerantly at me through his coppery beard. “Everything, Tara. You’ve heard stories of nymphs, no?”

Vicky and I both nodded, our wrinkled noses demonstrating our distaste for the concept of nude women. “Yeah, they’re always naked in paintings.”

“That’s why.” He chuckled at our obvious discomfort with the notion.

Not one to be left out, “What about other stuff? Like in your pockets?” Vicky inquired.

“What happens to a faerie’s gold in the stories?”

I frowned, trying to remember the fables I had read, but Vicky beat me to it, nodding; “It all fades away into nothing.”

Certain there had to be some kind of exception, I asked about what happened to the food in your stomach or other things in your body.

“Smart girl, don’t try to outsmart the boundaries. You’ll be disappointed every time. And that goes double if you swallow something nasty in the hope of retrieving it later once it comes across!” His rumbling laughter was infectious and I was proud that he thought me smart, even if I couldn’t find a way around the boundaries.

In later years, Vicky and I both experimented and tried to find ways around it, but we failed every time.

I had to hope that the piggies had a tolerant view on nudity or, preferably, that I managed to acquire new garments in the interim. I fingered the hole in my pants with a frown before I realized that we had drawn to a halt and the occupants of the wagon were staring at me with a greater intensity than before.

A chill breeze blew and I shivered, my chest aching to my nipples. I looked down and let out a string of curses. Over half of my t-shirt had gone and I was completely exposed. I closed my eyes, trying to regain composure as the piggies, who apparently did not have a tolerant view of nudity, began to growl and grunt at each other. All eyes were on me.