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Lazy Saturday

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She wakes up as he shifts in the bed, sitting up to stretch and grunting in ursine satisfaction as several vertebrae click is response. Taikka rolls over, and wraps her arms around his midsection, better to squish her face into his back.

“Ngh- y’ nose is cold.” He says, turning to look down at her, blonde hair splayed over her bare back.

“Well, you’re letting the cold air *in*.” She replies, sleepily curling around him, using her arms to draw herself up and give a kiss on his bristly cheek.

“I was gonna make tea? Got some of that condensed milk left if yer want t’ sweeten it some-”

“Or you could do that a little later?” Taikka suggests, Kankz feeling the curl of her smile against his skin, the way her nails subtly scrape over his chest.

“W-ell-” She does make a very *good* point but Kankz feigns indecisiveness before rolling over back into the pile of furs that made up the bed, taking the blood elf by the waist, Taikka giggling as she hooks a leg over his back.

It’s a good lazy start to their Saturday.

They probably should have taken off down to the trading post earlier, no doubt the best of what’s on offer for whatever pelts they’ve gathered is no doubt gone but they’ve both been sufficiently *warmed* to say the least - both their cheeks a rosy glow that was little to do with the brisk winter air.

The boats come deep into the inlet, a light drizzle creating a thousand minute ripples over what would otherwise be mirror-still water, the fog still hanging around mid-way up the treeline, like the last patron at the bar who isn’t quite willing to go yet.

They’d bagged a couple of good elk furs - even without all of her skinning tools, Taikka had done a fine job skinning them clean - and the traps Kankz had laid for the minks and hares had managed to capture a beaver too, of all things. A respectable haul, all things considered, that gave them each enough coin to pursue what was on offer for the (mostly fisherman) and assorted others that made up the tiny village that clung to the rocky shoreline.        

Taikka had found some spices and dried wakame plus a block of soap that smelled strongly of sweet almond and barley that Kankz suspected was an obvious hint, if anything. He himself had picked up more oil for the lanterns and a tin of that freeze-dried coffee and was considering the racks of dried mackerel before he felt a tug at his arm, “Look at these!” Taikka said, admiring the hand-dyed skeins of wool on display in an aurora of blues and greens. “They’re nice, aren’t they?”

“Hn.” He grunted in agreement, large, weathered hands going over to gently pat the soft wool on display - no doubt shoveltusk down that had been gathered off the prickly bramble and tree bark before being worked into wool thread. “But I sure as hell can’t knit. Neither can you, last time I checked.”

Taikka chucked, bumping her hip into him. “You don’t need to remind me of the last time I tried! I just thought it was nice. That blue kind of reminds me of you, you know?”

Kankz was going to ask if she really wanted more blue hair getting stuck to her clothes when another voice cut in; “We do scarves! Jumpers too, but I reckon y’ folks might want to get measured up for those considerin’ we mostly make ‘em for the fishermen that mostly come up from Kul’Tiras proper, Tuskar don’t really have a need for an extra layer f’warmth y’see.”

Wrapped in an eclectic display of their own knitting, the human (allegedly) had practically blended into their own display of wares; a nose made pink from the cold air the only signifier of their existence.

Kankz could feel Taikka tense against him at the sudden appearance, his own ears having pointed up in surprise. “Uh-” he was just out of step with the flow of conversation, it’s axis now abruptly out of tilt.    

“How much?” Taikka swept in, leaning over to touch one of the scarves further up the table.

“Twenny silver for th’ scarves but fifty or more for a jumper considerin’ how much wool it ends up using.” Taikka winced at the price, the merchant hastening to add,  “-A lil steep, but pardon my language some ma’m, it’s a real bitch collecting the stuff what with Shoveltusks being as affectionate as a hangover.” 

Kankz rumbled with laughter but Taikka leaned in, intrigued. “The down? You mean that fuzz that came off in clumps during a molt? I always threw it away-”

“You- oh m'am y'didn’t! I feel faint just thinking about it.” The merchant wailed, clutching the sides of their head with colourfully mittened hands. “You know how much a half pound if that would cost? Five gold easy on a good day n’ you-” The merchant fell back and Taikka figured they (gender also wasn’t really specific under all their layers) had fainted but in fact they’d merely slumped into a chair they’d set up behind the stall. “-That jus’ make m’ heart ache, oh gods-

Taikka’s cheeks were bright red but Kankz came to reply before the Blood Elf got defensive. “M’ surprised you aren't swimming in the stuff considering how valuable that down is. Yer sayin’ that people don’t hunt ‘em 'round here, aye?”

“Oh there’s a fair share of trappers, but folks around here don’t really go after big game unless it’s one of them Furblog with too much surplus t’ keep, but that lot mostly keep to 'emselves. I mean this is a proper fishin’ village if yer ain’t noticed, we get our bread n’ butter from the sea.”

Kankz was nodding all the while and Taikka had paused to listen; the Blood Elf glancing down to the hunter to see yup - he had that twinkle in his eye at the prospect of tracking down something large and irritable.

Taikka laid a hand affectionately atop his shoulder. They might as well stock up on bullets while they were down here.