Ithamar sighed. It was going to be a long day. First, father had told him to repair the nets, which would take a while. After he'd finished with that, there were chores around the house to help with. His fifteen year old sister, Jilsea, who had been named after the sea, pronounciation-wise (Jil-see), was probably helping their mother at market, selling their fish. Sea Ridge Hold was a famous fishing spot, with some of the best fish you'd find anywhere. However, that didn't mean that the fish would just leap into your boat when you called them. Oh no. That was where Ithamar and his father Hailar, came in.

Today had promised to be a slow day, and Hailar had left his second son to mend the many torn nets, taking his eldest, Ceavar(See-Var), with him. Ithamar now began the mending, using his mind to move the needle, as he cleaned up his sleeping quarters, and the morning dishes. His father had always complained that Ithamar was a girly-man, regardless of the fact that he was one of the stronger young men in the hold. He felt that his mother and sister needed help every now and then, and this infuriated his father to no end. Hailar carried around the macho image that women were to wait on men, no matter what, and that any man who did ‘women's chores' was wussy. However, Ithamar had watched his father and mother over the years, and he didn't see how the whole image thing was right. He believed in treating women with kindness and respect, and that there was truly a fine line between ‘doing a woman's work' and ‘helping out to make things easier'.

This view had come about when Ithamar had begun to watch the way that other men treated their wives, particularly the way the his best friend Malcor's father treated his mother. Ithamar had had many questions about the way Malcor's father saw it fit to help his wife whenever he could, and after hearing Malcor's explanation, had decided that this did indeed seem right. Boy, was mom ever surprised when I helped Jilsea finish dishes that night. She thought I'd lost it for sure, because there was no way a son of her husband would lower himself to help with the domestic chores. Ceavar had scoffed at him, calling his a wuss, and letting him know that if he wanted to act like a girl, that was fine, but he could forget about ever going out with Ceavar and his friends. That had hurt, but when he'd seen the gratitude in Jilsea's eyes, he knew that he'd done the right thing by helping. That had been two years ago, and he and Jilsea found that they could confide in each other quite a bit, even though he was two years her senior.

Now, as Ithamar finished the first net, he returned to it, to cut the left over twine. True, while he did have TK, some things were better done by hand. His strong hands cut the twine, and began the second net. Ithamar's little cat, Torque, meowed, and he leaned down to stroke him. This was also a bad thing, for a seaman to have a cat. They, as well as most women, were considered to be bad luck, but, when Jilsea had gotten the little seal-point mixed breed for his last birthing day, he'd overcome this fear of them causing bad luck. He didn't think that the little guy could ever cause enough trouble to be a burden.

The soft-furred cat rubbed against his legs, purring. He leaned down to pick her up, and a lock of his curly, medium brown hair fell across his forehead. He scooped the cat up, pushing the hair back out of his green eyes, feeling the thread scar above his right eyebrow. He, his father, and brother, as well as his father's partner that he worked with on stormy days, had all been out fishing, when all of a sudden, the silvery, wormy parasites had fallen from the sky. They had all dove for cover inside the boat's cabin, and Ithamar would have been fine, if his foot hadn't gotten caught in one of the nets. His father had yelled to him to be careful, but instead of hurrying, that thing inside of you that made everything seem like it was in slow motion, happened, and Ithamar had looked up just as one of the smaller threads had fallen. The thread slammed into his forehead, narrowly missing his right eye. As he felt the long scar that ran from his eyebrow to hairline, he thought about how he'd screamed those three years ago. The sensation had been horrible, and at the time, he'd wanted to die. But now, well, now, while he wasn't proud of his battle scar, he didn't feel a need to hide it from the world, as he had when he'd first seen it.

Now, as he finished straighting up the house, he wondered what his beloved little sister was up to. For a fifteen year old, she was curious, and that often got her into trouble. But then, he thought, wouldn't I be more than a little curious if my father had figured that a girl's place was at the house, and no where else??

Visit Jilsea at the Market...