Book Review: The Ideztozhyuh Strode Out of the Mountain (Reiassan Demifiction)

It is a truth of our people that goats have always been with us: we imagine, if we are fanciful, that we rode on goatback from between Reiassannon's legs, back in the Time Before Time.

A recent paper penned by the learned Scholar Piebryo-Tis seeks to dispel that notion, along with several other of our closely-held family stories, as it were.

The Ideztozhyuh Strode Out of the Mountain, Lannamer Stone Press, tells a story - one nearly as unbelievable as the fable of riding from the goddess's thighs, if with more scholarly backing - of a possible origin of the Calenyena people, and, perhaps more importantly, of our goats.
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Three-Word-Wednesday - The Easy Way & Hard

To Three-Word-Wednesday (Today's words are eradicate, mercenary, squeamish).

In the same world as last week's story, The Job


There were always politicians.

Even now, even after the near-end of the world, even after the years of struggling to find a new way to survive, even now, when survival was not guaranteed for more than ten percent of the remaining population, there were politicians.

And they would stand in their safe, protected halls in their safe, cozy auditoriums, and they would pound their fist and shout. "Eradicate the Blank Plains!" they would demand. "Wipe out the Creatures! Make this world safe!"

Over and over again, the politicians would shout, because shouting was safe when you were within the walls.


There were always the mercenary ones.

If it seemed like there were more of them now, when every commodity was a rarity, when there were so many ways to gouge and so few could afford to be gouged, then it was probably a matter of perspective: there had always been those out for number one.

They would stand by the gates and offer "services," in the marketplace and offer supplies, by the graves and console widows, and all at a low, low price.

If it could be bought, they'd sell it, because selling was easy when your audience was captive.


There were always the squeamish.

If they seemed far more delicate now, when there was no room for delicacy, when food was scarce and resources tight, if they seemed too soft to live, it was probably the comparison: most people had grown far more hard. But there were always those that could not toughen.

They would wail over their choices for meat, when even their herd animals were starving. They would wring their hands over an outlaw's death, when outlaws threatened everyone.

They would flap their hands, because it was easy to be squeamish when someone else was getting dirty.


There were always those who wouldn't do what was needful: the politicians, the mercenary, the squeamish.

And then there were the Rangers.

Here in Spain We Just Call That Rice.

Homer: Can you let me out of the boat?
Brazilian Kidnapper: What for?
Homer: [Whining]I have to go do a piss.
Brazilian Kidnapper: [Annoyed] Again?
Homer: I'm sorry, I have a bladder the size of a Brazil nut.
Brazilian Kidnapper: We just call them nuts here.
Simpsons, Season 13: Blame it on Lisa

We made Spanish Rice Monday for dinner - we are on the great Clean Out The Freezer quest, and the first thing to come to T's hand was ground beef. We have peppers, bell & hot, ripening in the garden, and I've been in a rice mood.

Thus: Spanish rice. It's one of those dishes, like stir-fry, that you don't need a recipe for, but I looked it up just for fun (our version involves white long-grain rice, tomatoes, the last of a jar of salsa, the aforementioned ground beef, onions, the white ends of some bok choy, and a strange variety of spices that included Tabasco and Garam Masala)

I got a kick out of the Wikipedia article:

Etymology
Although called "Spanish rice", this dish is unknown in Spain. The term "Spanish rice" is not used by Mexicans or Mexican food enthusiasts, and its use probably stems from the fact that the Spanish language is spoken in Mexico; the dish is usually simply referred to as arroz ("rice") in Mexico.

"...here in Mexico we just call that rice."

~

I got all the way through this & then realized that my quote might make it sound like I don't know the difference between Spain, Mexico, and (Portuguese-speaking) Brazil. Not the case! We're a Simpsons-joke household, and that one comes up even in totally inaccurate situations ("...here in France we just call that toast.")

The Clean-up, a Continuation of Baram's Elves for @Rix-Scaedu

First in this story: Unwelcome Guests
Previous: Kicking Out Unwelcome Guests

I have more planned, but this was a good stop point for this part. 673 words.

“Your target was never here.” Baram punctuated his sentence with a sharp kick to the bikers’ leader’s ribs. The woman grunted, and, on the other side of the field of battle, the nearly-dead tank made a pained noise.

Interesting.

Worry about it later. Baram picked up the boy. “This one stays with us. And your flamethrower.”

“Keep the girl, we need the boy.”
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