I woke up fairly early the next morning. Or at least it felt early. It took me a long time to fall asleep. Not to mention a couple pointless trips to the outhouse, and a variety of abnormal sleeping positions involving my legs swaying above my head. My eyes felt swollen and I was sure a gear was out of place in my neck. I could feel its cogs grinding everytime I turned my head left. Attempting to push it back in eases the discomfort for a split second, or at least distracts me from it. Still can't turn my head all the way though.

The sun was streaming in through the window, yet I felt muggy. Morning stuck to me like a dew. I hear some people think dew is supposed to be refreshing. This felt like a bog decided to grow up my left side.
There'd better be a bath here.
Glancing out the window from the bed, I spotted the old man smoking his pipe on the shed's doorstep. Ankle resting on knee, wearing the same baggy sack with a belt as yesterday, and a dopey grin on his face. The ghostly oil of dissapointment bled over my back and through my stomach. But I strived for optomism and sprung off the bed, pierced my muggy clump of clothes with my big toe and sailed them into my open hand. Dropped a sock. Bent over to pick it up. Ugh! Stiff.

Rocking my bottom back and forth on the bed I pushed my legs through the hoop of wrinkled fabric. Swish, sway, back to my feet I pulled the straps of my hand woven dress up and over my shoulders. The mass of cloth fell and bounced around my knees, like a tent on stilts. I buttoned my blouse over top and strung straight the uncomfortable wrinkles around my armpits. Both my dress and blouse were plain and beige. When I left home this, plus my socks and shoes, were all I took.
Long socks are a must!
I rolled them over my ankles and stretched them past my knees.
Especially when walking through pokey forests.

I bounced and thunked my way down the stairs and into the porch. Jammed my toes into my clunky shoes and folded their backs with my heels. They were sturdy, plain, dark brown leather shoes, but well broken in, thus comfortable. I opened the door and stepped outside. Somewhere a bird cawed my entrance to the outside world and the minty forest air struck me right in the eyes. I wiped them. There was a thin boardwalk that wrapped tightly around the outside of the house. It looked pretty new, but then again this whole house looks fairly clean and new. I followed the walkway to the backyard.
"Mister Jungor!" He looked up from his pipe, seemingly surprised. "Does this house have a bath somewhere?"
His hesitant expression answered my question.
"There's a river not too-" I had already vanished back behind the corner of the house.

In the kitchen I violently spun my wrists, clamped with fingers, to the handle of the hoist which grew from the table. Raising the cauldron as it twirled. Once it hovered just above the table, I grabbed a pack of matches off a waist high cabnet by the kitchen enterence way and forced myself between the big pot and the standing meal balancer. My back wasn't nearly as stiff now.

The matches package had some kind of royal-looking crest printed for a lable, I flipped it over and lit a couple then threw them at the coals under the pot. They lit up surprisingly easily and spat out some soot. I wriggled myself back over the table and onto the floor. Spinning my head around to size up the room then quickly running over to a pair of barrels resting against the wall.

They were more like tall buckets, both were tin and had handles resting like necklaces around their mouths. One was empty and the other seemed to be the house's water supply. I threw the empty bucket to the table. It made a hollow, violent sounding clang as it bounced on its side. I jumped after it, flipped it right side up and tilted its mouth towards the cauldron. It rested against the table as I jumped on and tipped the cauldron towards the bucket, ladeling out as much left over stew as I could. Most of it seemed to slip onto the table and dribble on the floor. I let go of the cauldron and it waved back into place. The bucket teetered to its upright position once I jumped down. I pushed it out of the way with my foot then hopped over to the water bucket. Bracing the curve of my foot against its base, I kick-shuffled its way to the table. It took about three full length steps. Tilting, then pinching my toes beneath it, I managed to haul it onto the table. I spilt a little water into the cauldron and scrubbed out some of the stew crusties. I just poured this onto the floor. It splattered as if each piece of meat was attempting to run away in a different direction. Standing on a couple chairs with their backs facing the table, I placed the mouth of the bucket against the lip of the cauldren, water was already spilling out. Wobbily, I grasped the base of the bucket and overturned it completely. Hot white silk envloped my hands as steam hissed from the water which struck the coals. I threw the empty bucket away and bounced over to the hoist, lowering the cauldron back onto the coals.

It's an irritating thing to do when you had just gotten dressed, but I ripped off all my clothes and tossed them towards the nearest clean spot on the floor, then jumped into the pot. It was a tight squeeze, but I wiggled my knees up to my chest and managed to get fairly comfortable as the water slowly warmed to a lukewarm temperature and continued to heat itself. Letting out a slight sigh of accomplishment, the only thought left in my head was whether or not I should use one of the floating chunks of meat as a scrubber.

The Kitchen had suddenly become incredibly quiet. The reverb of the crackling coals never seemed to tire. Despite my comfort increasing with the water temperature, I still felt icky. Not simply from the left over stew residue. I just felt that thick, syrupy, "bad and tired day" feeling coated all over my body. It was still morning but I couldn't imagine it disapearing.

The water is starting to get pretty hot. I braced my bottom on my angles, spreading my feet to try and keep my toes on the sides of the pot instead of its base. I'm not going to be able to stay in much longer.
What am I going to do today?

Bath time is always the best time to schedule your day. I already knew what I wanted to do. I've been on the road for so long, I just want to take the oppertunity and lounge around all day. I felt kinda bad for Tremarch. I barge into his house, take over, have him serve me, and not show one ounce of grattitude. I wanted to say "thank you". Without actually saying "thank you". Stuff like that is just too awkward.

A tingling sensation fluttered from the bottom of my feet, almost crawling through my soles. Pulling my feet off the sides of the cauldron, I brace my knees against its lip and let my body dangle in the center of the pot. I'd better clean this place up before Tremarch comes in. I'd --
Uh-oh
I actually saw this coming, but I didn't let myself think it through. I'm stuck.

When I entered the pot, I put my arms in before folding my knees to my chest. I can't lift my elbows to get out!
Shoot!
I really noticed the rising temperature now. I press my knees against the pot, it feels like my shoulder blades are being crushed, I manage to wiggle my way up just a little bit. My neck is already tired from straining facial expressions. I spread my legs as wide as I can and bend my left foot towards my right knee. Electricity is shooting through the left side of my leg as my big toe gets stuck in the crotch of my knee. The water is really hot and I'm sweating.

Sweating while wet is sometimes a really refreshing expierence, sometimes an exhausting one, occasionally both. I'm sure you can figure out which sensation I was expierencing. I'll give you a hint anyway. IT WASN'T BOTH! OUCH! It felt like the skin behind my knee ripped as I pulled my toe free from its net. I had one leg free. I gave my right leg an extra shot of strength and it pulled out a lot quicker. Unfortunately the pain was more or less mirrored. I was now hanging in the pot by the back of my neck and the back of my knees. PSSHT! I couldn't rest my legs without burning them on the outside of the cauldron. I bounced on the crook of my neck trying to keep my bottom from frying on the inside wall. My arms were still useless. I was in a ceramic straight jacket. I couldn't take it anymore.
"TREMARCH! TREMARCH! HELP! QUICK! HELP ME!"
I screamed with all the breath I could muster. Which wasn't much. Short, rapid-fire gasps echoed through my consciousness as the burning bubbling pain increased with my exhaustion.

Tremarch came bowling through the door, eyes wide and hair expanded like a lions mane. He stared at me through the kitchen doorway. Clothes thrown to the floor, watered down stew everywhere else. Toes, knees, shoulders, head all in a pot of steaming water.
"Would you like some tenderizer?" He asked with a serious face.

I'm certain my eyes were as red as my swollen, sweaty, short hair plastered, crick-necked, tear streaked face.