Curiously, you pull back the curtain shading the window of the carriage.
The cottage hunkers low into the grassy embankment as though it were trying to hide, but the misshapen slate roof is too large to go unnoticed beneath the low-hanging branches of shaggy white willows. But with the thin silver trail curling from the crooked stone chimney, it is cozy and welcoming.
In the dying light, you can see the pitted, unevenly sized grey stones that compose its walls. As the carriage draws closer, the occasional flash of color - some steel blues, others olive or umber- emerge from the grey stones that look like eyes trying to steal a glimpse of the world.
The grasses of the surrounding rye fields wave and crest as an ocean may on some bright, windswept day. You watch the green hues as they deepen and lighten in the sun's rays.
Something about the land here... it makes your heart feel uplifted with what you can only describe as a sort of nostalgia, the same sort you felt when you had met Demiurge's predecessor.
It is admittedly uncomfortable, being unable to place this alien déjà vu.
"This is where you will be staying for the next week, until you have learned to prepare skins."
"Skins?" You echo, letting the curtain fall in place as you turn to face your Master.
"Indeed. You will be learning how to deflesh and stretch Abelion sheep hides which will then be processed for manufacturing low-tier scrolls." Demiurge clarifies.
Well, that sounds...kinda gross, and not very fun.
A deep bark rings out, and you eagerly sweep back the curtain of the carriage once more to see a large black dog bounding from the field to run alongside the carriage.
"A dog!" You squeal, and decide then that maybe your time here won't be so bad.
"Azazel," He corrects you. "He keeps the sheep in line and ensures none escape or become violent."
'Violent?'
Did he seriously just say the sheep can become violent? From what you understand, sheep are one of the most docile farm animals one can have.
"The sheep are violent?"
"Potentially, yes. As are most animals unwillingly kept in captivity."
Unsure of how to even respond to his assessment of sheep, you are relieved when the carriage finally rolls to a halt. Demiurge is the first to step out, and you hear him mutter a command in a foreign language to the canine. You exit shortly afterwards, and Azazel steps forward from the demon's side to nudge his narrow muzzle beneath your hand.
"Can I pet him?" You ask.
"You may." Your Master gives you permission.
You scratch his head and kneel down to his level, and then he licks your face.
He stands on long, powerful legs and has a compact but substantial body. His coat is short, sleek, and glistening black like a raven's wing but marked with rust red. His ears stand tall and erect and his tail is shortly cropped into a wagging nub.
"I've never seen a dog like this. He's so pretty!" You gush.
"I am not surprised- he is not a commonly kept breed. He is a Doberman, bred to guard and protect. They are employed mainly as attack dogs."
Oh, shit.
"He's an attack dog?"
"When he needs to be." Demiurge says simply. "Come. I will show you your room and where you will be performing your duties.
The Devil utters another command to Azazel, who sits by the front door while he guides you into the cottage, which smells dusty and ancient. The furniture is minimal and well-worn, and the walls mostly bare, save for an old grandfather clock stationed between the den and kitchen.
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You can read chapter 1-32 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904596/chapters/62954236
