From the 17th to the 24th I'm spiritless.

The weather is keeping us inside, it's snowing and the icy winds rolling down from the mountains are cruelly biting every inch of exposed skin. With my thin mantle for only protection I tend to avoid the outsides as much as I can.

I feel like a beast in a cage, turning restlessly in my small containment cell without means to progress towards freedom.

Everyone that could teach me something (quite the short list: either Ms Tarina for maybe some history or grand pa for some more practical skills) is either unavailable or not around.

I'm once more left in the position of the teacher instead. My students already know their alphabet and basic maths. Geometry is out of their grasp, not conceptually but because they lack motivation to learn it. I spent some time explaining them the Pythagorean theorem, square root was the first hurdle, the second being that they just didn't understood why they couldn't simply measure the unknown side length instead of having to do complex calculations to find it out...

Physics and chemistry are out of question for now. Both because it would be too complex for them but also because it would raise questions about the origin of my knowledge. I'm still convinced that it would be a bad idea to attract more attention. I don't know how people, especially the temple would react. Or if some crazy collector like the Typhoon wouldn't just simply abduct me to satisfy a thirst for the mystery.

The unsought after spare time is used to make some adjustments to my custom alphabet, as I undercover some difficulties with some words as my disciples progress. They are now able to read out loud a word without even understanding the meaning beforehand, which was my end goal. They will one day be able to read anything i write, even if it's new words.

I will have to figure out the grammatical rules to translate Tangana in a fully functional modern looking written language. Setting some ground rules for tenses and basic sentences construction was suprisingly harder than I expected: i'm not a linguist and our language has some discrepancies in the plurals managements or grammatical structures compared to English.

So as to not exhaust my young test subjects I also leave them lots of recreation time, filling them with tales from my former childhood, slightly adapted to match the context of this world.

For example, the notion of evil witches doesn't exist here. Females magicians are naturally expected to become blades protecting everyone from the monsters. From what I understood from my grandmother's tales having magic powers is considered a blessing from the gods, which is also taken as a godly command to put your powers in the service of sentients beings against the eternal monstrous enemy. Instead I have to replace them with monsters or heretics which sometime doesn't fit the narrative well: try telling Snow White without a mean stepmother sorceress and switching dwarves with trollkins...

* * * * * * * *

A welcomed distraction comes on “Sunday” the 24th as I am tasked with a pet. It's a gift from my grand pa.

“Time to give you some responsabilities as you seemed interested in hunting, taking care of an animal is the first step.” wisely said my elder.

Grand pa bought me a koati: it's a sheep-sized lizard with bronze scales and six long limbs, its dorsal ridges forming complex fractal patterns and its bronze skin reflects the sunlight making it flare with brown-red light whenever it moves. It looks like a metal statue made by some dinosaurs enthusiast that is also a cubist or surrealist artist.

Koatis are herded because they are the source of the goat like milk. How does a reptile laying eggs ends up producing milk would one ask? Well, it's not “milk” per se. Through careful selection be it magic or Charavatkeh's intervention, the saliva of those lizards is rich in lactose and fat... to be honest I had feared even worse origins for our “milk”.

The animal is quite gentle and steady letting itself get led easily despite its size compared with mine. This is obviously the fruit of centuries of selection to only keep the most gentles beasts.

To take care of it I am to feed it fodder twice a day, make sure its water drinker is always full and let it bask in the sun as often as possible. When dozing off in the sun it cranes its neck towards the sky, mouth wide open like it's sucking up something out from the air itself. Despite the coldness of the outside the beast is able to somehow gather some heat from this exposition, getting noticeably warmer to the touch at the end of the day, its brass scales reminding me of the warm copper from heated water pipes.

The koati can hiss and make some clicking noises with its tongue it can even almost purr when enjoying a sun bath.

My father made a stockpile of trefoil in our courtyard and also built it a small kennel with a symbol of Charavatkeh carved on it: a squid head with a dozen tentacles scattered around it. Legends are that Charavatkeh uses his multiple tentacles to tend after every beasts in the world

I'm tasked with “milking” it twice a day. The milking involves massaging the tongue of the beast to collect the saliva it expels like an udder, in a pail. I'm not afraid of its teeth are they obviously are ones of an herbivore but its lips are hardened and sharp like a turtle's beak. A single bite could easily sever a few of my small fingers.

“Telerios, stay wary and keep looking at its eyes.” calmly advises my Grand pa.

The oblong topazes with a vertical slit are behind two-layered eyelids, giving the koati a mean and eerie stare full of threatening mystery. I can't help but reminisce one of the meanest cat I ever took care of : a grumpy and angry feral alley cat, not wanting me to bandage his wounds, ready to claw at you at the first inadvertence.

“And don't be afraid to strike its head if it misbehave and bites you.” he adds mischievously, with a faint smile under his grey mustache.

Thanks grandpa, great advice, that will definitively make my fingers grow back...

As a vet I've always had a great feeling with animals be it the gentlest dogs or the scariest gorillas. But reptiles were not on my list of favourites. Our koati might reconcile me with its genus or definitively make me actively hate them if it chews on my fingers...

I first need to name it.

I do not hesitate long before deciding for Godzilla. What other name should I take for my personal pet lizard ? To be honest charmander was a close second given its fiery appearance, but it can't spew fire.

Although scaled Godzilla is actually pretty nice to pet. Its scales are surprisingly soft to the touch especially under its belly and by the end of the day she (since i'm going to milk it I decided it is a she) is so filled with sun-warmth that she becomes a welcomed heater for my numb hands.

To milk her I have to use one hand to pet her throat, making her reflexively open her mouth and I just have to milk her tongue like a cow udder. I did milk cows, goats and even a jenny-ass as an intern before, so I'm swimming in familiar waters here. It's a bit unusual but I quickly get skilled in the task, which grants me some compliments from an impressed grandpa.

With every milking I can fill a small pail worth 3-4 glasses. Not a bad trade. She doesn't eat that much fodder so I infer that most of her energy comes from either the sun and some form of photo-synthesis equivalent or magic. But I believe magic to be the lazy answer here, my role as a biology graduate is to understand physiology, not pin it all on magical shenanigans. As if feeling my wish to vivisect her, Godzilla gets gentler and her gaze is now more wary than mean. Don't worry I won't hurt you, you are under my care. (but I won't vouch for the fate of your congeners...)

After a few days without a hitch I even let Gel milk her one evening, now that I'm sure that Godzilla is a kid-friendly pet lizard that knows how to behave. Seeing the girl stroking the reptile's tongue to collect its milky secretions was a disturbingly lewd sight, making me reassess my kid-friendly rating. Godzilla is a naughty girl, I saw it in her eyes.

The milk is a welcomed additional source of food during winter. Root vegetables soups, bunta and “potatoes”were getting boring. I wonder if there will be a way to make some cheese later. Does our butter come from koati milk ?

Grand pa isn't hunting currently as most beast are hibernating, so our meat supply is reduced. I' really like to accompany him next year, just to find some way to provide us with more food.

* * * * * * * *

I'm eagerly awaiting the end of the year celebration, just for the feast and the change in meal composition.

And the feast day comes soon enough. 32th of Festire, last day of the year and darkest night of all in the dead of winter. To fight back the unsettling blackness of this night, humanoids assemble in their homes to light all candles, hang all light crystals and feast till the rise of the sun, celebrating its victory over the shadows and the end of the winter solstice.

Mom, grandMa and Joc are busy all day in the kitchen. Dad and grandpa went in town to have drinks (talk about sexism).

I'm left with my big brother Barasti: he is five years older than me so there aren't much games we can play together. He keeps watch over me as I'm milking Godzilla, trying to frighten me by recounting gruesome stories of children who got their arms bitten off by koatis and how it made the milk taste better. To his disappointment I am unfazed by the teasing and my girl Godzilla behave so well that his story sounds ridiculous even to his own ears.

For this year's feast grand pa provided us with a 3 m long eel. Mom and Jocalie are roasting it over our fire, coiled around a bake. Some spices and herbs are sprinkled upon it while underneath there are onions-like grilling in the sizzling fat dropping from above. The smell is absolutely mouth watering, every waft coming from our heart draws my saliva out, I bet I could be milked like Godzilla right now. Grand ma is making some pudding with bunta, koati milk and dried fruits from last summer.

When night bell rings the city gets illuminated like never before: every houses have all their candles lighted , the lighthouse's beacon atop mount shaft becomes a small surrogate sun and the lord's castle is ablaze with multiple coloured fires : oranges, reds, greens and blues burning on every roofs of the mansion.

Dad and grandpa came back home slightly inebriated but with their return we finally start stuffing ourselves. The eel is perfect, the roast gives it a smokey aftertaste while the spices makes it chili just like I like and the not-onions are bringing it a sweet flavour. Despite my small build I manage to engulf a sizeable portion of it and yet still find some room for pudding afterwards.

It is even more enjoyable that it's been like forever since I've eaten as much and so well. Our daily diet is so lacking in comparison.

After gorging ourselves the adults share a drink, even Barasti gets some of what looks like a strong fruity liquor. After that they start singing, now really drunk. Grandma tells Joc and I a story about the long night thousands of years ago (hex of hexes) but I fall asleep before long.

A new year dawns upon us and my naming day is finally approaching.