Riv Mig Sund

Tove holds the knife with great care as she looks at the stretched out hide. Duel-toned eyes turn up to the huge shadow, waiting for his guidance. He explains the process, calling it ‘fleshing’ which, the nebula wolf quickly learns, is exactly what it sounds like. When Víðarr instructs her to watch, she obediently shifts her gaze down to his knife and notes how his grip is certain. The confidence of knowing his trade, shows in the deft strokes he uses to remove fat and flesh, all movements smooth and sure. It is mesmerizing, the way the knife scrapes over the hide, the sound of the flesh being pulled away from the pelt is strangely satisfying to her. Víðarr instructs her not to stab and Tove nods her understanding, eyes remaining on his knife and the pelt.

She nods to his explanation about using a fresh pelt instead of dries ones and then he instructs her to try. Duel-toned eyes turn to the knife she holds, wanting to give the tool the respect it deserves. Tove glances over to Víðarr, adjusting her grip until she confident that it will not slip out and nick her. Giving herself a small nod, Tove places the knife almost parallel to the hide, like he had showed her, and pushes it out. Unfortunately, the knife does jumps, glancing off her paw pad and drawing a small bead of blood. Red brows knit together as she adjusts her grip, licking off the blood before setting the knife to begin again. This time the blade doesn’t jump as she scarpse at the rabbit flesh. Her work is sloppy at first and she huffs in annoyance at herself.

As the time goes on, Tove grows more confident and relaxes, her strokes becoming smoother and less jittery with each subsequent pass. The rhythm captures her; place, scrape, lift, place, scrape. When she sits back, the flesh is gone from the rabbit pelt and she lays the knife gently aside. Finally, she says, “Hey Víðarr. Is this okay?” White dipped paw points to her pelt as she turns her gaze to the shadow’s face.


"Tove Baade"