The sun was directly overhead before Tor Escam could take a break. He wiped his brow and glanced up at the massive stone mill looming over him. He rested his head on the wooden handle he'd been pushing for the past few hours. Hours or days? He couldn't remember. One day blurred into the next, but he didn't know any better. As long as he was helping the herd, Tor didn't care.

This was the life he knew here in Macellum. If he put in good work now, he'd be blessed with great bounty and a good life on his Gate Day. No matter how tired he got on any given shift, he let that thought guide him through the next few hours–I will reap the benefits later of what I sow now.

Gate Day was coming close–next sunrise, if the millmen were to be trusted. He'd been waiting for it since before he could remember. The next step in a life well lived, where anything he'd ever wished would come true. Everyone coming of age that day would line up at the Great Gate beyond Macellum, and the world would be at their feet. It would be glorious.

"Tor! Head out of the clouds, you dumb ox! Back to work!" Millman Ben patted Tor on the shoulder to nudge him ahead. Ben was a decent man — tall and broad across the shoulder. He always had a kind smile for the herd, unlike some of the other millmen. Tor had heard rumours about other parts of Macellum where his herdsfolk weren't treated as kindly–but tried to push them out of his mind as best he could. Rumours were often better left where they belonged–ignored and left alone.

"Sorry." Tor shook his head and gripped the handle once again. His well-worn hand grooves caressed his palms as he got ready to work. "Gate Day."

"Ah, Tor, I'm going to miss you when you're gone," Millman Ben said. "Damn shame a fine worker like you's got to be shuffled along with the rest of them to keep up quota."

It wasn't the first time Tor had heard the word 'Quota.' He guessed it was part of the Gate Day ritual, so let it slide. Maybe it was the name of one of the gods beyond Macellum. Tor hoped to keep him happy and to receive Quota's blessings, if such an opportunity were to present itself.

The work horn sounded Tor leaned into the handle. The millwheel resisted at first, and Tor doubled his efforts. He rarely had to work this hard to make the wheel turn. With a grunt, he leaned into the handle with all his weight, but the wheel refused to budge.

"Tor!" Millman Ben barked. "Leave off! It's going to break!"

The warning came too late. A terrific crack echoed through the air, and the handle broke off right where it met the wheel. Tor pitched forward and hit the dirt before he knew what was happening. A searing pain tore through his arm, and when the dust settled Millman Ben rushed to Tor's side.

"Aw, shit, Tor!" Millman Ben helped Tor up to sitting and cradled his arm. "Why didn't you stop when I told you stop?"

"Gotta mill flour," Tor said. "Better that way."

A sizeable splinter of the handle stuck out of Tor's left arm, a thin trickle of blood leaking from the wound. Tor tried to stretch out his arm, but couldn't move it much past where it was already.

"Tor, hold still, we can't damage you," Millman Ben said. "Losing a prime bull like you – they'd dock my pay for a good month. MEDICAL! Get in here!"

"Ben, I'm okay!" Tor stood up, sending a stab of pain to his arm every time he jostled it. "Back to work."

"The hell with that, Tor!" Millman Bob put an arm around Tor's shoulders and held him close while a team of two dwinvets in lab coats bustled over.

"What happened?" The taller dwinvet was lean, not much meat on his bones. "How'd the mill handle break?"

"Tor's too damn strong for his own good, Carl," Millman Ben explained. "Something got stuck in the stone, and this dumb ox just kept pushing until the handle snapped right off."

"That's on you, too, Ben," Carl said. "That's pretty deep. Numb him, Jeanine."

The shorter dwinvet rubbed a sticky gel all over Tor's arm. "Just hold still a minute, bull," she ordered. "This'll help when we yank it out."

Tor thought about how much it hurt when the splinter stabbed into his flesh and winced when he thought about it coming back out again. "Don't yank it. Leave it. Back to work."

"Do you know how much shit we'll all be in if this gets infected?" Carl asked. "Your arms alone are priceless."

"What Carl means, Tor..." Millman Ben swatted Carl on the shoulder. "What Carl means is you're such a good worker, even losing you for a day would be a huge loss."

Carl rolled his eyes. "Yes. You're such a good worker, bull."

"Tor," Millman Ben corrected. "His name is Tor."

"Millman Ben." Jeanine finished applying the sticky gel. "A word?"

"Sure." Ben patted Tor on the head. "Just hang tight, Tor. We'll have that sticker out of there in a jiffy."

Tor didn't know what a 'sticker' was, or how long a 'jiffy' was supposed to be. His arm still hurt, but everywhere Jeanine had spread the gel tingled. He pressed his arm with his opposite hand, and couldn't feel the pressure.

"Why is my arm dead?" Tor asked.

"Don't worry about it, big guy," Ben said. He joined the dwinvets just out of Tor's hearing range. A hushed but furious conversation unfolded, and Tor could just make out a few snippets, such as '...aren't supposed to name them...' and '...need him for quota.'

There was that quota again. Tor hoped everything he'd done in his life, all the milling and hard work would be enough to please Quota. Everyone always seemed to be talking about Quota. Whoever he was, whatever he was the god of, he had to be important.

"Just get the stick out and help my bull," Millman Ben said. "He's off to the Gate tomorrow, so I only get him for a few more hours."

"What about your handle?" Carl asked. "Can't do much milling with a broken stone handle."

"Let me worry about that, dwinvet." Ben disappeared behind the mill for just a moment and came back with another handle. "I'll have it fixed in no time. You just take care of Tor."

Jeanine took hold of Tor's arm and took a close look at it. "You shouldn't feel a thing, bull."

"Name's Tor. Not bull," Tor said.

"Just hold still." Jeanine held Tor's arm with one hand and yanked the sliver out with the other. Tor barely felt a thing. The gel had done its job.

"Nice, Jeanine," Carl said. He swabbed the wound with a smelly liquid and slapped a bandage on it. "Clean pull. Nothing left behind."

"See, Ben?" Jeanine asked. "Your bull's going to make it, after all."

"Yup," Carl said. "Just in time for Gate Day. What a life. All this for a dumb animal."

"Go to hell, dwinvet," Ben said. "Remember, you are what you eat."

The dwinvets chuckled. "Just need to take a couple of measurements of your prize bull here, Ben. Shouldn't take a minute."

Dwinvet Carl reached into his medkit and pulled out some calipers and a notepad. He handed the notepad to Jeanine.

"Can you stand up straight for me, bull?" Carl asked.

"Name's Tor, not bull." Tor couldn't see why Carl didn't seem to get his name wasn't bull. "Call me Tor."

"Tor, bull, whatever. Just hold your arms out...perfect."

Tor held his arms out wide and Carl took some quick measurements of his body as Jeanine recorded the data in the notebook. True to his word, the whole thing took less than a minute.

"Damn, Ben, you've got yourself a slab of grade A here," Jeanine said. "He's going to get top dollar."

"Millmen don't see a lick of that money, dwinvet, and you know that," Ben growled. "I get a flat rate, no matter what he goes for. We millmen get screwed out of perfectly good workers on Gate Day. Pisses me off."

"Part of the gig." Carl packed up the kit. "Just be glad you were born on the other side of the Gate."

"Every day." Ben slid the new handle into place with a satisfying crunch. "You think you're ready to keep going, Tor?"

Tor stretched his arm out and poked at the wound. "Don't hurt. I want to work."

"You see?" Ben grinned at the dwinvets. "You don't get work like that out of just anybody."

"You should be very proud, Ben," Jeanine said. "Pack it up, Carl. We've got to be at the water works next."

"I hate the stink down there," Carl said. "Just smells wet all the time."

They bickered on as they left the mill. Tor settled into place at the handle and gave Ben a nod.

"That's my boy," Ben said.

Tor leaned into the handle, and the millstone spun free once again.