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On a dark Cylus day no brighter than its night, there came a hunter to a farmhouse. ‘Hunter’ was the most polite thing to call him, though many others would have sufficed: creature, danger, mage, perhaps ‘monster’ if time brought them all to odds. But the mage-creature’s magic had saved the farmer’s son, and so every member of the family was inclined to ignore the mage’s sharp teeth and quiet tongue, and the boulder snake skin he wore, and the snake-horse he rode. All they mentioned was the dead tiger across his saddle, and their relief at seeing such a monster ― for they were more than inclined to call that one a monster ― unable to harm their boy again.
It was a small farmhouse, one living room and two bedrooms shared between a husband and wife, a son and daughter, and a grandmother who could only see from one eye and hear from one ear. Even so, they offered to empty one of the bedrooms so the stranger could shelter through the vicious Cylus sleetstorm rolling across the forest.
If they thought he was rude to decline, they did not say it.
The hunter went to ground in a cave down the hill which the family used as a root cellar, and was large enough to accommodate his sarkin, horse, and the she-wolf at his heel. He hoped to hide from both the weather and the company both, but it only protected him from one of those things.
Shay, the farmer’s daughter was called. The hunter knew because the young woman had said so when he first arrived, and because her mother had reminded him of it, and then her father had done the same. She introduced herself again as she shivered outside the root cellar, wrapped in a plain dress without so much as a shawl to cover her shoulders.
Hello! she jittered in unpracticed sign language. My name is ―, can I do anything for you?
His signs were more practiced, but less obtrusive. I don’t understand. Why are you here?
Hello! My name is ―, can I do anything for you? “My father is―” A shudder ran so violently through her that it almost knocked her over. “He’s f-fetched the dead sheep from up the m-m-mountain. If you want ― want any mutton. C-can’t eat them all ours-selves.” Hello! My name is ―, can I do anything for you?
Why do you keep signing that?
“Wool too, if the ― if the monster left enough to shear. Mother’s got―” Another shudder. “―got a stew on the fire, if you’d care for a bowl.”
You’ll get sick if you stand there. “No stew. Go back inside.”
A strange expression crossed her face. He couldn’t tell if it was irritation or relief.
The hunter wasn’t familiar with the ways of civilization, but he was at least halfway familiar with language, and believed ‘No stew’ was a clear message. Even so, the young woman returned not half a break later, and this time she wore a dress with no sleeves. Why she had changed, the hunter could not begin to guess.
In her hands was a cut of firewood with a bowl of stew balanced on top. The stew was cold from how long it had taken to walk from the house to the root cellar, but she had come anyway, and even this wild hunter was not so callous as to make her stand in the sleet.
Hello! My name is ―
Fine. Come in. That gesture was clear enough that she needed no spoken word.
The hunter had filled the root cellar with all the things he usually put in a tent: his fire anak companion hearthed at the center, rocks piled overtop to form a makeshift stove and oven. A small pot bubbled merrily with stew the hunter had cooked to his own liking, with his own meat and vegetables. Animals settled in a corner, with dry grass cut from outside to make bedding. Supplies and equipment organized neatly at the back, and his she-wolf sprawled lazily in front of them. A wet tigerskin stretched over a frame beside the hearth, where the warmth could speed up its transformation to leather.
Because the young woman’s hands were full, the hunter took the cold stew off her firewood and set it aside. She stood still for a moment, staring at him, the cold stew she had brought, and the hot stew he already had.
“You’re… young,” she said. “Younger than I thought. Younger than you look in your armor.”
The hunter glanced at his armor, stacked neatly with the rest of his equipment. Were it metal, it would be considered full plate, with a helmet that covered most of the face. He didn’t understand how she could have assumed anyone’s age under such a thing.
Yes, was his only reply. He presumed her firewood was for him, because it would not make sense for her to have brought it otherwise, and so he tried to take it from her.
“It’s different.” She held on a moment before giving it up. “The wood. It’s yellow dragon wood. The everburning wood.”
The hunter paused. He glanced down at the firewood, noted the color of its timber, and set it beside his other firewood. ‘Yellow dragon wood’ was a phrase he had heard in passing, the same way he’d heard a hundred passing things on Scalvoris.
Another impossibility. Then aloud, because his curiosity was genuine: “Nothing burns forever.”
“Not forever.” Her agreement was quick. Too quick, to his ear. “But for a long time. Trials. A tentrial, even. Larger logs as long as thirty.” Hello, my name is ―,
It is valuable, then, the hunter replied. “Your family should keep it.” Take it back.
“No.” Loud enough to make herself flinch. She wrapped arms around herself and looked at the ground. “We have more. This is a gift. To you. From my family.”
He peered at her, at the mottled red on her bare arms, at her stillness. She stood like a rabbit that wasn’t quite sure if it was in danger or not.
“You do not want to be here,” he observed.
Not an accusation, but the young woman ― Shay ― folded into herself as if it was.
“I do,” she replied, and he could smell the lie like rot under snow. “I want to be here. I want to know you.”
“Go home. I will not stop you.”
“No. It’s a storm. It’s not safe to walk back.”
“It was safe to walk here.”
She had no counter for that. Silence stretched. She watched the ground, and the hunter watched her.
The hunter looked away first.
He circled around the root cellar, as he had done a dozen times before she came. He examined his animals, counted his equipment, and stirred his stew. He kept his ear always turned to his visitor, but did not look at her, no more attention than he would give to a shadow on the wall.
Heat, uncomfortable. In the hearth, the anak called Littlespark flickered against the stewpot. Visitor good? Visitor bad?
Visitor safe, the hunter thought to his companion. I think.
It wasn’t until the hunter retrieved a piece of yellow wood that Shay shifted on her feet, and with a soft voice asked, “Will you burn that?”
Yes.
Hello, my name is ― “May I… may I sit beside the fire?”
“Yes.”
She settled close to the fire. Littlespark’s flames bent toward her curiously, not to harm, but to heat. She did not see the spirit, or at least, the fire’s behavior wasn’t strange enough for her to comment on it.
“You don’t have to eat my family’s stew,” she said. “But I’ll tell them you did, if you like.”
The hunter sat on the other side of the fire. “If you tell them such a thing, will they let you return?”
“Not tonight, I suspect.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. “And I’d rather be here than outside. If you’ll have me.”
He stirred the low embers of the hearth and slipped the yellow wood into it. “Does your family often send you to greet travellers this way?”
“Only those with great wealth or power. Those travellers are rare.”
“Does your family think I have great power?”
“You brought my brother back to life. Or, you did something close to it.”
“With magic. You all know I am a mage, although you do not say it.”
She shuddered, and it didn’t seem to be from the cold. “Yes. Magic is… magic is a power like no other.”
“And a danger like no other.”
Her eyes met his, just for a moment. “Are you… are you dangerous to us?”
“Mages are dangerous to everyone.”
“Are you going to hurt us?”
“No. Why do you keep signing with your hands? Do you understand what you’re saying with them?”
She looked at the ground. “Not really. But my grandmother signs a bit. She said you would understand.”
“Did you want to come here, or did your family send you?”
Her hesitation turned into no answer at all.
“The other travellers,” he asked. “Do you go to them willingly?”
This question seemed easier. “As willingly as to any other chore, I suppose.”
“And will your family take you back if this chore isn’t done?”
“Not until morning,” she repeated. Her eyes darted askance. “If you are cold during the night―”
“I will sleep soon.” From his equipment, the hunter retrieved two bowls. One he filled for himself; the other he set on Shay’s side of the fire. “Tomorrow’s weather will be no kinder than today.”
“Do you…” She gripped her dress. “Can I ― I’d rather stay here. Rather here than outside.”
“I will sleep alone.”
“Alone?”
“Alone. You are welcome here as long as you wish to be.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Spent several moments gathering courage for her next question: “Can I… sleep on this side of the fire?”
“Yes.”
Shay relaxed. It was the first time he had seen her do that since he first laid eyes on her. She reached for the second bowl, and the silence settled around them into something that almost felt comfortable.
Outside, the storm pressed on.
Inside, the yellow wood burned.
It was a small farmhouse, one living room and two bedrooms shared between a husband and wife, a son and daughter, and a grandmother who could only see from one eye and hear from one ear. Even so, they offered to empty one of the bedrooms so the stranger could shelter through the vicious Cylus sleetstorm rolling across the forest.
If they thought he was rude to decline, they did not say it.
The hunter went to ground in a cave down the hill which the family used as a root cellar, and was large enough to accommodate his sarkin, horse, and the she-wolf at his heel. He hoped to hide from both the weather and the company both, but it only protected him from one of those things.
Shay, the farmer’s daughter was called. The hunter knew because the young woman had said so when he first arrived, and because her mother had reminded him of it, and then her father had done the same. She introduced herself again as she shivered outside the root cellar, wrapped in a plain dress without so much as a shawl to cover her shoulders.
Hello! she jittered in unpracticed sign language. My name is ―, can I do anything for you?
His signs were more practiced, but less obtrusive. I don’t understand. Why are you here?
Hello! My name is ―, can I do anything for you? “My father is―” A shudder ran so violently through her that it almost knocked her over. “He’s f-fetched the dead sheep from up the m-m-mountain. If you want ― want any mutton. C-can’t eat them all ours-selves.” Hello! My name is ―, can I do anything for you?
Why do you keep signing that?
“Wool too, if the ― if the monster left enough to shear. Mother’s got―” Another shudder. “―got a stew on the fire, if you’d care for a bowl.”
You’ll get sick if you stand there. “No stew. Go back inside.”
A strange expression crossed her face. He couldn’t tell if it was irritation or relief.
The hunter wasn’t familiar with the ways of civilization, but he was at least halfway familiar with language, and believed ‘No stew’ was a clear message. Even so, the young woman returned not half a break later, and this time she wore a dress with no sleeves. Why she had changed, the hunter could not begin to guess.
In her hands was a cut of firewood with a bowl of stew balanced on top. The stew was cold from how long it had taken to walk from the house to the root cellar, but she had come anyway, and even this wild hunter was not so callous as to make her stand in the sleet.
Hello! My name is ―
Fine. Come in. That gesture was clear enough that she needed no spoken word.
The hunter had filled the root cellar with all the things he usually put in a tent: his fire anak companion hearthed at the center, rocks piled overtop to form a makeshift stove and oven. A small pot bubbled merrily with stew the hunter had cooked to his own liking, with his own meat and vegetables. Animals settled in a corner, with dry grass cut from outside to make bedding. Supplies and equipment organized neatly at the back, and his she-wolf sprawled lazily in front of them. A wet tigerskin stretched over a frame beside the hearth, where the warmth could speed up its transformation to leather.
Because the young woman’s hands were full, the hunter took the cold stew off her firewood and set it aside. She stood still for a moment, staring at him, the cold stew she had brought, and the hot stew he already had.
“You’re… young,” she said. “Younger than I thought. Younger than you look in your armor.”
The hunter glanced at his armor, stacked neatly with the rest of his equipment. Were it metal, it would be considered full plate, with a helmet that covered most of the face. He didn’t understand how she could have assumed anyone’s age under such a thing.
Yes, was his only reply. He presumed her firewood was for him, because it would not make sense for her to have brought it otherwise, and so he tried to take it from her.
“It’s different.” She held on a moment before giving it up. “The wood. It’s yellow dragon wood. The everburning wood.”
The hunter paused. He glanced down at the firewood, noted the color of its timber, and set it beside his other firewood. ‘Yellow dragon wood’ was a phrase he had heard in passing, the same way he’d heard a hundred passing things on Scalvoris.
Another impossibility. Then aloud, because his curiosity was genuine: “Nothing burns forever.”
“Not forever.” Her agreement was quick. Too quick, to his ear. “But for a long time. Trials. A tentrial, even. Larger logs as long as thirty.” Hello, my name is ―,
It is valuable, then, the hunter replied. “Your family should keep it.” Take it back.
“No.” Loud enough to make herself flinch. She wrapped arms around herself and looked at the ground. “We have more. This is a gift. To you. From my family.”
He peered at her, at the mottled red on her bare arms, at her stillness. She stood like a rabbit that wasn’t quite sure if it was in danger or not.
“You do not want to be here,” he observed.
Not an accusation, but the young woman ― Shay ― folded into herself as if it was.
“I do,” she replied, and he could smell the lie like rot under snow. “I want to be here. I want to know you.”
“Go home. I will not stop you.”
“No. It’s a storm. It’s not safe to walk back.”
“It was safe to walk here.”
She had no counter for that. Silence stretched. She watched the ground, and the hunter watched her.
The hunter looked away first.
He circled around the root cellar, as he had done a dozen times before she came. He examined his animals, counted his equipment, and stirred his stew. He kept his ear always turned to his visitor, but did not look at her, no more attention than he would give to a shadow on the wall.
Heat, uncomfortable. In the hearth, the anak called Littlespark flickered against the stewpot. Visitor good? Visitor bad?
Visitor safe, the hunter thought to his companion. I think.
It wasn’t until the hunter retrieved a piece of yellow wood that Shay shifted on her feet, and with a soft voice asked, “Will you burn that?”
Yes.
Hello, my name is ― “May I… may I sit beside the fire?”
“Yes.”
She settled close to the fire. Littlespark’s flames bent toward her curiously, not to harm, but to heat. She did not see the spirit, or at least, the fire’s behavior wasn’t strange enough for her to comment on it.
“You don’t have to eat my family’s stew,” she said. “But I’ll tell them you did, if you like.”
The hunter sat on the other side of the fire. “If you tell them such a thing, will they let you return?”
“Not tonight, I suspect.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. “And I’d rather be here than outside. If you’ll have me.”
He stirred the low embers of the hearth and slipped the yellow wood into it. “Does your family often send you to greet travellers this way?”
“Only those with great wealth or power. Those travellers are rare.”
“Does your family think I have great power?”
“You brought my brother back to life. Or, you did something close to it.”
“With magic. You all know I am a mage, although you do not say it.”
She shuddered, and it didn’t seem to be from the cold. “Yes. Magic is… magic is a power like no other.”
“And a danger like no other.”
Her eyes met his, just for a moment. “Are you… are you dangerous to us?”
“Mages are dangerous to everyone.”
“Are you going to hurt us?”
“No. Why do you keep signing with your hands? Do you understand what you’re saying with them?”
She looked at the ground. “Not really. But my grandmother signs a bit. She said you would understand.”
“Did you want to come here, or did your family send you?”
Her hesitation turned into no answer at all.
“The other travellers,” he asked. “Do you go to them willingly?”
This question seemed easier. “As willingly as to any other chore, I suppose.”
“And will your family take you back if this chore isn’t done?”
“Not until morning,” she repeated. Her eyes darted askance. “If you are cold during the night―”
“I will sleep soon.” From his equipment, the hunter retrieved two bowls. One he filled for himself; the other he set on Shay’s side of the fire. “Tomorrow’s weather will be no kinder than today.”
“Do you…” She gripped her dress. “Can I ― I’d rather stay here. Rather here than outside.”
“I will sleep alone.”
“Alone?”
“Alone. You are welcome here as long as you wish to be.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Spent several moments gathering courage for her next question: “Can I… sleep on this side of the fire?”
“Yes.”
Shay relaxed. It was the first time he had seen her do that since he first laid eyes on her. She reached for the second bowl, and the silence settled around them into something that almost felt comfortable.
Outside, the storm pressed on.
Inside, the yellow wood burned.
| ! | Message from: Secret Discovered!!! |
| The Anak spots a very very small bit of sap still in it (for some weird reason) and sees that, when the sap is burned with the wood it releases smoke. And I mean - a LOT of smoke. If you check - no the sap doesn't do that alone. To give you an idea. A small drop of sap (roughly the size of a grape) would smoke out a 2-bedroomed house to the point that people would leave, or they'd pass out. |
