Open [Zhongjie Warren] The Price of Freedom

[Timothy Mered]

5th of Winter 514AV

OOCAt the time of writing a reverse personality curse lingers over Riverfall. This is why Timothy behaves much unlike the kind, honest character he usually is and instead acts bitterly and thief-like.

Timothy peered into the horizon, that faint blue line separating heaven and earth. Even so far up the cliff, he could hear the seagulls squawk below as they circled the galleons docked there, white sails lit up by the harsh sunlight. His belly produced a low growl, like an angry dog. It had been two days since his release and his single miza had been reduced to mere coppers. Six silver mizas had gone into paying for a small room, four to pay for the last two nights, and two he had foolishly spent on a simple meal. Having already paid Nystir for yet another night, that had left him with only two silvers, most of which had gone into buying bread. With only eight coppers remaining and a mouth dry as cork, there was nothing else for it.

Sauntering down the meandering alleys, he made his way to the bazaar he’d discovered a day earlier. Nestled between low stone walls and somewhat hidden from sight, Timothy had almost walked past it if it hadn’t been for the warm smell of freshly baked bread wafting up the streets. Even with the sun on its descent, there still were many people about, their warm breaths mingling with the fumes that lingered like a heavy fog.

The slightly undersized overcoat handed to him by a young Kuvan did little to protect against the stinging cold, and Timothy hugged himself tightly as he went by the stands. It was a good thing, he considered, that his hair hadn’t been cut since two months past, blonde strands reached just short of his brows and covered his glowing red ears. He’d layered two tunics on top of each other but the salty wind still gnawed at his ribs and bit at his exposed ankles. In Kenash, his woolen three-quarters’ had often been too hot, and now they were just as useless.

Remembering where the baker had his stand, Timothy weaved through the sea of legs and torsos. With a little luck he could just walk by, grab a bottle of milk and blend back into the crowd like so many boys his age did back in Sunberth. If they can do it, I can too, he tried to persuade himself. But as he approached the stand his heart dropped below his worn-out shoes and he quickly averted his eyes from the gruff Akalak that guarded it, heat flushing his cheeks. I can’t just walk up there and take it… his better side pleaded as he stepped back into the crowd. But I can’t drink from the sea either, and I don’t want to beg. The Akalaks had already given him his freedom, to ask more of them would be downright ungrateful, and to steal would be even worse! Yet he couldn’t think of another way to quench his thirst. The sailors hadn’t wanted him, not even as a swabber boy, they probably thought him some frail little twig that’d be blown over starboard when the winds would swell the sea. After their rejection, Timothy hadn’t yet mustered the courage to seek employment elsewhere. Adults weren’t to be trusted after all, they only ever sought to use him and fill their own pockets. No more, Timothy gritted his teeth, I’ll hold my own now. I’ve survived Sunberth and I’ve survived Jed Radacke, I’ll survive this city too!

Circling back around, the baker’s stand came into view yet again. A dozen bottles of milk stood shelved on a pair of barrels with a board over it. It’s easy. I just need to walk by, keep my head down, and reach out…. He broke free from the slowly moving crowd and joined an elderly man with a walking stick.
“I’ll have three of those warm buns…” he could hear the man say. Timothy shot a glance at the baker, he was busy with the greybeard’s order. Now…

"...and a fruitcake please."

"For the lady?" the baker's belly shook with laughter.

Just grab it... He stepped forward and looked the other way, his hand reaching blindly for one of the bottles…

“I only buy her the best," the old man replied. He grinned a near toothless grin, "Let's see, I’ll have your sourdough as well-“

“-Hey! Boy!”

Timothy froze on the spot. A lump blocked his throat. Turning around, his eyes met with the blue-skinned baker. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” the man spoke, his voice as coarse as his outstretched hand.

“H- How much?” Tim clutched the cold bottle to his chest.

The baker pointed towards the shelf, “Fresh Buffalo Milk, only 1SM”

Buffalo Milk… He groaned at his own stupidity.

“Well…?”

Timothy looked back up. He was a good three paces removed from the baker who, couldn’t easily escape his self-built prison of barrels, crates and breads, not in the least because the man had a circumference that would make it hard to turn without knocking half his wares over.

“I don’t have that much,” Timothy said in a last-ditch effort to escape in the inescapable.

“Then give it back. Come on boy, I don’t like dishonesty.”

The words pierced his heart and he very nearly obeyed. I am sorry…
Holding on to the priced bottle for dear life, Timothy spun around on his heels and made a run for it.

“Boy! Hey, come back here! Thief!” The shouts whipped at his back, but he paid the baker’s roars no heed. Heads turned, he heard a woman shriek as he bumped past her. If anything, the toe-curling shrillness of her voice made him run faster. Just keep on running…

But the crowd was like a wall, impenetrable and hell-bent on stopping him. A young Akalak reached out to stop him, his bony blue fingers grazing Tim’s shoulder, sending him off balance. His heart drummed in his ears as he felt the bottle slip.

Splash!

The costly white fluid stained the clothes of those near him, but Timothy didn’t look back. Panting, he bit through the sting in his chest. The bazaar’s entrance drew closer, but so did the voices of those chasing him and he thought he heard the heavy boot of a soldier behind him. Ducking underneath the intertwined fingers of a couple in love, Timothy leapt up the small steps and dashed out into the open street.

Left would lead him back up and slow him down, right would go down but he didn’t know those parts well.

“Hold it!” the soldier shouted. Timothy dashed to the left and sprinted down the street, making a sharp turn to his right as he went past Kulkukan’s. He couldn’t return there now, they would turn him in. Horrified and on his last legs, Timothy kept on running, hoping dearly that he would be able to shake his pursuers in the docks.

[Rosela]

OOCHope you don't mind if I shove my way in!

Rosela huffed irritably as she stood on the chilly docks, all six armed crossed underneath her pristine white fur cloak. In front of her, a ship was docked, crates being laboriously unloaded. One of them was hers, containing four precious bolts of Kalinor silk. The shipment was late already, prompting her to come to fetch it herself rather than wait for it to be delivered to Yards and Yards. She had an entire line of ballgowns to put together for the Ice Masquerade and she’d be damned if a ship was going to make her miss a sale.

She didn’t like being at the docks by herself; too many eyes looking her up and down in a hundred ways that all made her stomach turn. The sickness had nothing to do with the child growing inside of her, more with the dark, dangerous place Riverfall had become. She kept her cloak slightly parted, to display her growing belly. It seemed, thus far, that a pregnant woman still had some standing in the city.

The next Akalak down the plank to the dock held a short, wide box marked with what she thought was ‘Yards and Yards’ on the side in Tukant. She didn’t know all the letters, but the repeating name made her feel her educated guess was a good one. Jumping forward, she pulled out the slip of parchment given to her by Lunnis, the proprietor of the weaving establishment.

”Hi! Hello there!” She called to the man hauling the box. He looked at her with the tired confusion of a man at the end of a long day of work. ”This box, is it for Yards and Yards? From Kalinor?”

“Kalinor?” His voice with thick with a Tukant accent and Rosela moved closer to be sure she could understand him. “Eh, yea. For fabric place.”

”Wonderful. See, this is actually for me, Rosela the Clothier? I have a pickup slip from-“

“No, no, no. Goes to Yard n’ Yards. On the box.”

”No, I have a pickup slip from them, see?” She held out the paper directly in front of his face, enunciating clearly so he would be sure to understand.

The man heaved a sigh and dropped the box on a nearby barrel, clearly put upon. Snatching the paper out of her hands, he peered at it, nose wrinkling. Rosela kept her distance, mildly anxious. She didn’t want to follow the delivery all the way across the city, but she didn’t quite have it in her to push too hard for it. Like all Akalaks, this man was significantly bigger than her and could easily…hurt her.

“Ah, alright.” The man’s huffed words startled her and she scrambled to catch the paper he tossed at her. He pulled a small metal tool from his belt and cracked the lid to the crate open, tilting it for her to see. “Okay, eh?”

Taken aback, Rosela peered in, seeing all four cylinders – bolts of fabric wrapped in cheap linen for protection. ”Um, okay?”

“Good.” He hefted the crate up and made to hand it to her.

Rosela fluttered her hands helplessly. ”I can’t carry that!”

“Cart. Three miza rent. One is deposit, for when you bring back to me.” He winked audaciously at her.

”Three…silver?”

“Gold.”

”…Fine.” She followed him as they weaved through the crowd towards a small corral of carts. The sign next to them was in Tukant, but Rosela could tell they didn’t cost three whole gold mizas. Unwilling to argue though, she dropped the three gems into his outstretched hand and heaved the cart away.

By the time she was almost out of the docks, she was already tired of weaving in and out of rushing people. She’d been bumped, jostled and splashed along the way, once rescuing the box from completely overturning. A bustle ahead caught her attention and she heaved the cart to move to the side. It was some Kuvay’nas chasing a…boy?

Her moment of shock cost her and an Akalak slammed his shin into the front of her cart. While he cursed violently, Rosela dragged the cart out of the way, reaching for the overturned box. To her horror, a bolt of fabric slowly slid out of the box and began to roll away. Forgetting all sense, she abandoned the cart and jumped after the rolling bolt, which was just about to be trampled by a dashing child. ”Don’t, don’t!” It didn’t occur to her she was shouting in Arumenic, only that she was about to lose a small fortune in fabric. Her panicking mind did not connect this child with the one who was being chased and all six arms snatched him by the shoulders, attempting to shove him away.

Ledger-3gm for cart rental, guessing on the price since it's not on the price list

[Timothy Mered]

5th of Winter 514AV

Heat scorched his lungs. Every choked breath was like a knife stabbing through his windpipes. Thundering footsteps were close behind, or very far. He couldn’t tell and didn’t have the courage to glance over his shoulder. A tingle crept down his spine, shadows flicked in and out of his peripheral vision, threatening to catch up. “Stop him!” a voice boomed. But the crowd was too sluggish to react and Timothy shouldered his way through a sea of limbs, not caring that he’d knocked a precious vase out of the hands of a finely dressed woman, or that he’d stepped on a young girl’s toes. Please give uip… he begged silently from his pursuers, but their threatening voices only drew nearer.

He hardly noticed the pregnant, six-armed Eypharian pushing a tarnished cart up the hill. If he had, his fear for six-armed beings like her would’ve certainly made him skid to a halt. The last Eypharian he’d come across had wanted to pull every strand of hair from his skull and Timothy was certain that her entire race severely disliked him. Why else was the dark-haired, tanned lady cursing at him?

When he discovered why, it was already too late. He tripped, pain shooting through his big toe all the way up to his thigh. Fingers clutched around his shoulders and further pushed him off balance. Up and down reversed as he tumbled towards the ground, grazing his knee in the process. His fingers dug into the costly fabric, tearing it down to mere threads where his nails scratched the fine cloth.

Gritting his teeth, Timothy bit through the many pains. His chest ached from running, his beating heart drummed in his ears and something warm trickled down his nose.

“Got you!”

“Ouch!” Tim cried as the young guard pulled him up by the collar. "Get your hands off me, petching..." a sudden upward jerk shut him up and sent a painful throb through his aching forehead, making him wobble on his pins until the world came back into focus. Had he not been dulled by the fall, Timothy could have resumed his escape as the young guard checked on the dark-haired woman's well-being. It would not have been much help however as two more Kuvay’nas came rushing up the hill, closing off any opportunity of escape. It only took them a few ticks to see that the dazed child was the culprit of the chaos.

The older of the two Akalaks, a fierce looking man with a light stubble, rested his hand on Tim’s shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to eradicate any thoughts of breaking free. “That yours miss?” the youngest city guard asked, jutting his chin at the costly fabric.

Before she could answer, a low voice came booming down the streets. “There you are! Not so slippery now, eh?” Puffing and sweating the baker narrowed his pig-like eyes to slits and nearly poked Tim’s eye out with his finger.

“He…” the baker took a moment to catch his breath, “that boy…” Wiping the sweat of his brow, the baker rested his hands on his kneecaps before straightening back up. “He stole off me, you saw it didn’t you?”

The younger Akalak nodded towards the bald one with the stubbled, square chin. He must be their captain… Tim thought vaguely. The man’s calloused hand was firm, but not unkind as he kept Tim in place.

“Oh my!” the baker cried with a fair bit of theatrics. “Oh my, he knocked over this poor lady too did he? A pregnant lady no less!” Timothy averted his gaze from the baker’s horrified look and shot an innocent glance at the woman. She was indeed pregnant, judging by the odd bob in her belly, and Timothy sincerely hoped he hadn’t hurt her. “I am sorry…” he muttered while he pressed his red-stained sleeve against his nose.

“Where are your parents?” the older Akalak inquired, his voice surprisingly haughty for one his age.

Tim tore his gaze from the impeccably dressed lady. He wouldn’t be remotely surprised if she turned out to be Kenashian or had some relations there for her hair was styled, her skin toned, and her eyes brought out by some mysterious dark paint she’d smeared around her eyelids.

“Not here…” Timothy murmured.

“Do you have any?”

He swallowed. “No.”

“You said he stole something?” the captain inquired from the baker.

“Yes, a bottle of my finest buffalo milk which now lies in tatters. Not to mention that I’ve had to abandon my stand!”

The captain nodded. “And you, sweet lady,” he suddenly didn’t sound so stern anymore. “Do you have anything to add to this?”

[Rosela]

She was not quick enough.

Rosela’s fingers did not find enough purchase in the boy’s ragged clothing to draw him off course and she found herself falling past him. The anticipated counterbalance of his movement lost, she fell to the ground, landing hard on one knee and the palms of two hands. Through the pain shooting through her knee, she twisted to see the fate of her silk.

She could only watch in horror as the boy descended onto the rolling bolt of cloth with the deadly precision of an attacking seagull. Every innocent fiber popping under his wretched fingers struck her heart and it felt as if her very purse had been stabbed, spilling her mizas onto the street. For a moment, her throat only flexed impotently, working her jaw like a hooked fish. By the time her fingers slipped from his coat and the Kuvay’nas heaved him up, a high, keening noise was leaking from her. Many around them who had not stopped to watch the commotion did so now, creating a wide eddy in the flow of people. Fingers delicately plucked the roll from the ground, multiple hands working to smooth and reroll the delicate silk. Not much was damaged, a fraction of a yard at best, but still, it was mizas lost.

Near her, the Kuvay’nas paid her mind, asking after her fabric. Despite the horror that had occurred, she felt a roll of distaste wash through her at his presence, her own unpleasant encounter with them still echoing in her memories. In spite of herself, she felt immediate pity for the bruised, bloodied boy.

Before she could voice any of her thoughts, however, a third party burst onto the scene, airing his own grievances. With the tell-tale speed of an impending mood swing, a flame of irritation rose in her chest at this man’s exclamation of her pregnancy. Who was he to be all shock and horror at her falling? She was more concerned at the wet spot in her nice wool than her knee soreness somehow affecting her stomach. Emotion colored her cheeks as the poor boy even apologized to her. And an orphan no less! Fury mixed with deep, wretched pity and she blinked back tears. Despite knowing she was in the middle of a mood swing, it didn’t lessen the absolute certainty the she would have been justified beating the pair of them over the head with her silk.

”Buffalo milk?!” Despite her opinion being outright asked for, her exclamation burst into the conversation with the force of a mule kick and she stomped forward. ”I’ve had that awful milk, and it’s piss, you…charlatan.” She didn’t know the word in Common, and knew he couldn’t tell what she said, but she plowed forward anyway, punctuating her words with a stab of the bolt she brandished in two right hands like a sword. In truth, she wasn’t sure she’d ever had his milk, but felt as one business owner to another, there was no crueler way to insult someone than to insult their wares. ”It’s better off on the ground! And now you chase down and assault this poor boy in the middle of the street – with the Festival of Hope just around the corner! Do you hate children?”

“Nobody’s saying…” The Kuvay’nas stepped forward, one hand up consolingly, obviously regretting involving her.

”For no more than the cost of your measly buffalo milk, you’d have this one, what? Beaten in the street? Thrown into the arena? Executed? This poor, innocent child, with barely a copper to clothe his back?”

“Hey, that’s not what I-“ The baker puffed up and tried to speak over her.

As Rosela jabbed the bolt of silk at him again, two hands reached around and jerked the boy from the Kuvay’nas, pressing him protectively, and forcefully, into her side. ”How much was the milk, hm? A copper, a silver? How much is a child’s well-being worth to you?” As the crowd muttered around them, the mood swing suddenly took the inopportune moment to start winding down and Rosela began to realize she’d gotten far too involved in this. There’d be no way she’d get her money for the silk out of this child now, not after defending him like this.

“It’s one silver miza, and there’s no getting around the fact that he stole from me!” He gestured in shock to the attending Kuvay’nas.

”Here then!” Her two free hands pulled her purse from under her cloak and drug out a gold miza. It seemed the most immediate way to unravel the situation, though she internally acknowledged that she seemed to be simply sweating mizas that evening. ”One gold miza, for your trouble.” She flicked it at him and as much as she would have liked to see him fumble for it, he caught the gem handily.

“Well,” the Kuvay’nas broke in breezily. “If the milk’s been paid for, then there’s no crime, right?”

”Right,” Rosela answered forcefully for the baker, staring him down. ”Come, child.” Though she addressed the child she clutched to her side, she continued to glare at the baker. ”You can help me push my cart." Brandishing the bolt again, she waved people out of her way and half-dragged the boy back to her cart with her.

Ledger-1gm for ‘common source’ milk, plus interest

[Timothy Mered]

5th of Winter 514AV

Dazed, Timothy could hardly believe his ears. Not only was the Eypharian defending him, she was even going at the baker, telling him just how good his wares really were. She reached for him with such force that the air was knocked out of him as his back hit her side. Something hard hit his spine. As the woman continued her passionate defense, Tim’s eyes found her purse within reach. She was too pre-occupied with the baker and the guards, he merely had to extend his hand, grab the purse and stuff it under his shirt and all his worries would be gone. His frame was just broad enough to shield the purse, and his hand, from sight.

Easing up, feeling her warmth wrap itself around him, he blindly reached for her purse behind his back and gave it a little squeeze. There were many mizas in there he could tell, enough to survive for days, weeks even! A hungry greed rose in his chest. What a fool she was, to bring him so close to treasure! He had been good and honest for too long. And where had it gotten him? To a foreign city, in chains, with his freedom trampled under the boots of chin-ups. The world had cursed him, and so he would curse the world in return, spit in its ugly mug and take if he wouldn’t be given.

As swiftly as it had reared, his angry desire for money ended and he returned to his senses.

She saved you! It isn’t right… And then there was the distinct bulge in her abdomen. To steal from her would be to steal from an unborn child. Clenching his jaw, Timothy let go off the purse, his arm dropping silently by his side. No sooner than he’d done so, his benefactor reached for her belt and flipped the puffing baker a gold-rimmed miza.

The Kuvay’nas read Tim’s mind. With the spilled milk paid for and the woman protecting him as though he was her own, the city guards served no purpose anymore. Releasing her affectionate hold on him, Tim did as he was asked and stumbled forward to take hold of the cart. A dull ache thrummed in his side and one nostril was clotted with dried blood, but aside from these injuries and the odd scrape or two, he had little trouble pushing the cart forward, following the woman’s lead.

Barely a chime had passed before the cold seeped back into his bones. The chased had warmed him only for a moment, and his knees were starting to feel numb and weak underneath him. “Are we almost there?” he shivered. Before she could answer, he had opened his mouth again and blurted. “Name’s Timothy by the way, but you can call me Tim, most people do.” Ignoring the strain in his arms, the cart was starting to get heavier every tick, he let a silence thin as vapor linger between them. Although he’d traversed many of Riverfall’s streets in the days he’d spent looking for food, water, and shelter, he didn’t recognize the parts she was leading him through. What if it’s a trap? Grown-ups weren’t to be trusted, Eypharians even less, and for some odd reason, Timothy couldn’t shake the feeling that every single adult in Riverfall wanted something off him. Why did she protect me? There must be a reason…

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to abandoning her, not after what she had done to save him. Though he didn’t know how the Akalak treated thieves, he’d quickly learnt of their dislike towards ragged beggars and wasn’t too keen on finding out.

“I hope I didn’t cause you too much expense” and I hope you will still have a miza left for my troubles, he added in the privacy of his mind. Searching deep within himself, Timothy mustered the will to breathe a word of gratitude. “Thank you for what you did…” he swallowed. “After I’ve delivered this,” he gestured towards the cart and its contents, “will I be free to go?” He doubted the woman could stop him, even if she wanted too. Having six arms did help, but having a baby did not.

[Rosela]

Rosela had absolutely no idea the danger her purse was in and she stormed back to the cart, indignance rapidly wearing off. She tried to console herself with the knowledge that at least she now had a young, strong back to heave her cart up the hill. She almost dared not look down at the street ruffian she was practically kidnapping at this very moment. People were staring at them, but she kept moving with her chin held high. Backing off now that she was this far involved would make her look at best, fickle, at worse, ridiculous.

What had she been thinking? She didn’t know a thing about this child except that he was, well, a child. In a city like Riverfall, someone had surely failed him if he’d taken to the streets like this.

Instead of dropping the damaged bolt of silk back into the crate, Rosela gently unrolled it in front of her as she walked next to the cart, unsure of what to say to the boy pushing it at the moment. The silk wasn’t that damaged, half a yard lost at most. She could maybe use it for trim…

The boy surprised her by talking, and she looked back in surprise. She supposed it would be rude to spend the entire trip in silence. ”Well met, Tim.” She wished she could use his full name instead, not liking how the shorter version felt on her tongue. It was too short, like the name of a pet or small animal. ”It’s not much further, it’s up by the Crystal Rose.” Would a child, especially this one, know where such a nice restaurant was?

Turning back to her silk, she rolled it back up and slipped it under the lid of the crate. She’d deal with that later. For the moment, the silence settled awkwardly between them. In the end, the boy broke it once again as she struggled to find something to say. ”It’s fine,” she said automatically, though deep down, she knew it wasn’t. At over 12gm a yard, the damaged half yard was 6 gold mizas, on top of the miza she’d rashly paid the wretched milk man.

Interrupting her calculations, she was surprised and more than a little miffed to hear the boy apologize and try to find when he could get away from her in the same breath. What kind of people would raise such an ungrateful child? He didn’t even look grateful, every inch of his posture radiating suspicion to the point of resentment. ”You’ve cost me a pretty miza today, boy.” It came out more irritated than she intended, but decided to let it go. She’d practically saved his life, she was allowed to be a little upset in front of him. ”My lovely silk was damaged in your little act of thievery, and I have a business to run. Do you know how much Kalinor silk costs these days?”

Eyeing him critically, she noticed for the first time the shiver in his arms and how truly tattered his clothing was. He must have been freezing. Not so long ago, she wouldn’t have cared. The woman she once was would have had no pity for him, never gotten involved in the first place. But now… Heaving a sigh, she brushed at his hand for him to move over, and threw her limited strength behind the one side of the cart. ”We’ll get there faster if we both push. You must be freezing out here.” As if to illustrate her words, a gust picked up and sent her cloak billowing. A small squeak escaped her throat and two hands that were not holding to the cart’s handle scrambled to pull her cloak shut.

”Why did you have to steal that milk in the first place? Whoever you’re staying with, if not your parents, why don’t they send you out in decent clothing at least?” What miserable people they must be, she wondered, to raise such a miserable child.

[Timothy Mered]

Date here

“Crystal Rose?” His eyes widened. “Pretty place that, always smells nice. I had a peek inside once. Good stuff.” She must be very wealthy if she lives all the way up the cliff He gave her another one-over and decided that she probably was. He’d felt her purse, even if only for a moment, and it was as fat and heavy as the bulge in her belly. Her clothes, including those on the cart, were of a fine make, rendering the difference between them even larger. And for the first time in his life, Timothy felt ashamed of the clothes on his back. The likes of Rosela wouldn’t even mope the floor with his wretched tunic, for the cloth would be too rough even for hardwood floors. At least his cheeks weren't cold anymore.

Back in Sunberth he’d heart plenty a man complain how their wives had become wrinkly, saggy, barrels and how the slightest thing would tick them off when they were about to deliver a child into the world. In that regard, Rosela seemed to be handling herself pretty well. She was pretty, even for an Eypharian.

No sooner then he’d concluded she wasn’t quite as bad as Adelaide Sitai, her voice snapped at him like a whip. It was hard to tell which was worse: the dry wind deepening the cracks on his lips and stabbing at his throat, or the insufferable guilt that weighed him down. She had helped him, and he’d been trying to scrounge fistful of mizas from her. With every step he felt more and more miserable and less and less worthy of her time, of anyone’s time. She had protected him from the guards, paid for his freedom and forgiven him ruining her wares. Pushing her cart uphill was the least he could do in return.

Lowering his head in shame, Timothy muttered an almost inaudible apology.

While his lungs were still scorching hot from the chase, bitter dread lumped up in his throat. “I don’t know how much it costs.” His voice cracked, though whether from drought or emotion was difficult to discern. What’s the matter with me? One moment he’d been disregarding the law, swatted at if it were an irritating fly. But now, he was back to his usual self, spineless and weak. All the way up the meandering roads he tried to untangle the chaos that had settled in his mind, but no resolution came forth.

”We’ll get there faster if we both push. You must be freezing out here.”
Hoping to at least prove he wasn’t just some vermin, he gently pushed her aside and grabbed both handles off the cart. “No. Let me,” he insisted.

”Why did you have to steal that milk in the first place? Whoever you’re staying with, if not your parents, why don’t they send you out in decent clothing at least?”

For the longest while, Rosela would hear only the whistling wind and the occasional snort. The winter cold had dried Timothy’s throat, stuffed his ears, and make his nose leak. After having wiped his nose with his sleeve for the umpteenth time, he finally answered. “Because I was thirsty. Why else?” Her second question took even longer to answer. Brows furrowed and his lips frowned as one part battled to repay Rosela’s favor while the other shouted not to trust her. In the end, he succumbed to the former. “I am not with anyone. It’s just me…that’s all. As for this,” he glanced down at his filth-stained tunic, “it wasn’t so bad a couple of weeks ago, but I don’t have much else. I had several sets in Kenash, but Jed only let me take the one-“ He stopped himself there and said no more.

At long last they arrived, and when they did, part of him wanted to drop the cart, turn tail and hide somewhere, anywhere, just so he could be alone and strangle the weakness that was taking hold of him. “There. I am sorry for you trouble. If you ever need me again, I am usually down at the docks. I don’t mind working for a bit, don’t have much else to do anyway but-” he lowered his voice, “-please don’t tell the guards or they’ll kick me out.” Even as he explained his plight to Rosela, he was eager to leave before the Kuvay’nas caught him and decided to drive him out of town.

[Rosela]

The last of Rosela’s resentment dissolved upon hearing Tim’s small voice crack as he admitted he had no idea how much money he’d cost her. He hadn’t meant to destroy the silk, it was plainly an accident. If anything, she should be angry at the buffoon who’d bumped her cart and knocked the bolt out in the first place. Did no one have any grace anymore?

”You never mind how much it costs then. These things happen,” she said quietly, but firmly. Another gust picked up as she was removed from behind the cart, and she didn’t have the energy to protest. The shop was not much further and the thought with great relish of the warm fire she could start there. If it were any one of most other days in the season, the shop would be open already, with Hudon manning the desk and a fire already roaring in the corner. As it was, it was closed and cold.

She listened in silence as Tim gave her a stumbling account for his state and Rosela filed away the name ‘Jed’ in Kenash for future investigation. ”Not with anyone? Not with anyone?” Her confusion caused her a misstep and she quickly double-stepped to catch up again. ”No one at all? Where are you staying? Who…” Her words sputtered out in her confusion, trying to imagine how a child could simply be on their own. ”Who cooks for you? Cleans? Gets you up in the morning? You can’t possibly steal everything you need?” There were times as a grown woman that she could barely take care of herself; how did a child do it on top of evading the law?

Sighing deeply, she pointed out the shop front, marked by a hanging sign with a large, red jewel. At the door, Tim stopped next to her with an air of finality. She suddenly, sadly, didn’t want him to go. The thought of what may happen to him if she weren’t there to pull him away from the brutes to Kuvay’nas had become… He just needed a strong hang to guide him. Rosela didn’t necessarily want it to be her, but with the life growing inside of her, she wondered if this was the ‘motherly instinct’ she’d been told she was supposed to acquire.

”Come in,” she said firmly. ”You’re chilled to the bone and probably getting sick. I’ll get a fire going and you can help me put some things away. A couple mizas for some honest work?” Unlocking the door next to her, she pushed it open and nodded her head at the inside, lit partially by the dull winter sunlight.