
76th of Spring
Telor's eyes wandered as he walked, mindlessly clutching the buckets full of fish in his fists. He knew the man who had hired his services was talking, but the sailor just couldn't force himself to listen when the sea was slapping the land and the harsh sounds were echoing all through Zeltiva. Like the sound of mice to an owl, or the call of a woman, Telor could not ignore the sea when it was so close. He closed his eyes to breath in the smell and focus on the sound brushing against his ears. If he tilted his head just the right way, he could almost see it through closed eyes...
"What the petch you doin', son?"
The fisherman's words bit into Telor and ripped him from his waking dream. Bitterly, Telor turned to face him with a scowl. He mumbled something that could have been mistaken for an apology, and the man with the great white beard carried on.
"I ain't payin' ya to daydream. Now listen close. I want you to put those fish," The man gestured pointedly at Telor's buckets, "In there. You got it?"
Take the fish off the ship. Carry them to the market. Leave the buckets next to the fisherman's stall. Simple enough. Telor nodded soundlessly.
"Good. There's more buckets at the ship when you're ready for 'em. And I want this done by sunset, alright?"
Another nod found the angry fisherman gone, and Telor alone with a large bucket of raw fish. He knew there was no way for him to screw this job up, and yet a nagging feeling in his stomach said that something would go wrong. Setting the buckets down with a heavy thud, Telor made his way back to the ship to find more fish to cart.
At least it was work, he assured himself. At least he would be making Mizas.
"What the petch you doin', son?"
The fisherman's words bit into Telor and ripped him from his waking dream. Bitterly, Telor turned to face him with a scowl. He mumbled something that could have been mistaken for an apology, and the man with the great white beard carried on.
"I ain't payin' ya to daydream. Now listen close. I want you to put those fish," The man gestured pointedly at Telor's buckets, "In there. You got it?"
Take the fish off the ship. Carry them to the market. Leave the buckets next to the fisherman's stall. Simple enough. Telor nodded soundlessly.
"Good. There's more buckets at the ship when you're ready for 'em. And I want this done by sunset, alright?"
Another nod found the angry fisherman gone, and Telor alone with a large bucket of raw fish. He knew there was no way for him to screw this job up, and yet a nagging feeling in his stomach said that something would go wrong. Setting the buckets down with a heavy thud, Telor made his way back to the ship to find more fish to cart.
At least it was work, he assured himself. At least he would be making Mizas.