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Vicar Roth Crysa “Lightbreaker”, second of the Goldens, addressing First Ambassador Geral Rouv, appointed speaker of the Crystalline Dome, seventh royal lineage of the Eravritus empire.
With no small effort involved on his part, Omri managed to convince his rescuer/kidnapper to briefly visit the tanner, instead of going with her initial plan of throwing him into a bath with a good scrubber and a lot of soap.
They found him hunched over one of the tanks in his outdoor workshop, checking his products, a single satisfied grunt echoing out before he moved on, stretching an already prepared skin over a nearby wooden rack.
The man was short and muscular, with a thick, unkempt head of black hair streaked with white, and his initial gruffness didn’t seem to wane as he recognized his companion.
The old woman put on her war paint, fully prepared for a tough battle, but in the end, haggling turned out to be easier than they expected.
The bear's fur was the single largest piece of hide the man had ever seen, and while Mabel surely was a ruthless merchant, she didn’t have to employ much of her skills, as the man almost beamed at the idea of working on the pelt.
Ten minutes later, the deal was over, and they were again marching toward the elderly lady’s house, a single detail of the exchange stuck in Omri’s mind.
Considering his… peculiar situation, he had asked for a slightly unusual payment method, and Owen, the tanner, was more than happy to provide for his needs.
“Of course, lad, we can arrange something like that no problem. I initially wanted to offer you some pelts free of charge, but in my opinion, this is even better”.
The young hunter, happy for the reached agreement, but curious about the man's reaction, asked for clarification, “Wouldn’t directly buying the whole thing be better for you? Less work, more time to find another client?”
Owen shook a hand, making a so-and-so gesture “I’m not sure I have enough money to buy it, especially not If I gave you a fair price, and for the most profits, I’ll have to sell it to the mainland merchants anyway, so in any case, I’ll have to sit on the final product for a while”.
Taking a drag of his roughly made cigar, the man added “Giving you a little downpayment, and a line of credit to work on some of the other good shit you brought here? I’m scamming you if you ask me, but if you’re happy with the deal, I’m not here to complain”.
Omri shrugged, and, nodding his assent, shook the man's offered hand, before wishing the tanner a nice day as he left his shop considerably less worried.
Now, following Mabel, he wondered how much his stash would be worth if he managed to hunt and skin some more big prey, which led to a new line of thought: “Am I already out of targets? I’m pretty sure there must be other stuff deep in the jungle, and Herbert mentioned quite a few animals I’ve never seen around. Twenty years should not be enough for an entire species to simply die out.”
Meanwhile, the elderly woman revealed herself as a real chatterbox, theatrically talking and waving the whole way, clearly not even looking for an answer from her escort.
“And he left his old mother behind, only visiting when his merchant group comes around”. A tsk interrupted her speech, and the complaints about her son were briefly left behind.
“He did manage to become successful, that I have to say. He tries to bring me gifts, so he is not totally unfilial. But still! Would it be too much just to visit sometimes? Send me letters? Doesn’t he know how I worry, and how dangerous it is to leave a frail lady like me alone in the house? What if I fall down?!”
The statement's veracity was quickly challenged as the wrinkled woman energetically waved her cane, easily leading the boy around town.
Omri tried to put in a word in the small lull provided by Mabel's silence, but right as he was about to speak, she stopped and pointed at a simple, but well-made, wooden house, looking pretty between two rough, brown, blocky buildings.
“This is home, dearie. The tub is in the back, enter the garden, and you’ll see it near the pump. If you have any questions, I’ll be in the kitchen, soap and scrub are in the shed, you can’t miss it”.
Warmth spread in the young man's chest, gratitude filling him as he watched the prune-like face of his host scrunch up in a wide smile.
“Thank you, Mrs Mabel, I… I truly appreciate your kindness. I’ll pay you back as soon as possible”.
The scrunch turned downwards.
“Bah! You don’t help someone struggling to get something back! Now, get in the bath before I tan your ass with my belt, stinky rascal! If you want to shave, the shed also has a mirror and a razor,” grumbled the elderly lady.
Bowing to his captor's overwhelming superiority, the teen rushed into the garden, quickly identifying the tools needed to fulfill his quest.
He got his cleaning implements, filled the copper tub with water, stripped down from his pelts, and slowly sank in.
The cold bite was nothing new, and the clear liquid quickly turned murky as Omri’s cleaning efforts stripped him of layer after layer of accumulated grime.
He was relieved, as the greasy feeling he constantly carried disappeared from his skin, the soap working wonders that the island’s waters could not achieve, for all their other amazing properties.
After an initial scrub, he dumped the reddish container in a patch of compost, filled the tub again, and restarted the process, leaving only once he was fully satisfied with his condition.
Touching his long hair, once mottled and messy, he felt good, almost comfortable, in a stranger's home with no weapons at his belt. Two years of constant struggles weighed heavily on the young hunter's shoulders, but that single moment of cleanliness wiped away much of that pressure.
And made him realize he would need a lot of soap.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
The rattling of cutlery came from the hot kitchen, while outside, Omri was intent on trimming the sparse, unkempt hair on his face, helping himself to the razor and mirror found in the small shed.
It had been years since he had clearly seen his full reflection, and as the beard fell, a familiar yet changed face was revealed to his eyes.
The boy's rounded features had almost entirely disappeared, only his eyes and cheeks holding some of the softness of childhood. The sharp angles of a thin, muscular youth had replaced them, matching his rapidly growing body, adding a couple of years to his sixteen.
It was Mabel's raspy voice, now gentle, that brought him back to reality.
“I'll leave you some clean clothes out here, young man, you'll find them on the bench by the door. When you are ready, please do join me in the house. And try to make it quick or luncheon will get cold”.
Still looking in the mirror, gently touching his recently shaved chin, he replied, yet again touched by the elder's casual kindness.
“Of course, I’ll dry off a bit and get inside…truly, Mabel, thank you for your help”.
This time, a short barked laugh was his answer, followed by some grumbling.
“Stop thanking me, boy. If helping you was something I didn’t want to do, then you wouldn’t be here! I’ll see you inside. And towel yourself off, or you’ll catch a cold”.
Omri smirked before shaking his hair and patting himself down with lackluster results, then went outside, grabbing up the new clothes left for him.
The garments turned out to be a bit tight on his arms and legs, while also being a little too short at the ends; however, he still took comfort in the clean linen, its soft and light texture an obviously very appreciated upgrade from his stiff leathers.
Stretching his arms a bit, he briefly wandered through the modest home, following the sounds coming from what he assumed to be the kitchen.
Entering the room, he felt a gaze land on his figure, and looking up, he was greeted by his host's smile, wide and full of joy.
He looked down at himself, then at the old lady, before scratching his head.
“Is there something weird with me, Mrs Mabel?”
He asked, confused by the stare, almost too intense for comfort.
“Hahahah, ooh, sorry kid, those are my late husband's clothes, and seeing someone using them makes me proud. I thought they would be enough to fit you, but you’re so tall, I got your sizes wrong. Don't worry, tomorrow I'll fix a pair for you. My eyes are not what they used to be, but I'm still a deft hand with needle and thread”.
“No problem, ma'am, these are just fine,” said the young man, nearly blushing in his embarrassment. He would accept the help, mainly because he really needed it, and she basically forced it on him. But the more she gave him, the less comfortable he felt.
He didn’t want to take advantage of her, and resolved to set aside some money from his trades to leave somewhere in the house. He just met her, and he already knew she would refuse to take them otherwise.
“Besides I couldn't accept any more gifts, you've already been so kind to me, I really would not know how to repay you,” he added, giving her a short bow of his head.
A bonk echoed in the small room, followed by a painful yelp.
“Such a gentleman! And what a way with words! Still, I think I’ve mentioned not wanting anything, and you are repeating yourself like a parrot, which brings me to my next point”.
The wooden spoon used to hit him was still in her hand, as she waved towards the nearby table.
“I told you the food was coming. It’s there now! Sit down, and stuff your mouth with some good fish soup if you don’t have anything smart to say.”
The young hunter, defeated by the woman's aggressive kindness, couldn’t help but let out a grumble, rubbing the spot hit by her improvised weapon.
He took a seat, overwhelmed by the situation. She was the first person who showed him such kindness, just for the sake of kindness.
His master had carefully curated all of his previous encounters, each a prepared scenario aimed to suit his training regime.
But meeting someone so outside of his idea of how people should interact still almost short-circuited the teen, and he felt all the etiquette training he had to meld with nobles and high merchants alike going down the drain in front of old-fashioned goodness.
This unconditional affection was new to the boy. At the temple, the closest person he had was Master Aron, and their relationship was nothing he took for granted, their mutual respect built upon the old warrior training goals.
But now, sitting in that comfortable, warm house, with the woman treating him like a pesky child, Omri was shown a new side of life.
Something more relaxed, with fewer stakes, even as the cynic in him reasoned that her goals could still be in line with how she acted.
Maybe his company was a form of satisfaction in itself for the lonely lady, but even so, would that matter? He was still set on some form of repayment, so the thought that she wanted him there for comfort was just a plus in his book.
And probably he was overthinking the situation.
His stream of consciousness was interrupted by a steaming bowl of spicy-smelling soup placed in front of him, the heavenly fragrance of buttered garlic coming from a row of sliced black bread on the sides of the pot.
Mabel also sat down, dumping a few slices of the bread on her smaller plate, uncharacteristically silent.
They ate quietly, the soup's deliciousness wiping away the last of the boy's suspicions: the old lady was an angel, sent to reward him for the grueling years he spent in solitude, and his reward was this hot, savory meal that reminded him of his desperate need for spices.
Once they were done, she got up, cleaned the plates, and brought over some red-tinted tea, setting down a cup for him before claiming her chair at the head of the table. She seemed more tense now, and her gentle voice had a small quiver hiding beneath the surface.
“So what’s your name kid? Mind telling me what happened to you? Why is a child out there, surviving the woods alone? ”
His eyes widened a little.
“My name is Omri and I’m no child Ma’am, I’ve been a successful adventurer for years”.
Guessing that his experiences on the island would surely count for his resume, the young hunter kept on with the half-truth.
“Anyway, I’ve just hit a little bit of a hiccup en route to my next job, which is taking me a little longer than expected to handle“.
Satisfied with his deflection, he sheepishly smiled at the woman, now dubiously side-eying him.
His half-hearted answer did not seem to convince her in the slightest.
“Okay, years of experience you say. And why, pray tell me, you speak how they dress, and dress how they speak?”
The seemingly random riddle floored him.
“I’m not… sure I understand?“
A long look was his answer, as Mabel took a sip of tea, before smacking her lips and moving on, a new playful tone added to her speech.
“Adventurers are just mercenaries who struck it big, be it fame, size, or richness. You’ll see them strutting around the capital dressed as old money, while speaking like seadogs. You speak like a noble and were dressed like a homeless barbarian: you inverted the stereotypes, ah!”
“And, for the record, now that you are all cleaned up, I can safely say that you are a child. A kid? A teen at most. Late apprenticeship for a crafter, middle of squirehood for a martial background.”
She smiled at him, kind and reassuring.
“I don’t want to pry into your matters, but I’ve been tangling with youths my whole life, and you seemed so… out of place, back in the square, that I’ve wanted to make sure everything is okay”.
She slid a wrinkled hand across the table, lightly touching his forearm, the small, frail limb conveying a sense of warm comfort.
“So, I ask. Are you good, my boy?”
The world almost lost focus for a few seconds, as the simple question shook something in him and a lifetime of experience rushed into his memory, from the shadows of a distant past to the vibrant moments of more recent years.
He thought back about his many mistakes, the countless defeats, the struggles, and the pain, but most importantly, he focused on each of his new victories.
And when the moment broke, he found himself answering the question with a small, genuine smile.
“I’m not sure, Mabel. But I’m doing better every day, and that has to count for something”.
She smirked, her boisterous attitude returned with his confident last words.
“That it does, young one, that it does. Now, don’t you think that I was joking! What are you, a criminal, hiding from the law? Tell me about yourself. All an old woman like me has to live for is chatter anyway.”