Quentin awoke to the pounding on his door “wake up! wake up! wake up! Just because it's your day off doesn't mean you can sleep all day. Next time I’m coming in with a bucket of water” his mother sounded annoyed, which meant this wasn't the first time she had knocked, and he had slept through it. A momentary panic gripped his still sleeping mind as he processed the threat. He’d only needed to experience that once to know both how awful it is and that it wasn't an empty threat. “I’m up!” he shouted, but when he heard no response he quickly hopped out of bed and threw on some clothes. Shuffling out of his room, he saw his mother at the stove, heating up some oatmeal.
“Good afternoon young man” she said without turning. “Take a seat, breakfast is almost ready.”
“Morning mom” he replied, sliding up next to her to peer into the pot. He was taller than her now, a fact that he still could not wrap his head around. She stood at 165 centimeters (5 foot 5 inches) and over the last few years he had eclipsed her, reaching 188 centimeters (6 foot 2 inches), and he hadn't stopped growing yet. She glanced up at him before lightly pushing him toward the table. He grabbed two bowls from where they were stored under the table and placed them on the table, along with spoons. He didn't miss the bucket that was conspicuously sitting on the counter next to his mom. She brought the pot to the table, setting it down and serving them both. He could see that she had been awake for hours already, though he didn’t know what she had been doing. Her russet brown eyes had dark circles underneath them, and her eyes were bloodshot. She smiled and the fatigue seemed to drop away, her skin otherwise clear of any imperfections or blemishes. The light touch of smile lines could be seen on her face, but they enhanced her beauty rather than detracted from it. Her flowing auburn hair that went past her shoulder blades and deep down her back swished with the movement.
Quentin tried once again to guess her age but found that today, like all the days before, he simply couldn’t tell. He had asked her of course, as a passing curiosity, but had received everything other than a clear answer. From “it’s rude to ask a lady her age” to the answer she loved to give on her birthday “twenty nine again”. She was no doubt older than she looked, as everyone knew magic extended one’s lifespan, but the largest clue was that her appearance had barely changed as he grew up. To him, she looked the same as she did when he was a child, but that might be his lack of awareness more than anything else.
Regardless, the lack of sleep was always concerning when it popped up. Usually accompanied by extra orders at the store downstairs, he knew she would work herself to the bone to finish them all. He ate quickly, the meal bland and filling. He stood to leave and that's when his mother broke the silence.
“Hey, don’t go getting into trouble today, ok?” She said, “you know we’re helping fix the pathway tomorrow.”
“Yes mom” he replied, heading for the stairs down from their second story loft to the back of the seamstress shop his mother ran. She had left rolls of fabric out, further proof that she had been working on something earlier. Likely she had only stopped to wake him and make breakfast.
As he headed for the front door, he stopped to look in the mirror. In contrast to his mother’s brown eyes, his were green with little flecks of red and gold. He was handsome enough, he thought, with just enough muscles to not be weak, but not enough that he would be winning any competitions or attract any girls, though that surely wasn't the only reason he wouldn't be doing those things. Being spared working in the fields meant that he had never developed the thick cords of muscle that the other village boys had, and had given him a far more pale complexion than the other boys that never seemed to go away, even when he spent his day in the sun. His hair was the same shade as his mothers, grown out longer than he preferred. He flicked it to one side in a futile attempt to keep it out of the edge of his vision.
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Just a few more weeks and he would finally be eligible to be apprenticed. The law which prevents children from being employed or from moving from their place of birth would expire with his coming of age, although that didn't stop anyone from helping their family out, like him in the shop or the villagers on the farms. His experience had made it clear to him that he didn't want to be a seamster or a tailor, which meant that he had been considering other paths for a while now. When he turned seventeen, he hoped to be apprenticed to the local publican. Given that there was only one pub in the village, and that the current publican’s son was also coming of age this year, that was more of a pipe dream than a plan. He would probably have to go to the nearby town of Riverwalk or perhaps even further in order to find employment or perhaps even a pub of his own. And who knows, maybe the publican’s son would be a mage or want to leave all on his own.
That was assuming that he didn't have the ability to cast magic himself, which he barely let himself hope for. He knew that magic isn't hereditary, despite what the nobles like to claim as a justification for their superiority, and that he had no better a chance to be a magus than anyone else would.
Quentin stopped staring at himself in the mirror and headed out the front. He did some quick stretches and then set off for a morning run. It was bright enough to indicate that it had already passed into midmorning, and he stuck to his normal path around the outside of the village. The path was twisting and turning, one he had created for himself over the years. It stayed away from the river that formed the lifeblood of the village and went into the surrounding forest. He liked the forest path better anyway as it gave him plenty of time to think.
While he ran, he decided how he would spend the day today. He would go into the forest, deeper and just a little further than he had explored before. The distance he would have to go would be quite high, but he was up for a trek and it's not like he had anything else to do today.
He had underestimated the size of the task when he had decided years ago that he wanted to have the whole thing explored before he became an adult, but he found calm in the task of updating his mental map of the area, and he often daydreamed of finding some hidden ruin or mystical treasure as he did so.
Eager to get to his exploring he cut his run short, finding himself on the other side of the village he cut back through it. There were only two places of note in the village, and he passed both of them, the local lord’s house and the pub. The pub was closed for now, the publican probably awake spending the day with his family, and preparing for the rush he would face tonight and tomorrow.
He passed through the collection of houses where the majority of the villagers lived, down the dirt road, and past the lord’s house. While the houses the villagers lived in were mostly all the same, The lord’s house stood in a class of its own. With multiple stories and far more rooms than they need, it was more ostentatious in its presentation and decorations, inside and out. His house was technically a part of the village but it was far enough away that he didn't consider it to be truly a part of it, much like his own dwelling. He liked to see his house as a hidden sanctuary in the woods, regardless that most of the work his mother did was for the villagers making dresses, bedsheets, and other mundane articles of cloth.
As he ran he passed by the river, where many families had set up for picnics and were spending the afternoon together. He completed his run with a ceremonial tap on the front door, stretching again before heading out at a more sedate pace down the road to Riverwalk and into the woods, leaving the village behind.
