The day begins on a misty morning in the town of Solace. It is the beginning of fall, and a low fog rolls across the ground as the sleepy folk rise early to begin their daily tasks. Groups slowly walk across the stretch from their houses, baskets on their back, hopeful for a good catch, so that they can keep the bellies of their families full. They fall into line, walking a path towards the sea, along the river and to the cliffs, where they take the winding switchback down to their small boats, The Sontan boys chatting about their expectations for the day, their father lamenting the chill in the air. Celeste smiled, hearing the group pass her house, and brushing her hair back behind her sharply pointed ears she grabbed her own basket and followed.
Others go about various tasks, mending a windowsill or gathering water from the river to wash their clothes. The blacksmith’s sons, Victor and Barnaby, trek out to the quarry to spend several hours chipping away in search for precious ore. Everett and Erec Snow, saddles in hand, begin preparing the cattle for the journey out to pasture, past the farms, to graze in the fields out by the old watchtower.
Abram Verance can be seen greeting everyone as he makes his morning walk about the town, nodding to everyone and wishing them well on their day. He smiles, and strokes his beard, long and thick, and his eyes, a dark amber, focus intently on anyone as he listens with full attention to each citizen, taking their hand in his before he moves on. He finally takes his place, as he does every morning, in the small garden behind the storehouses, where he sits in silent prayer for a while, admiring the various herbs that have been cultivated there.
Later in the day, past noon no doubt, Johnas would stumble through the town, jabbering on about this and that, his breath full and ripe with the smell of the fermented peach mash.
It is a typical fall day, as it has been for so many years before. For some few in the town however, there was something more...a feeling that today could be special. That today would begin something far more than typical...
Rook floats easily through the cool mist, stretches his wings into an easy glide over the town. He scans the roads for the Sontan family, giving a throaty caw to Amara and a quick fly by. His yellow eyes focus on Abram as he flutters to roof of a nearby building.
Bobbing his head, Rook's eyes flash a brilliant green. Whispered words [message spell] echo in the old druid's ears.
"Do you feel something in the air today?"
Rook ruffles his feathers and stares out at the sea longingly as seagulls dive bomb the calm waters.
Havak wakes up late in the morning, gets dressed, and drags a handcart with some baskets in it over to the orchard. He climbs a tree with practiced ease, ties a basket to a thick branch and starts to fill it. When all the baskets are full, he gets a bag and cuts some leaves to put in the bag to make tea with later. When he is done, he drags the cart back to Johnas's home. Once he sets the peaches up to begin fermentation, he begins to brew some leaves to make tea while sitting the others in the sun-baked windowsill in glass jars. Havak shac ghesh den daan der daan haan ghan duun ghalan daan drec ogaac ghuugaan hal'dakhakaan. He works past noon on his newest concoction, hazarding a sip here and there to test the progress.
Havak can mix this tea with the peach mash to make the drink even more palatable.
Prior to the life-changing events that spanned the thorp of Solace, Dante Allende was not appreciating himself.
He had begun the day happy and content: he had savored painting his mask with last nights scavenging of the bats, and watched the village people go their way, whether it was to grab the morning catch for their families, or attend to their societal role— for just as all poor villages, the people of Solace had to work together— ; he had enjoyed listening on the conversations and stories of others, and the gift of stale bread and salted fish that Celeste had prepared for him the day before; he enjoyed hiding in the nooks between the village houses to daze unsuspecting passersby, feeling the thrill of the thought that he could stall time for a single person for six seconds, but then with each passing minute, with each bite of the stale loaf, with each stroke of his guano-coated thumb on the surface of his wooden felinesque mask, he found that he was enjoying himself significantly less; until now, he had plotted himself within the shadows between his house and a neighbor's, behind a barrel, judging the relative benefits of being a wallflower and not, and not appreciating himself at all.
Within the hamlet, villagers continued to celebrate life and the determination to preserve life with an avidity that, to Dante, bordered between hallucinatory and annoying. He sat behind the barrel and clinched tightly on his undried mask, and wondered if he could be just like them: the villagers, happy, content, together.
Abram sat on a small wooden stool with hands folded in his lap, as he sat quietly in the little herb garden. Looking up as the avian voice came whispering on the wind to his ear, he huffed quietly.
"No, Rook, everything is as it should be. We fish, and hunt, and graze and build. It is the proper cycle."
After a few seconds, he rose from his spot, placing a small root that had been in his hand in the ground, and pushing it deep into the soil with his thumb. He dusts his hands off briskly, almost as an afterthought, and gives a casual wave to Jenzie Sontan as she brings out a bowl of mash for the family dog.
His gaze, ever watchful, passes attentively as he scans the surrounds, and pauses, only for a moment on Dante, and with a brief nod of acknowledgement, walks over to another citizen to talk to them briefly as the put another board on the windmill.
The door to the beaten house creaks open, and out comes old Johnas. Rubbing his eyes, he squints at the rising sun, and utters a whispered curse under his breath
He shuffles himself over to the blue goblin, busilly going about crafting his creations, and snatches a cup from the little creature's hand with a quickness almost preternatural, and takes a gulp from the cup before handing it back to Havak.
"Not bad, little man, not bad."
He pats Havak on the head gently, in a patronly way, and begins to drag his feet as he moves towards the river to wash his face.
"drokaac kuur, muul Havak makhaan dar," grumbles Havak before returning to his work.
Amara waves to Rook as she parts from her family at the river to make her way into the forest. The promise of the day makes her skip a few paces until she catches herself, self-consciously looking around to see if anyone noticed her juvenile actions. Not concerned for long, she continues to the forest to meet Samel, who had spent the night beneath his favourite elm for one of the last times before the coming season strips it of its leaves. She is anxious to get in some more bow practice today and Samel had promised to show her something unusual.
Standing in the trees just past the orchard, Samel waves at Amara from the under the canopy, a smirk on his face. He enjoyed the company of Amara, for she had reminded him of his own daughter, and a wife he had long ago. Most had know of the Berits, for they were a family that helped found Solace so many years ago. The were an integral part in picking the spot for settlement, and had been in the area for generations. It was not just a sadness for Samel, then, when what was meant to be a simple relaxing trip out to sea turned tragic and his wife and daughter were both lost.
He grieved for many years, and apart from that, never went back to the sea, as the memories were too painful. He was grateful then, when Amara's parents alowed her to go on trips with the ranger into the forest.
When Amara came close to him, Samel put a hand on her shoulder.
"Well, little fox, are you ready for more target practice?"
Already knowing the answer, he spoke again before she could reply;
That thing I wanted to show you, we need to hurry, or we might miss it."
With that, he begins making his way into the forest, crouching low, and moving silently, only a slight rustle of fallen leaves beneath him.
Before too long, about 500 feet or so, he stops, and motions for Amara keep silent and still.
Pointing to a peculiar mound next to a tree just ahead of them he subtly points and an odd looking snake begins to emerge from a hole in the mound. Its scales, red and black and gold and blue seem deep under the shadows of the nearby tree. An odd thing occurs then, as Amara watches. After a second or so, she sees that the strange little snake also has strange little feathered wings!
abruptly, and with little fanfare Dante felt a shadow fall over him from his spot behind the barrel at the side of a nearby house.
The new man, Jerem Cor stood over him, glancing down at the awkward boy and his odd mask.
Jerem was an attractive man in his late twenties, perhaps early thirties...it was hard to place him. He had a familiar air about him, the sense of a cousin that one had been close with once as a child, but that had not been seen in a long time. He was a handsome man, and until he arrived, Garrett Snow would have held the highest esteem in that regard, but now had some competition. Looking down at Dante, he pushed his pale blonde hair from his face and fiddled with the amulet that hung from his neck before folding his hands behind his back. His eyes were a peircing green, and a bit unnerving to Dante, again in a familiar way that he couldn't place.
"Hello" he said simply. "What are you up to this morning, my friend?"
Rook stretched his wings after a morning of pondering and listening to Abram talk of the ways of the Green.
"Ah, Johnas is finally up and around," he thought.
With a slow deep whistle he spun in the air over the old man's head in a figure eight pattern.
"That ought to wake him up."
With delight in his eyes he headed out toward the black tree near Corvina's hut.
Suddenly startled, Johnas pulls himself to his feet quickly, his face still dripping from the water of the river. Making several turns, a panic comes over him as he tries to find the source of the sound.
"Rats!" he screams and stumbles at a quick pace back towards his house, tripping several times along the way.
Stopping only for a moment where Havak stands, just outside the house, Johnas pants, heavy breath at the blue goblin
"I knew I shouldn't have gone outside today!"
With that, Johnas stumbles into the house, and Havak can hear him crashing around inside, franticly searching for something or other.
Havak chuckles to himself quietly while applying some heat to the alembic. He then stares at the flame, entranced for a few minutes. A slow smile creeps over his face.
It was a year ago now, wasn't it.
It was about mid morning when Elarya groggily crawled out of bed. She hadn't slept well, and the shadows of nightmares still clouded her head as she got ready. A particularly vivid memory almost caused her to break into tears as she went down the hall into the kitchen, but she managed to fight the urge down into nothing more than a dull ache. She grabbed a piece of toast that was on one of the plates that was still on the table and carried the now empty tub to the washtub, along with some of its forgotten fellows. She finished eating on her way to the smithy and got to work as soon as she walked inside.
The rhythmic pounding of hammer on steel and iron cleared her mind as she worked. Lean muscle flexed again and again, sweat streaked the soot gathering on her face, and the forge fires roared. The sounds were soothing, familiar. And slowly, the horrors from her dreams faded into half-remembered phantasms.
Anyone who greets her as tehy go about they business gets a "G'mornin'!" and a smile before she returned to her work, but anyone could tell that her voice was hollow and her smile was as false as the tales often told over ale and beer.
Elarya didn't care. She'd grown used to the whispers and looks of pity. All she wanted at the moment was to let the clang of the hammer silence the guilt and shame that had eaten at her for a year now.
Perhaps today, perhaps.
"Nothing...," said Dante startled as he quickly hid his mask from Jerem's sight, "nothing." He was a bright-faced adolescent man, with dark blonde, wavy hair and bright blue eyes; he had a rumpled, just-woke-up look to him and the stature of a scarecrow.
"Sorry, I have to go do things," lied Dante rather badly, embarrassed, trying to shrug off Jerem's attention. He stood up, a little unsteadily, and and wobbled down the dirt path with a pace as fast as his heart beat and a stiff gait. He thought it was time to make friends but something about Jerem didn't feel right. He hurried through people who ignored him about as much at the dirt and rubble he too passed, looking for Corvina or Celeste: a familiar face. He fumbled with his fingers as they tapped violently on his mask as a pouring rain on a wooden rooftop. He looked back, stared at Jerem, and cast .
Jerem smiled back at Dante and just chuckled to himself a bit as the teen scurried off. When he saw Selva Shale, the blacksmith's daughter skipping through the town, a floppy and beaten doll in her hand, he crouched low and whispered in her ear. She giggled and continued skipping. Singing a crude little song to herself...He then began to stroll in the direction of the orchard, humming melodically.
"The one above looks after us, the one below is mean, woe be to any man, caught there inbetween..."
Wallace look over at the adopted daughter he had come to care for in the time she had been with his family. Although she was careful with her emotions, he would sometimes hear her silent sadness late in the night, and after trying to comfort her once or twice he came to understand that her pride was of great import to her, so he let her be. He came to respect her stoic attitude and how she threw herself with extra zeal and great attention into the work that they both held as important.
He grinned weakly at her, seeing the false smile that she offered others, and recognized it for what it was, an honest attempt at being social. Brushing the sweat from his brow, he used the well worn tongs to stir the coals and after a few minutes poured some molten ore into a mold, preparing some fresh horseshoes for a young horse that had just become old enough to put to work.
Setting the mold aside for a moment, he turned to Elarya
"Girl, put that hammer down for a moment." He waited for her to stop and then continued, tucking one hand into the dirty work apron about his thick form.
"I have an order here from a man to the north, up the coast. I wasn't sure if I could do the job, because he had an odd request. He especially asked for a strange mix to be put in with the steel. I can't make heads or tails of this scrawl, although I wasn't about to refuse the job. Could you take this order over to that goblin? Abram told me once that the bugger speaks all number of tounges...maybe he can figure it out."
He pulls a scroll from a nearby shelf, where he keeps his tools and places it on the anvil in front of Elarya.
"This could mean a fair amount of coin for us."
Elarya finishes her last swing and puts the hammer down out of the way before inspecting the work and walking over to Wallace. When he mentions that the order came from the north, she can't keep the look of surprise from her face. She manages to regain her composure before he finishes though.
"Uh, yes sir, I can take it. I just finished that last piece anyway. How soon do you want it?"
After Wallace answers, she washes the soot from her face and hands in the rain barrel just outside. She grabs the scroll after drying her hands on her pants and heads off for the brewery where Havak works.
She doesn't even try to be sociable now. Sure, it could be no one she knew. The Whitescale clan was small in comparison to most of the others. Not as small as Solace, but still a far cry from the thousand that some of them boasted. It could be one of them, a trader, anyone, but the possibility that it was one of her family kept coming back.
Amara followed Samel quietly, avoiding anything that might indicate more than a breeze was passing through, as Samel had taught her. Samel had seemed so secretive and smug she was certain this would be something special.
As Samel pointed to the mound her eye caught movement and she stared entranced by the colours the snake but when its wings appeared she raised her eyebrows in surprise.
Samel began to chuckle, but caught himself, putting his hand over his mouth to muffle the few sounds that got out.
The foot long creature froze, and in a split second, coiled and shot into the air with a burst of speed that was accompanied by a small spark, disappearing into the trees above.
"Blast," Samel said with a smile on his lips. "You know, little fox, I don't rightly know...I've seen a good number of beasts in my day, but I can't say as I've seen one quite like that."
He pointed again at the mound from where it came.
"I think that there is a nest." he said, an amused grin still showing on his face.
Corvina crouched over the river, in the shallowest parts, holding a small object under the water, and moving it deliberately in her hands. She had a small box beside her with a rusted clasp, and occasionally she would move her hands from the box to the river, muttering to her self as she went about her strange ritual.
No more than ten feet from her, the river crossed under the standing roots of the Great Black Tree, its gnarled and bend form twisting awkwardly some fifty feet up into the sky. That great thing only a few feet from a stark drop where the river fell to the ocean below.
Corvina's hut was worn,and somewhat mismatched, her having done all the repairs herself in the years since her mother had died. It was slightly lopsided, and sure to let in rain at times, but it was a shelter nonetheless, and a number of animal bones, from creatures of all sizes hung about the doorway which was covered by only a thick blanket.
She looked up as the crow flew above and stared into the sky blankly.
Rook settles on a thick branch of the Black Tree overlooking the river. He lets out three short caws announcing his territorial claim to the area to any birds within earshot. His yellow eyes blink and narrow at the strange stones on the shore.
"Hello, Corvina. How is the day treating you?"
Havak's reverie for the flame is broken on the sounds of approaching footsteps. He stands up on top of the stool he was sitting on to greet the visitor closer to eye level.
"Hello. What brings you to Havak to-day?" he says, accompanied by a quizzical look.
Amara is disappointed that Samel can not identify the creature for her, but her curiosity is only intensified. "Shall we approach the nest?" The excitement at the thought is present in her words but caution makes her hesitate and a thought occurs; "Maybe Havak has a book in his odd collection that will tell us or perhaps Abram may have an idea." She looks to Samel for his approval, hoping she hasn't offended him.
Dante did not at any point after stop to think. To his knowledge, the only magical items in Solace were his mask, a few of Corvina's odd findings and Rook, if one were to consider him an object — Dante never understood the nature behind familiars. Somewhere in the sensible part of his head — a normal, sensible Dante Allende — was telling him he was being silly: that Jerem Cor is just a regular passerby; that it was an opportunity to make friends; that he could have really really insulted or hurt Jerem; that it would be harder for him to go back and apologize rather than if he had been friendly in the first place; that he had accidentally smeared too much waste on his mask; that all of it felt terrible... but Dante had been placing one foot after the other, and, arms cramping and back hurting, ignoring the looks of all he passed by, he just kept walking. And after a while, he was close to the river, close to Corvina, and he was stumbling on his way to her, and then he was standing in front of her and realizing that she was conversing with Rook.
"Corvina," Dante said as his eyes widened, scared, "Oh, Rook. ... hi." He acknowledged the crow as he twiddled his whitened fingers on the mask and looked away, determined not to keep eye contact.
Samel nods his approval a the curious girl.
"I don't suppose it will hurt to get a closer look"
With that, the two creep ever closer to the mound, noting as they approach that the area is meticulously arranged. Sticks have been gathered with some care, prehaps even in a pattern, in the manner that a bird would build a nest. Were it not for the trained eye of the two of them, they doubted they would have noted it out of the ordinary though.
On closer inspection, Amara could see that what little light that cast its rays through the trees showed that the burrow was empty, save for several eggs, each little bigger than that of a chicken, ebony and in peices some six inches in the ground.
Corvina looked up from her duties crouched over the river, and looked directly into Dante's eyes. Then after a few seconds, she seemed to remember herself, and smiled, the corner of her mouth beginning to curl, but stopped short as if the muscles wouldn't actually contract that far. As if she wasn't even able to smile.
"Dante. she said as if she was waking from a dream. "Help me wash these." She grabbed him firmly by the wrist, and with odd ease, pulled the boy down to her level, and put three dirty roundish stones in his hand.
Dante crouched down and smiled. Corvina was being aggressive, and there were many people around him, but he felt, from the warmth of a familiar face to the act of helping her, that all was well. He fumbled on the loose ground for a good position and wedged his feet in the mud to feel its cold, gooey texture, and dipped his hands with one of the stones into the water. He wiped away the sweat off his forehead and took stock of himself, pleased to notice the smearing on his mask wasn't too bad. His clothes were covered in dirt and guano. The stones looked dirty: dark and smooth, under the grime and brown caulked up in the rune he didn't question; he could tell they were magic. It looked, Dante thought, that Corvina was just on to her same old tricks; things like these came everyday for him.
"How was your day?" asked Dante.
"The girl is getting worse," he thought.
He watches Dante's approach with quiet curiosity. Human interaction still fascinated him after all these years and Corvina and Dante's relationship was a most curious one. Rook's body stiffens in alarm as Corvina suddenly grabs the boy's wrist and handed him the rocks.
"This can't be good."
With a sudden burst of speed Rook swoops down and tries to snatch the stones from Dante's hands with beak and claws.
Corvina blinked as the blur of feathers and beak whizzed passed them, but found no purchase on their intended target.
Without looking up from her repetitive task, she answered Dante's question simply.
"Fair enough."
Then, looking down and one of the stones in her hand, she frowned.
"This one's gone bad."
For a few seconds she began to sob, but stopped herself before the tears got all the way down her face. She sat down then, her old brown dress crumpled beneath her, the edges trailing into the river and the mud. Putting the stone as far as her arm would reach on the ground to her left, she continued her task with the few stones that were still in front of her, the small box at her right beginning to fill with the polished and cleaned ones.
"Well, until now." she said with a clearing sniffle.
Dante peered at Rook suspiciously, then faced his back on him to hide the runestones and made them vanish behind his tall stature and a judging glare. He could hex the bird, but there were too much people around. "Go away Rook," he thought without a word out of his mouth. He shook his head and grasped tightly on the stones as a renegade fish unconsciously threatened to tug it away from him as it flailed away from the villagers. He scrambled his arms around as one had let lose of his hold and almost lost it in the mud. He took it and wiped away the new dirt and his his hands, just as the rocks, were clean of both mud and the bat waste. He skipped back to the unsubmerged land to reunite with Corvina and his mask.
Rook flutters out over the river watching Dante for any signs of magical effect. Satisfied, Rook lands on the shore between the two.
"My apologies, friend Dante. I mistook the stones for something accidentally sinister. I see now they appear to be harmless."
His attention momentarily distracted by a stray worm, he hops toward the Black Tree attacking the ground vigorously with his beak. Tilting his head back to swallow, he continues to watch the strange pair of humans.
Amara holds her breath as they peer in the nest; she looks to Samel for approval before reaching slowly into the nest to retrieve the largest of the shell fragments for closer examination. "how many of them do you think there are?" She mentally tries to reassemble the peices.
Havak's reverie for the flame is broken on the sounds of approaching footsteps. He stands up on top of the stool he was sitting on to greet the visitor closer to eye level.
"Hello. What brings you to Havak to-day?" he says, accompanied by a quizzical look.
Elarya puts on the fake smile as she walks through the door. She'd been shocked at the goblin's presence when she first arrived, but she had learned that this one was not like the ones in the tales that were told by the fireside while growing up.
"Hello Havak, we have an order with an odd request that we can't really make heads or tails of. Wallace sent me to see if you could help us understand whats going on."
She hands over the scroll with the order after unrolling it and patiently waits for the strange little goblin to finish reading it.
"Let Havak see," says Havak as he accepts the scroll.
"Ah, written in Dragon language, language of magic," he says before continuing ol dhuur ac ogaar duun a rhaler, to make this greatsword you need to add brightwater, alchemical silver, and whitefire powder to the ore before forging. Brightwater and whitefire powder Havak has, but alchemical silver is tough to get with nice people around."
Havak lowers his voice before continuing, "Alchemical silver comes from stones that have been around the dead for a long time. It is not an evil element, but Havak doesn't want to get in trouble for poking around in the graveyard looking for this alchemical silver. Better to ask Abram if it is permissible. Otherwise, your Nithian of the Scale will have to provide the alchemical silver to us."
You come to the same conclusion when Samel speaks;
"I figure there's about a half dozen there. Looks like they all flew off. I caught sight of what I guess was the mother about two nights back, and followed her a bit. I came across the nest here this morning. Figured you'd like to see."
Samel smiles and pats Amara on the shoulder. Looking a the shell peices as she turns them over in her hand, examining them.
Externally, they are smooth and black, with a slight gloss, similar to obsidian. Inside, little bits of membrane still remain, speckled with gold grains.
Samel stands and stretches then, taking a deep breath of the forest air.
"Nothing for it now, though. 'Spose we could try trackin' them, but that could take a bit, seein' how the beasties fly and are rather small.
We could do that if you like litte fox, but we might not get to the shooting practice today. I'll let you decide."
Dante, however, did not listen. Ravenous crow he thought instinctively; he dug his head between his shoulders and stared intently at the bird, like a beast lurking in the shadows; he reached back down into the water to wash the stones, punching the cold river like a baker kneading dough.
The events of today reminded him of something, some kind of dream he had, perhaps, but he could no longer, for the life of him, remember exactly what. He let out a sigh, clasped the stones, and washed the stones more peacefully, even smiling at Corvina to throw off the thought of his anger.
"Let Havak see," says Havak as he accepts the scroll.
"Ah, written in Dragon language, language of magic," he says before continuing ol dhuur ac ogaar duun a rhaler, to make this greatsword you need to add brightwater, alchemical silver, and whitefire powder to the ore before forging. Brightwater and whitefire powder Havak has, but alchemical silver is tough to get with nice people around."
Havak lowers his voice before continuing, "Alchemical silver comes from stones that have been around the dead for a long time. It is not an evil element, but Havak doesn't want to get in trouble for poking around in the graveyard looking for this alchemical silver. Better to ask Abram if it is permissible. Otherwise, your Nithian of the Scale will have to provide the alchemical silver to us."
** spoiler omitted **
** spoiler omitted **
Elarya listens to the goblin and nods her head when he mentions asking Abram about going into the graveyard for the silver.
"I can go ask him for you. That would let you work in peace on the other things in the meantime."
With that she leaves and begins looking for Abram. Her mind more than a little puzzled by the recent order.
Amara carefully puts some of the shells in her pouch while she makes her decision. The promise of something new and exciting in sleepy Solace outweighs her love of archery by a fair margin. "Ah Samel, I know it will be difficult but I think it's time for a challenge!" she gives him a nudge and says with mischief in her eyes, "We don't want you getting rusty now do we?" She examines the area around the nest closely looking for, but not expecting, any clues.
"Where did you find the mother?" she enquires while continuing to inspect the area. "Maybe we could start there."
Finishing the last of the stones, Corvina looks up briefly at the tense exchange between the crow and the lanky teen. Catching Dante's gaze for a moment, she cocks her head to the side curiously, a blank look in her eyes. He blinks oddly, one eye, then the other, and studies the boy's expression. Then with a sigh, she stands, and looks down at the "bad" stone at her feet to the left. Giving it a wide berth, she takes several smooth steps towards the Black Tree, her movements graceful, whisplike. Placing her hand at a knot on the the great trunk, she drags her fingernails down it, making a slight grating noise.
Still facing away, over the cliff, she speaks
"Be ready for it Dante. Please be ready."
and then silently retrieves the small clasped box and returns to her hut.
As Corvina steps away, leaving him with cryptics, Dante stands up with the stones, grabs his mask, and catches up with her. "Ready for what?" he says, "Also, what do you want me to do with these?" He reaches out to her with the stones between his fingers like a magician flaring coins. He doesn't keep eye contact, not because of disrespect, but because of habit and lack of knowledge of any better; looking where you're going seemed more like the utilitarian route, and Corvina never seemed to mind, nor did he when she'd do the same.
It doesn't take long for Elarya to find Abram, he is soon found by the windmill. Several other townsfolk, him included, work and talk as they continue the work of putting the thing together. I had been a slow construction, but the last few days had seen more progress than in quite some time.
"...and then, the little bugger bit him" says a man to Abram as he nails in one of the lower planks.
Abram looks up at Elarya as she approaches with his customary warm smile. Seeing the purpose in her stride, he stands and his posture eases a bit, shifting to a more formal mode. Leaning the board in his hand against the windmill, he wipes his brow and scratches his beard.
"Good day to you Elarya. Have you come to help us old men with this arduous task?"