As I sat by the roadside, huddled up under a sprawling fir to dodge the rain and wind tearing at the landscape, the blanket I had brought from home did little to ward off the cold. For a moment, I was struck by a sting of homesickness. I tried my best to brush it aside. Think of what they'd do to me if I returned, they'd beat me senseless and then Norn would carve the skin off of my chest. Being slapped around I could take, but the thought of a knife scraping against my ribs, I don't think so. Absentmindedly, my fingers brushed against the fabric of my tunic, across the birthmark underneath, as I gazed through the branches out into the watery gray.

Mulling over the past, a soft rustling from behind caught my attention. A mouse? Or perhaps a bird rummaging for surfaced worms? But to my surprise, it was neither. With a pitiful yowl, a raggedy kitten appeared from the grass, hair wet and tousled. The poor thing looked half drenched, and while staggering towards me, it let out tiny squeals and meows.

"What do you want, little friend?" I asked as it joined me in shelter under the branches.

To my surprise, it shakily wandered over and pushed itself up against my leg, before curling into a tiny ball. Most times I had stayed away from the cats in the village, as many of them carried scabs, and whatever sicknesses the rats they ate did. This time, however, I couldn't bear myself from moving even a thumb. It had been calling so desperately for help, for warmth. Perhaps I had been wishing for the same thing.

I tried for the hundredth time that day to conjure a bit of heat in my hand, but again—nothing. The rain pattered around us as the final specks of dim light disappeared behind thick clouds on the horizon, and the dark took hold.

In the morning, we set out together. Though the night had been long and rough, I felt renewed and hopeful.

"Next time we sleep under a roof, you and I!" I proclaimed to the kitten resting in my embrace, as I used my free hand to adjust the strap of father's—no, my—knapsack.

I wandered down the road with a feeling that things would turn out for the better, and as if my thoughts had been heard, the kitten began to softly purr. We passed a horse and cart with a stodgy farmer at the reins as straw-covered roofs appeared on the horizon. He threw a disinterested glance at us as we stepped aside and muttered inaudibly to himself while ushering his massive beast on. There were more people around the closer to the village we got, as the farmers had begun tilling the land for the season. Farmhands hacked and cussed as they turned the heavy soil. Wooden apparatuses were being dragged by calloused hands, and there was even one strapped to a tired-looking ox, which slowly trudged on.

As I reached the meek fence surrounding the houses, a tall, scrawny young man called out for me.

"Ho there, boy!" he yelled while flaunting a short, ill-kept spear, and with hasty steps, he neared.

The young girl he had up until now been busy courting, giggled from behind him, curiously watching.

"Where to?" He sputtered. His rushed demeanor made me uneasy if anything, but I explained that the cat and I were just looking for a place to rest, and perhaps something to eat.

"I'll work for it," I eagerly added.

He looked close to disappointed, glancing back at the girl without the courtesy to reply.

"Do you know someone I could ask? In the tavern perhaps, or one of the farmers?" I persisted.

But instead of answering, he pointed the spear straight at me, and as he did, sweat began trickling down my neck.

"How do I know you're not some thieving gob, some outlaw spawn eh?" He chuckled slightly, "...and what madman carries about a dead cat?"

I looked down at the kitten resting in my hand. True, it had been quiet for some time now, but it was simply gathering strength, right?

"I just want something to eat, I've never been around these parts and I'm no bandit!" I replied.

The lanky one seemed to rejoice as I became all the more flustered, and it was with a vicious grin he took a step forward, spear still raised.

"You say that, but we don't trust cat killers round 'ere, now run back home to mama!"

Once again, he glanced back at the girl, whose eyes sparkled with admiration. I could feel my blood boil and my ears grow increasingly hot and red as he continued to mock and threaten.

Eventually, he must have grown bored and decided to further force the conflict, because he sighed heavily and eased his spear. The moment he stepped in with a tightened fist, I threw a fistful of fire at his face and followed up with a hefty kick to the groin. He moaned and wailed, and grunted in pain as the spear fell out of his grip, and he hunched over on the ground. The girl stood frozen for a moment, then ran off screaming for help.

It didn't take long before the commotion caught the attention of many folks who up until now had been busy with their daily work. Soon they swarmed our way, helping the still wincing thug to his feet while keeping a skeptical eye on me and my kitten. A large, bearded and clearly important man hurried past a few curious onlookers towards us, only stopping briefly to have a look at the lanky one's face.

"So boys, what happened 'ere? Orulf, explain yourself!" He boomed with a demanding voice.

"He threw fire in my face, father!" The lanky one blurted while rubbing his stinging skin. The smell of burnt hair still looming in the air as the few strands on his chin lay darkened and curled.

"It's true, I sawr it!" the girl shouted from behind the onlookers before being hushed by what must have been her mother.

The man looked at me with a raised eyebrow as he spoke. "Is it true, boy, do you know how to light tinder with your words?"

I nodded. No point in trying to hide anything from these folks I thought, as the assertive man, who I guessed to be the village chief, seemed more curious than angry.

"Why'd you go and throw it in someone's face? We're friendly folk around 'ere, you know." He looked me straight in the eyes as I felt embarrassment crawl about inside.

"I'm sorry, mister. He came at me with the spear and I simply felt the need to defend myself and this little one."

The old man grunted in response and turned to Orulf, grabbing him by the hair. "Did you try and shake down another traveler, how many does that make this moon, three? Four?"

The young man's face soured and he squirmed in place. "Father, I—"

"You what?" the older one interrupted, "...you wanted to impress Vaylia by waving about the spear I entrusted you with?" He let go and slapped Orulf hard across the face. "You can't work the field without getting sick, you don't care for reading. Is fighting and making a ruckus all you are good for? You think we put you on guard duty to bully every new face in passing... son?"

There was a resounding silence once the man was done speaking. Then Orulf, without a word and with teary eyes, grabbed the spear from the ground, shook off his father's grip and stormed off. The chieftain sighed.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"Lad, you think you can refrain from tossing tinder in people's faces while you're staying on our lands?" His gaze returned my way under a furled brow.

"Yes, mister..." I nodded. "...I'm just looking for work and something to eat in return. Perhaps some straw for the night."

"Good, seeing as you know to set a hearth, I'll set you up with Grisella in the Tavern. She'd appreciate a pair of young hands for cleaning work. My name is Barold and I'm in charge around 'ere lad, what's yours?"

"Euran, mister," I answered as he ushered for people to get back to work.

"Good Euran, now come along this way."

The tavern lay at the village's center, surrounded by workshops and craftsmen. All greeted Barold as he led me onwards.

"Grisella, you 'ere!?" He yelled after slamming the door to the tavern open, letting out a heavy musk of sweat and spilt ale.

"What now, you old hog!?" a woman's voice bellowed from the kitchen in response, and not long after, a brawny woman appeared carrying mugs of ale and bowls of stew on a tray. There was a striking similarity between the two, had one simply robbed Barold of his crowned chin.

"Well met sister, harsh with your words as always I hear..." he chuckled, "...I brought a pair of hands for you, for work."

He pushed me forward, and the woman threw glances at me while serving the tables from her tray. "He's a bit thin, where'd you pick 'im up?"

Barold told her what had happened earlier and she shut her eyes for a moment and leaned in so as to not be heard by the drunkards around. "That damn brat, I told you you should have struck some sense in him sooner."

Barold shrugged in response, "Oh well, not much to do about it now. Anyhow, I'll be off, have plenty of work to see to..." he paused just as he was about to leave, "...oh and the lad 'ere knows to light tinder, thought that'd be of use to you."

He disappeared behind the thick wood, leaving me and the kitten in the hands of our new mistress.

"Can you now, at such an age?" she asked, sounding anything but convinced.

"Yes ma'am!" I answered instinctively.

"Well well, not shabby for such a young sprout. Come, I'll get you two some stew before I put you to work."

I can't say cleaning has ever been a passion of mine, but kitchen work as a whole I never minded. It didn't take long for Grisella to notice that I knew my way around both hearth and kettle. And once we had had something to eat and I had put the kitten to rest next to the warming fire, she basically handed me the reins.

"Keep the fire stoked, fill up the stew with turnips, onions and milk, add salt and nutmeg when needed, hand me bowls when I tell you to, and clean the empty mugs in the washing tub over there."

After that, she spent most of the evening tending to drinking guests, only coming into the kitchen to line up rows of foaming ale onto her tray.

"You're doing good, lad!" She said after she had seen me neatly dice the vegetables just like mother had shown me so many years ago, before tossing them into the bubbling kettle.

I liked Grisella. From the moment I met her, she was honest, straightforward and good at heart. Uncompromising, but never impossible.

"You did what!?" She bellowed after she had tasted the stew the next morning, surprised to find it different than usual.

"I threw in a handful of dried sorrel, a big knob of butter, and a pinch of long pepper that I ground. Felt it did it some good."

She sighed, seemingly unsure whether to laugh or scold me. "Divine as it is, I can't charge the hoodlums out there enough to cover for spices, you hear me, lad?"

"Yes ma'am!" I answered, suppressing a smile as I finished off my breakfast bowl.

She had been kind enough to let me sleep in the kitchen, lending me a thick blanket to huddle up beside the warm stone. However, Cat, as I had begun referring to the little one, hadn't done much but sleep since we arrived. At least he tiredly licked up the egg yolk we gave him, but rarely did he leave his warm spot near the hearth.

"Afraid the little one ain't got much time left in 'im," She said the third day as I was busy scrubbing the kettle with hot water. I didn't respond. Perhaps I knew she was right, Cat seemed to grow weaker by the day, but I chose to ignore it.

The day of midweek came around and the tavern was left gaping empty as it was a day of rest and prayer, and especially—no drinking. Many of the residents of the village had already headed for the temple for devout lecture. Even Grisella, who seemed so rigid and practical, went off to at least show her respect to any deity that might watch over her. I cared little for it. I had always carried this tingling feeling that something divine lurked in the shadows, but if anything, the thought of it felt dirty. As if being watched while changing undergarments, or silently being snuck up on while relieving yourself on someone's roses.

Left to tend to the stew as it bubbled away, I sat down beside Cat and stroked his tiny head softly. A meek purring vibrated from within the little creature, far weaker than it had been only a few days ago. I noted that he hadn't touched his yolk this morning, but as I put some onto my finger and moved it to his mouth, a pink tongue appeared to lick it once or twice. He then opened his eyes for the first time since we arrived in the village and looked up at me as if to say, thank you, but no more. Once again, he closed his eyes and rested, letting out short stuttered breaths.

I watched him sleep for a while, until a sudden noise outside in the drinking hall pulled me away. Though before I could leave the kitchen to have a look, Orulf appeared in the doorframe, tightly followed by two other, slightly younger boys, and the girl named Vaylia. I grabbed the fire iron from its hook on the wall, readying myself for whatever retribution the young man had in mind. Seeing me arming myself, the four of them laughed.

Orulf wasn't carrying his spear this time, but instead, just like the other two, he donned a home-fashioned, ill-looking club. I desperately looked around for an exit, but unlike back home, there were no windows to unbar and escape through.

"What do you want!?" I threw at them. It was a foolish question, but it was all I could voice at the time.

They didn't respond, instead, cruel grins took shape on their faces as Orulf nodded for his two friends to get on with it.

"I'll set your faces aflame!" I stuttered, backing slowly as they neared, kicking the table aside and swinging their clubs menacingly.

"Aflame!" the goons laughed in tandem, "Aflame, how? By throwing a little glowy kindling at us?"

It was clear that the two boys were ignorant to what had actually happened a few days back. Even Orulf seemed to have convinced himself that a bit of tinder was all that had struck him. But the girl, even though smiling, looked nervous.

The first hit struck me on the shoulder with a dull thump as one of the boys leapt forward. The pain was immediate and I fell to the floor gasping. They laughed again, this time triumphantly.

"Great swing there, Jogo!" Orulf applauded, as the girl giggled with excitement.

Pulling myself together, I could see the lanky thug reach down, and with a face of disgust, he grabbed the limp kitten by the skin of its neck.

"You really do have a thing for dead cats, freak!" He cheered triumphantly.

But before I could as much as scream for him to let go, he flung Cat's tiny body towards me, onto the stone tiles where it landed with a resounding thud. Lifeless and unmoving, it lay. Then something strange happened. Thin stripes of light like waves of gold, flowed and poured, streamed towards my chest from the tiny pile of fur balled up on the floor. I felt the warmth as it spread throughout, but somehow I knew this meant that Cat had finally taken his last breath. The moment of warmth soon passed, replaced by a bubbling anger so profound I think for a moment I lost my mind.

Mixing the temperament of a budding man with the pain of loss and you have a serious problem on your hands. I can't even remember what I shouted, but the resulting ball of fire was nothing like I had ever conjured before, and with tears streaming down my face I sent it hurtling towards Orulf. Not only did the blast that followed throw the rest of us to the ground, but it also cracked a hole in the kitchen wall so large, a part of it crumbled inwards, partly covering the battered body of Orulf.

I saw the ripples of gold surging across the floor, felt the warmth as they entered my chest but thought little of it. Dizzy and with ears still ringing, I tried my best to get back up on my feet, stumbling while only stopping to pick up my dust-covered knapsack and Cat's tiny body, still warm to the touch.

The two boys had been pushed across the room in different directions, as one lay unconscious near the kitchen entrance, and the other by the hearth, crouched up, grunting and holding his head with both hands. As I staggered over the fallen debris, over Orulf, out into the drinking hall, I found Vaylia lying on a table with chairs strewn across the floor. She was moaning quietly and clearly breathing, so I paid her little mind. I had to get away, and quickly so.

Unsurprisingly, the villagers had begun gathering around, and when I pushed through the door, wildeyed and dusty, they watched me with faces full of questions. I looked fearfully around and yelled out for whoever, "Help them!"

Perhaps it was because of that desperate call, or the dust covering my face, that no one came to grab me. A few older onlookers asked me if I was hurt in any way, but I brushed their kind words aside. Away, I have to get away.

As the onlookers began entering the house, I walked with all the calm I could muster towards the well as if to wash my face. But when a woman came running out shouting, and all eyes turned to her, I put my legs to work, took to the road east and ran like I've never run before.