I appeared in front of Dariel’s workshop as torrential rain pelted the streets of Zenvo. It drenched me, yet not for long. After a minute or two of me humming under the Rain, Selus opened the door.

“You will get sick standing under the rain,” he said as if he was tired of my oddities.

“I would love to catch an illness sometime. Alas, I am unable to.”

His eyes became thin lines, and he looked back into the store. “It is Terus.”

“Come in, then,” exclaimed Dariel.

I came in, then. And Dariel received me with a slap on the back in the exact moment I materialized next to the table in the middle of the shop.

“You always appear on the same place; did you know?” He said, pointing at the floor. I was standing inside a circle of chalk with words on the other side. They read “Terus Spot”.

“I was aware, I think. It’s easier like that. Like learning to walk. First it’s a conscious effort, then it happens automatically.”

“Magic is weird, man. Can you teach me?” asked Selus, who had sit on his bench and was sipping from a dark bottle.

“No helper of mine is wielding arcane powers,” Dariel said as he left his tools on the workbench.

“Like I would need this poor man’s job if I could launch balls of fire or blink away like he does.”

Dariel gestured subtly towards the bottle, and with a quick shift, I snatched it away form Selus hand, just to clumsily drop it on the floor.

“My beer!” He exclaimed, looking at the mess with visible indignation.

“If you have enough to drink on the job maybe I am not paying you that badly, hmm?” Dariel goaded.

“You owe me a beer, Terus!” said the boy.

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“I carry no money nor beer.” I informed, flatly.

“I’ll buy you another later, Selus. Can you close today? I need to show Terus something at home.”

“Sure, Dar. You know which brew I like, so don’t cheap out on me tomorrow…”

Then Dariel went out the backdoor of the shop, and I followed.

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A hot pot filled with stew sat upon the table, and Sihea hopped around us all while Dariel told her, repeatedly, to sit down. Orphela was silent, she didn’t utter a word nor a moan, like a child after being chastised.

Husband and Wife sat in unison, one at each end of the table. Sihea didn’t stop her play. The three family members had platters, and Dusk his head over the table, as if he were another piece of cutlery. Cutlery that panted.

Dariel asked me once and again if I was sure I didn’t want to taste the food. Every time, I answered the same:

“I don’t need it.”

“And don’t you want it?”

“I don’t need it.”

I didn’t pay major attention to the ingredients of the stew, but judging by the smell, it included chicken and basil. Judging by the orange color, maybe it included paprika, too.

Orphela served the food for her husband and for little Sihea, but skipped her platter. She looked, uncomfortable with the situation.

“Terus,” she said after a few minutes.

“I don’t need it.” I declined automatically.

“No, I wanted to say sorry. I behaved badly with you as of late. Can you forgive me?”

“Can water run downstream?”

She smiled genuinely. “Thanks, Terus. But you still called me fat.”

“Because you are fat,” I explained once again. She nodded.

“Yes, that’s why, today, I am starting a diet,” she declared, full of a bravado unbecoming of such a mundane statement.

I looked at her, stunned and confused. Then I turned towards Dariel, who was cleaning his platter with half a loaf of bread.

“A diet means mommy is eating less to be less fat!” Informed Sihea.

“Thanks, little girl. Is there any toy you want that daddy and mommy cannot buy for you?”

“Terus.” Orphela said, and when I looked at her, she was making the gesture of a scissor with her fingers.

Sihea began talking about a doll she had seen in the market the other day. One with golden locks and skin made out of fair wood. This toy was wholly articulated, and its face carefully carved by an artisan. I must clarify these were not the words of Sihea, but my interpretation of her frantic and excited narration.

“I see. But don’t you think Dusk would also like a toy so cute?” The wee lass looked at the dog as he now stalked under the table, waiting to scoop any leftovers that fell from above.

“No, Dusk is doggy. Doggy get no dolls.”

“Dear daughter, don’t you remember when Dusk ate your favorite one a year ago?” said Dariel.

The child, looking confused, shook her head.

“She is still not at an age to remember those things, dear,” said Orphela.

I began to fade.

“He’s waking up.”

“But it’s too soon,” Orphela whined, almost sad.

“There’s no helping it, Orph. Go and get a salad or some fruit to eat. No wife of mine is going to bed without a dinner.”