“Okay, class! Today I’ll be reading another story.”

I squirmed with excitement. Story time was always my favorite.

“The story is known as: The Tale of the Green Eyed Witch.

“Once upon a time, there was a Hunter. He was stronger than ten men and had the wisdom of twenty. One fine night after drinking a few too many mugs of ale, a mysterious being appeared before him.

“She looked like an old crone, wearing pitch black pelts with striking green eyes.”

I leaned in, eager to hear what was next. I had never heard anyone mention witches before.

“‘Young Hunter,’” the teacher crooned in an overdramatized voice. “‘I have come to warn you of a plague of beasts bearing down upon your lands.’

“‘Foul witch!’” bellowed the teacher in a deep voice. “‘Why should I trust thy word?’

“‘Know this, Hunter. I have come to offer you a deal. I shall rid you of all the beasts upon thy lands, and leave without a price.’

“The Hunter couldn’t believe his ears. He accepted immediately. Before his eyes, a pile of corpses appeared. Mighty beasts, even ones of great strength the Hunter had never been able to slay lay dead at his feet. Yet he began to mourn, for in the pile was the bodies of his fellow clansmen.

“‘There is no greater beast than that of man,’ the witch cried as she disappeared into the gloom. And though the Hunter survived, it was a lonely existence. The End.”

My fellow classmates and I clapped with the end of the story.

“Now, can anyone tell me what the theme of the story is?” Nervous faces all around me, the kind that didn’t know the answer and were praying they didn’t get called on. Sighing, I raised my hand.

“Yes?”

Feeling rather bored, I answered. “The dangers of making risky and life-changing decisions while inebriated.”

The teacher blinked rapidly, with a blank smile that faltered slightly. Her face said it all: I don’t know what you just said, but it wasn’t the prepared answer I had, so I’ll just say that’s another way to look at it.

“Oh, that wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but that is another awesome and wonderful perspective.” What did I say? I have too much experience with teachers.

After the lesson, I tromped out of the giant circular tent that served as our school. It was made of a bunch of stitched together hides from massive beasts, too big to belong to any earth animal. It creeped me to no end thinking that one day, I might become a Hunter and have to kill those things on a daily basis.

I didn’t feel like going home immediately. In this world, there was nothing to do inside except eat and sleep. I considered playing, but…

At my current level of intelligence, games of strategy were a breeze. Even adults fell to the might of an American freshman who had played too much Civilization 6 and Balatro.

Meanwhile, physical games were something this body was incapable of. Not only was my four year old body rather weak, but I was beginning to suspect that even for children my age, I was on the smaller side. Just like my last life…

Grr! No! Cast off those memories faster than Juliet’s vestal livery! Thinking about the past did me no good.

Oh well. Might as well visit the forge. That was always nice.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The forge was a nice place. It was mostly quiet, if you didn’t mind the occasional ring of a hammer against steel. Though everyone else always complained about the noise. I was glad, because it meant that you could be nearly alone.

What do you think of when you hear “blacksmith”? A big, burly man with a giant hammer? As far as I could tell, in this world your physical strength didn’t matter. At least, I assumed so due to the way Hunters could swing around greatswords three times their size.

The blacksmith of our village was a petite woman, with black hair and red eyes that kept others away. It was probably why she lived on the outskirts of the village.

“Hello, child,” she said, her voice melodious. Despite her stick-thin arms, she swung a heavy hammer without hesitation. Her aim was clear, too, as each stroke of the hammer further defined the shape of what was to be a bracer.

At my sigh, she smiled slightly. “I suppose that once again, your peers didn’t realize your ‘brilliance’?” Her tone was slightly sarcastic, with a hint of truth. We were both outcasts, I supposed.

“Tell me about it,” I say in High. I rebuke myself mentally after. She isn’t even that much older than me in true years, but I’ve gotten used to this life. I automatically default to treating elders with respect.

Annoying, especially since in my last life I died and was unable to finally enjoy the benefits of sucking up to teachers.

We sit mostly in silence, as usual. What topics would we have to talk about? Besides, Smith was preoccupied with her work and I liked to watch.

It was fascinating how so many things could affect the end result. Minute variations in force, angle, composition of the metal and its temperature. To master such an art would be difficult, but I would have to learn.

After all, I was practically set up to be her successor. I was the only one who wanted to learn the art, and it was vitally important. Besides, as I had come to learn, I had a quality that none else in this world did.

As if hearing me, Smith asks softly, “You still can’t hear it? The screams?”

“If I could, I wouldn’t be here.”

Supposedly, fire talked. As in, whispered advice and their feelings. At first, I regarded the idea with skepticism, thinking it was religious nonsense. But as time went on, I realized it wasn’t figurative or a drug-induced hallucination. Fire actually talked. And I couldn’t hear it. My best guess? Probably because I didn’t belong in this world. Hearing fire was probably some innate quality of the souls of this world.

That wasn’t where it ended. On top of that, the act of smithing was seen as heresy because it supposedly hurt the fire. This could be inferred from the very loud screaming that could be heard from the flame when you used it to heat metal. Since I couldn’t hear it, I would be great at smithing. That didn’t stop people from treating me with pity as if I was lesser in some way.

A crow landed on my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. Smith froze, dropping her hammer. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. She didn’t even flinch as the fire yelled in her ears, but something had scared her enough to stop?

“A crow,” she said solemnly. “A bad omen.”

“What? It can’t be that bad.” A crow seemed like a silly thing to worry about.

“It smelled death on you,” she said, a note of worry creeping into her voice. “It means that you or someone near you will die soon.”

I raised a hand, stroking the crow’s feathers. It was soft. The black of its feathers stood out against the endless plains of snow. “It’ll be fine. I’ll raise it as a pet.”

She fidgeted nervously as I walked away, petting the crow.

The spot didn’t look particularly remarkable, merely a jagged rock sticking out of the snow. A further inspection, however, would reveal a symbol on its side. It was the dollar symbol. Something that was hard to forget, but that none of the natives of this world recognized.

“Omen, schmomen.” I muttered. I raised my hand and the crow nuzzled its head against my palm, eager to be petted once more.

I closed my fist around the neck of the crow and it writhed in my grasp, sluggishly as if not expecting this.

It moved to peck at my hand with its beak, but I couldn’t let it leave a mark. That would be telling to the natives that something was wrong.

With my other hand, I ripped off its beak. Blood erupted from the new hole in its face, though I was careful to keep it pointed away from me.

Soon, the bird stopped moving. I lay it against the snow, picking up the stone. Beneath the stone lay a small hole I had dug out over a long period of time. In it lay the bones of many small animals, like mice, rats and birds. I had examined the anatomies of a couple of animals that resided in both earth and this world, and they remained quite similar, though with a few minute differences.

What a pain. The crow must have smelled the blood on me, though I thought I had cleaned it off pretty well. This works to my favor though, I haven’t examined crow anatomy yet, though I could guess.

The stone was one I had picked for its particularly sharp edge, and it came in handy as I cut open the stomach of the bird. Finally, I could do more dissections.

This world is so much better than earth, a part of me cried. We can do all the “experiments” we want, and no one will notice. I had been so naive on earth, thinking my parents would accept my… hobbies. No matter, I could do them in private.