The twins hadn’t changed much of the tower's operations when they’d come into possession of the keys. Things stayed the same all in all, if not even improved for some. For the extent of the hippoling's imagination when it came to torture was savage beatings and then only when they were in a mood. Mostly they left the killing, burning, and destruction to any heedless passer-bys or careless villagers.
The Creator may not have called his constant experimentation even on live subjects torture, but it was far, far worse than anything Grend or Frend ever envisioned, or indeed carried out.
So it was that life went on as normal for most of the Creator’s creations. Aside from one or two who had mistakenly got on the wrong side of the twins. One of the wolflings who had allegedly stolen some ham off Frend’s plate. And the Pigling who hadn’t kept enough mud in the garden for Grend’s liking.
On the whole, however, the other creations merely remained below the tower, in its cavernous underbelly. Trapped, enslaved, and only permitted above whenever the Twins required their assistance. Which was admittedly very seldom.
Back inside the kitchen the twins noisily sat down to their meal, made as always by one of the squirrellings for they always made the best cooks.
“It’s good.” Frend sat back finally content after finishing his third large plate of Crocodile stew.
“Very.” Agreed Grend.
“Better than yesterday’s crocodile stew.”
“But not as good as the day before’s.”
“True, that one was great,” Frend acknowledged.
A content silence fell over the twins. The only sound that of the fireplace crackling away in the corner.
“I think I’ll have a shave.” Frend stated, plucking at long hairs along his chin.
“Oh well you’ll have to wait until I finish. I said it first.”
Frend sat up straight, “What? No you didn’t. When?”
“When?” Grend rolled his eyes. “You don’t remember. When we talked about the metaphorical and literal thing. I said it then.”
“Did you?” Frend began tapping his head as if willing his mind to remember.
“Yes Brother, of course I did. You even said I should. It was your idea. That’s the only bloody reason I want to do it.”
“So your doing it because I said to? Because it was my idea? You’re listening to my advice then?”
Yes,” Grend nodded eagerly.
Frend clicked his fingers, “Oh yeah I do remember now. That was a good idea by me.”
“Very.” Agreed Grend smiling contentedly. He had sat directly facing the mirror and kept his gaze focused on it.
Frend nodded and chuckled to himself, “Ok, ok, ok. You go and shave then, I’ll do it in the morning.”
Getting up and passing by his brother Frend patted Grend on the head.
Annoyed Grend pushed the hand away.
“What are you doing?”
“What?”
“Hitting me on top of the head. It’s annoying. Really annoying. Watch it.”
“Watch it? What? I just patted you on the head what’s the big deal, Gods are you that weak.”
“I am not weak,” Grend exclaimed, finally taking his eyes off the mirror.
“But you did it too much. You know you did Frend. And you shouldn’t pat me on my head. I’m older.”
“So? I was being a kind Brother, I’m allowed pat you on the head then.”
Grend scowled but waved Frend away to return to staring at the mirror.
Frend made as if he was heading for the stairs before stepping across to pat his Brother once more atop his head.
Grend lunged after him but Frend was ready and went away safely, giggling as he climbled up the stairs.
“It was good of me to let him shave first. But Grend needs looking after. So it’s only right.” Frend liked to talk before sleep.
Usually, Grend was in the bed across from his and they talked together. The Creator had always been strict on speaking, and down below speaking was always difficult in the holding cells. It felt good to talk whenever he liked.
Frend was soon half asleep. He thought first of tomorrow’s crocodile stew. He couldn't wait to eat it. It might even be as good as the one before yesterday's.
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“And who knows,” he whispered to himself, “maybe tomorrow I’ll see a new cousin. I hope I get a gift. Maybe a mirror. I want a mirror. Grend only looks at his mirror since he got it. I want one too. Or maybe I could steal his? Hehe yessss tomorrow I could steal his. Just for a little while. Just to see. Tomorrow….”
Frend drifted off to sleep, with dreams of stew and mirrors floating side by side.
Downstairs Grend lay awake. He didn’t shave. Nor did he want to. He just didn’t want Frend using his mirror. Fox cousin gave it to him after all. A gift. For him. Not Frend, him. Fox cousin never mentioned nothing about sharing. Only about keeping it where he could see it.
Grend remembered every bit of their meeting. He kept going over it in his head. He couldn’t get it out of his mind. Which was unusual, for usually he couldn’t keep things in his mind. It bothered him.
I’ll replay it one more time to make sure I didn’t miss anything, he thought. Then bed. Bed and sleep. Nothing else.
The morning had started off the same as usual for Grend.
The village was only a five minute walk from the Tower and a small river ran lazily into it meaning he could take a swim as he travelled there. The village was empty, it was always empty whenever he went there.
But he supposed that was fine, the villagers were boring, always cowering and acting scared. He didn’t like them.
He went first to the butcher, as usual his basket of goods was already outside and waiting for him when he arrived. Grend sighed, flicked a few coins at the door and headed on towards the Grocer and Baker. Both went the same way, he threw out some more coins as he collected the bundles.
He didn’t need to give them coins. But he liked when the villagers ran headlessly around to pick them up, some even smiled at him when they got the gold ones. That was fun.
He made a quick stop at the blacksmiths, Grend liked to look at the weapons and armor. The Bulling was good at his job. People sometimes risked travelling into the forest in the hopes of purchasing his wares. Grend and Frend made sure that those who risked such a venture earned it. Sometimes sending out wolflings, sometimes heading out themselves. Grend liked fighting with weapons, he always used a large Battleaxe, Frend preferred a large Warhammer. The Creator used to sometimes get them to fight other Beastlings in the arena aside the holding cells. He and Frend had never lost. In the beginning the Creator had wanted them to fight and kill each other. But they couldn’t do that, they were Twins, despite some severe and painful encouragement from the Creator to do so.
The Creator had finally given up and conceded that the two would need to fight alongside each other rather than opposed.
The Bulling was busy hammering when Grend entered, he was always busy hammering.
“Morning Bulling,” Grend began cheerfully, he was always a little nervous around Bulling. He had been one of the earliest Beastlings to be given freedom. Of a kind at least. The Creator had removed the collar but magically bound the Bulling to the village. Grend tread warily around him. He didn’t like not being able to tell him what to do.
“Morning Grend.”
“Any new Weapons?” Grend asked.
“Some,” Bulling responded between continuous hammering over the anvil.
“Axes?”
“No axes.”
“Hmmm fair enough.”
“You want a new axe?”
“No, no, I like the one I have.” Grend tapped the Battleaxe across his shoulder.
“Is there anything else you need?”
“No, no, nothing else. Ah no wait, yes I meant to ask, has there been any travellers passing by? Any outsiders?”
“There was one.”
“Really?” Grend’s eyes lit up, he loved dealing with outsiders.
“One of us in fact. A foxling.”
“A what? I never heard of them?”
“No,” Bulling grunted, “you wouldn't have. There was only ever one. And he left before you and your Brother were created.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.” Bulling shrugged, “He came around here asking questions, about me, about the Tower. About the Creator.”
“What did you tell him?” Grend raised a brow.
“Nothing, I didn’t tell him anything. Can’t say if he didn’t hear some things off the villagers though.”
“What could they tell him?”
Bulling stopped his hammering.
“Grend, the foxling is ambitious and the Creator treated him harsher than most. He has come back here for a reason. I believe that reason was the Creator. But once he hears about you and your Brother-”
“Frend.”
“Yes, Frend. Once he hears about you two if may try another method of getting power.”
“You mean,” Grend nodded slowly, “He might want to be our Apprentice?”
“What? No, no, not that Grend.” Bulling scratched the top of his head and sighed.
“I don’t even know why I’m getting involved. I have work to do. Just, just be careful is all.”
Grend shrugged, “I always am. Until next time Bulling, I’ll call on you when I’m back in the village”
Bulling grunted but had already returned to hammering.
Grend housed his bags onto his shoulder and headed back out and down the village’s main and only street towards the Tower.
He was almost out of the village proper when a figure came around the corner of the old mill towards him.
Grend’s eyes lit up. It was the Foxling.