A fierce pounding shook the old wooden doors in the Arstor tribe.

“Old man” 

“Open the door old man.” He said, continuing his onslaught.

It was a shabby house. Built on the outskirts of Arstor land. The dawn light cracked a glow that shone on its olden frames. The cool breeze crawled up the Lad’s olden fur sleeve. He shivered pounding the door harder.

“Stop!” An old voice said. A shuffling noise echoed, tumbling soon followed.

“Ah, making me get up this earlier. I’ll flay you scum.”

The youth sidestepped the fast opening door. Used to Tor’s antics. Tor’s thinning hair was patted onto his skull, wearing light clothing. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes glaring at the Lad.

“You stood me up for days. The extra week of break is ending.” He said.

Tor bore deep into his eye, hand’s reaching resting on the doorknob “ See if that’s my problem.” 

“I need the goods I ordered.” The youth held the door. “Now old man.”

“You have no respect, stop calling me old man.”

The youth looked around. “Respect” 

“You,” He pointed.

“Like I know your name, give me the item.”

Tor’s face burned red. The sleepiness melting away replacing his seething glare. His hands moved through the air. Weaving into a sign, the youth backed away as Tor’s finger moved into a symbol. 5 fingers spread like support, with a single finger resting on the palm. Intra energy coursed through Tor body, bring forth his Weave.

An orange tinted fan appeared in Tor’s grip. Made of thin paper, small shimmer’s of orange sprinkled to existence. Coating the fan in an almost paint sheen. The lad would’ve preferred a paint to that color. This was an indicator of glossy grade, the 2nd ranking in weave signs.

Tor hand twitched, transferring into a small guiver of the fan. The youth moved to block. A burst of wind stomped on his futile efforts. It slammed into him, deforming his torso. The cold air that threw him urged a desire to breathe  but his impacted chest forced air out instead.

“Unsightly Skunk I’m not going to play games before the sun even rose. Get your stuff somewhere else.” Tor clicked his tongue, slamming the door.

You're the one not honoring your deal. I’m a customer, and I gave you money he thought. He lay there, his body groaning at him. His muscles began to ache from the blow. The wind dealing more damage than a massage of slaps. He took in shaky breaths.

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“Isn’t the customer king, I shouldn’t have come to this dusty vendor.” He rose to a seated position. Riding the aches out.

The sun fully rose to the air. The noises of people and livestock sounded out blocks away. The cool air transitioned to a tolerable breeze. He slowly stood up, pondering on his thoughts.

“The customer’s king!” He roared. 

“Old man Tor give me my stuff.” The door knocking followed.

His knuckles cracked away at the door. Time was being measured by the aches on his finger joints. Any more and it might not be worth it. His hands were a delicate thing to be taken care of. Signs needed weaving and a bruised hand made it harder.

Something smacked onto his head. He looked up, Tor halfway through forming another sign. The youth grabbed the package on the floor and sprinted.

“I don’t want to see your face again.” Tor shook his fist.

“It was nice seeing you too old man. Sleep nice.” He said turning a corner.

The lad took several roads, leading toward a patch in the forest. A few miles away from his home. He sat there staring at the unfolded package. Gazing upon the item.

“My life saving’s”

At the ripe age of 18, 8 silver was hefty money in his pocket. From hunting, miscellaneous task, to even stink bomb manufacturing requests. 8 silver came with flashing memories and repulsive faces. All to this. A scurrying flutter orb.

The clear orb shone flashes of grayish in individual strands that fluttered around. Intermingling and yet never connecting. Feeding this his Rabbit sign will transform it and bring it’s potency to a new level. Bringing the coarse grade weave to a potency rivaling glossy grades. The real allure was its ability to allow him to turn the rabbit sign from an animal to a permanent augmentation sign. He closed his eyes and rubbed the orb. The smooth surface and pulsing Intra promised power. He groaned contently.

“What is he doing.” A snide voice said.

“Fondling my item.” Another voice seethed.

“Skunk” Bernard domanintly said. Differentiating itself between the three.

“Skunk”

“Skunk!” Bernard roared.

“I’m busy” The youth opened his eyes.

“That’s my item.” A plump youth with dark hair said. “Give it.”

“ As Crult said. He ordered it, give it to him” Bernard echoed after. His stocky build stood over his two companions. Short brown hair cropped onto his disapproving glare.

“With what money, first to the nuts reaps it’s plump” The lad said.

“ I was collecting the money.” Crult said.

“Who are you” The lad said.

“You took the item I was getting.” 

“You’d probably have enough if you stopped increasing your girth.”

“You,” Crult seethed.

Crult stepped forward, Bernard gripped his shoulder and shook his head. He pulled out a plump coin bag. Sifting through it’s content.

“ It was around 8 silvers. I’ll round to gold.”  Bernard flipped the coin.

“A good offer.” He admired its golden tint.

“I don’t take offers from strangers.” The youth threw the coin back.

“I’m not a stranger.” Bernard watched the fallen coin in front of him.

The lad cocked his head, a confused expression appearing.

“You don’t recognize Bernard.” The snide voice slimed its way in. It came from a skinny youth with brown hair.

“I’m not here to play games Skunk.” Bernard warned.

“Bernard… who.” 

Skunk couldn’t contain the smile that wormed out his face.