——[ ▞▞▞▞▞▞ 🟀 ▚▚▚▚▚▚ ]——

A “recruitment” pitch

“You cannot run. You cannot hide, the light WILL find you. Time will bring our enemies to the ground. You will not escape the warm embrace of the almighty lord… Salvation is coming.”

*cough*

“—WHAT is it?”

“Uh… captain, sir if you could please sound less… ominous?... This message is for the people, not whatever you kill in your job. We are trying to make good publicity for people interested in our institution, not the other way around.”

“...*sigh.* fine, I’ll read the damn script.”

——[ ▚▚▚▚▚▚ 🟀 ▞▞▞▞▞▞ ]——

。。。

“So.” Clauren approaches her. “It has been some weeks since. What do you think of her?”

Samyra takes a moment to look at the child in question, leaning over a balcony, they observe her being dragged through the grass by two kids. “For one, she is a fast learner. Eager to know more and very curious… But sometimes she knows a little too much about obscure topics. And is clueless all the same of the most simple and commonplace knowledge.”

“...Yes.” He nods in agreement, watching as the kid in question starts rolling away on her side with surprising speed while the others chase after her. ”I’ve come to test her regularly, under the guise of lighthearted playing and little innocuous questions. She feels… sheltered, for lack of a better term, understands too much, knows too little.”

Syuufarin… that the girl confided herself to another friend closer to her –not age–, maturity, before any of them. It left a mark against their egos. Whether they weren’t doing enough, or that she didn’t trust them. It surprised them when one day she came home with a new name for all to see and say. I was even more of a surprise that she didn’t have one… or so she claimed.

Despite her shy and silent demeanor, if you know how to read her you’d see that she can be quite emotional... And she’s very bad at lying.

She rarely smiles in front of others, avoids eye contact, isn’t very expressive, doesn’t talk much, and tends to hide a lot, so much so that people made a game out of it. “Where is Syuu Hiding Today?”

“It is like she is just a little girl at times… But with a knowledge that was shoved inside her head, along with the unnatural consequential maturity that came from it.” She sighs exasperatedly. ”She is… precocious, and is burning herself trying to catch up with everyone else.”

She all but requires help with common sense… things that everyone uses in their everyday life intuitively, using appliances, taking baths, and even living in general. Like a little fawn that is taking its first steps. And yet… aside from history, she excels at mathematics, alchemy, language, and the basics of science. With a nigh-perfect retention of what she studies for the first time, with varying degrees of comprehension. It is a disconcerting dichotomy.

They can only imagine what would happen when she starts on magic.

“Gods know if she’ll ever confide the secret that haunts her.” Clauren shakes his head in dismay “If I know only one thing for real, and she hides it well, it is that she is mourning for someone or something.”

“...” Samyra takes a disheartened breath. “Any idea what could that be?”

“No…” He shakes his head “Not with all that witchcraft we had found ourselves in, and even then, she doesn’t talk about herself… Not to us, at least. We can only hope she becomes more comfortable here, and if not with us, with the village at least.”

She sighs forlornly “And here I thought we could finally have an opportunity to raise a kid of our own.”

“Come now, dear… Don’t be like that, you know that is too much to ask for.”

“I know, I know… but we have been trying for so long and…” She leans onto him. “...Is this what other parents feel when they have to let theirs’ soar for the first time?”

He chuckled. “Maybe… but she won’t still be a teenager, much less independent for some time yet, so we can set those worries aside and do our best at making her feel at home for now. I know not what she has gone through, only that she needs respite.”

“Does it not worry you?”

“...perhaps. Gaviel said she was lost, afraid, and aimless when he found her. Clinging to him desperately and begging for the slightest signs of affection. She has secrets, yes, but I do not believe that they would bring misfortune to any of us.” He wraps his arm around her shoulders “There’s still some lingering suspicion because of that witch and her unknown origins, but if anything, she has proven herself to be a good soul during her short time here.”

They watch as Syuufarin becomes entangled in a rolling competition. The children around her are racing to see who’s faster on the ground without using their hands or feet. She looks… resigned. To say the least.

““...”” A peaceful moment passes between them.

“...She’s also exceedingly harmless, despite what Gaviel said of her accounts.” Clauren noted.

——— –– –– -- - -

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

∷　　　　　　　　　　OMAKE　　　　　　　　　　∷

▰▰▰▰▱ About food…

I’m poking a slice of something with a brownish-yellow color in the soup everyone’s eating.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“A peron.” Someone beside me answers.

“What’s a ‘peron’?”

“...” He stops mid-bite.

“...” I keep poking around the food, trying to figure out its ingredients.

“You don’t know what peron is?”

“No?... Am I supposed to?” Aside from the more direct counterparts I found, like the 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐨, and some of the most basic greens, the majority of foods they have here are practically alien to me.

“Uh… yes?, no?, everyone knows what a peron is.” He says matter-of-factly.

“U-um, o-of course I do! It’s just… I forgot the name of it, I mean.”

“Ah! I see.”

‘He bought that.’ I sigh in relief. “By the way, where does the um…” I don’t think I know a proper word for “livestock”. “Meat? Come from?” I don’t remember seeing anyone raising much of anything aside from some chickens, and I doubt just that would be able to feed the entire village. “I mean, I only see farms around…”

“Oh, that? I guess you wouldn't know much either, since you’re new and all.” He scratches his chin contemplatively and does a little twisting motion with his fingers even though he doesn’t have any beard to speak of and his chin is as smooth as stainless steel. “Well, from here you can’t see it, but there are some people that raise chickens and some other small animals, and the few that raise the bigger animals don’t do it for the purpose of slaughter, that only happens when they get really old, otherwise they mostly raise them for milk and whatever else…”

Huh, that answers where the cheese comes from at least, but that still doesn’t really answer the question of where the surplus comes from. I wait for him to chew a mouthful of a particular piece of stubborn fibrous meat.

“...The rest comes from the hunter teams, or rangers, whichever you want to call them. They do some foraging now and then outside. And, every few springs or so, they go to one of those tall-men settlements to get stuff that doesn’t come by easily or that we can’t make here, mostly spices and the occasional exotic thing we never heard about.”

I pause. “When… exactly was the last time they went to a… tall-men settlement?” With how skewed their sense of time is…

“When? Hmm… Maybe, I think it was about twenty years ago? They got this nifty thing called ‘paprika’, tall-men, they never got around to finding out a recipe for it.”

“Ah…” – ‘T-twenty years?! A few??’ – “I see, thank you.” I leave it at that.

——— –– –– -- - -

▰▰▰▰▱ About sticks…

I’m boredly swinging with my wooden stick around, tapping it idly on the side of the chair, it’s just the right height for me to prop it on the ground and rest my chin on the other end.

“Hmm… Can I take a look at that?” Clauren asks.

“Mn, This? Sure.”

He turns the thing around in his hands, giving it a few light knocks, trying to bend it and failing. Then he takes it closer to his eyes to inspect it and–

*lick* ‘What the fu—’

“Did you know this branch used to belong to a treant?” He interrupts my thoughts.

Successfully distracting me from his eccentricity “A what?”

“A treant. They are big, walking trees with a penchant to eating dirt with the occasional critter.” He explains.

“No, I didn’t. Is that a bad thing?” I ask trepidatiously.

“No, well, not usually.” He turns the stick around, placing it on the table. “Leave one of these planted on the ground, and after some years they can grow into another treant… If the branch isn’t too dry and dead, that is.”

My stomach drops. ‘I had been carrying what around?!’ The popular images of the dangerous tree monsters swimming in my head.

“And this piece, in particular, tastes like a red treant.” – ‘WHY does he know how a treant tastes like??’ – “Or, blood treant, depending on who you ask, they like meat, blood in particular, very much, have a harder wood and greater strength than their counterparts, and their roots make for an excellent anti-coagulant. They appear very rarely though.”

“...Should I worry?”

“About those vicious monsters that hunt for the sole purpose of drinking blood? That could possibly appear inside the safe confines of our village because you brought this inside?...” He took a moment to stare into my eyes.

“*gulp*”

“...Nah.” He says nonchalantly “You’re fine. Despite this thing still being able to absorb blood, it’s as inert as it can be, see how the core is all cracked and dry?.”

I sigh in relief.

——— –– –– -- - -

▰▰▰▰▱ About skulls…

Curious, I asked Samyra what’s up with that old lady’s definitely cursed staff that showed up the last and only time I’ve seen her.

“...You don’t wanna know.”

“But!—” I have tried asking Clauren before, because he was present at the time, but he refused to answer.

“Look, you’ve asked Clau, He asked Grandma, He told me, And now I’m telling you. You don’t wanna know.” She said in a tone of finality.

“B-but!... Argh, Ok…”

——— –– –– -- - -

▰▰▰▰▱ About time…

“Say…” I pause, thinking over what I’m going to say to try and not sound too weird, and for him to not become suspicious of me. “Everyone else keeps track of time by using the sun as a reference, and refers to years as ‘winters’ or ‘springs’, but you are the only person that has a clock in their house and keeps track of time by hours and minutes instead of simply using morning, noon, afternoon, evening, and night.” There’s Samyra too. Since she lives with him. “Why is that?” I ask.

“...Quite the observant little one aren’t you?”

“Hgh– don’t call me little!”

“But you are little!~…” I kick him in the shin, he ignores it. “...anyway, it’s because I need to properly and accurately measure time because of my research and all these medicines that need supervision. Exact times and dates need to be recorded for data and expiration dates.”

“Hmm.” I nod. “But… you’re the only one that uses a clock? Why doesn’t anyone else use it? I mean, keeping track of time is a good thing right?”

“You would think so…” He sighs. “...But no, that is not the case, the most people worry about time here are when it’s time to harvest something or when to get something out of the oven, and they can safely eyeball these things intuitively without needing to rely on too much precision. And the rest aren’t like they have a schedule to adhere to, flexible routines at best…” He finishes placing a label on a jar, detailing its contents, fabrication and expiration dates, and a few instructions on what it is and how to use it. “...Time is just not a thing most Elves worry about.”

“Where did you even get a clock anyways?”

He tilts his head “I don’t have a clock, what do you mean?”

“W-what? But it’s right there!” I point to the grandfather-style clock sitting at the back of the room.

“That’s not a clock.” He affirms.

“Then what is it?” I question, skeptical.

“A cabinet.” He goes over to it, and the front part opens sideways, the face of the “clock” included. Revealing dozens of different-sized hourglasses. “This here is just painted on to look fancy.” He points to the clock face.

“...why??”

He disregards the dumbfounded look I give him “I’m surprised you know what a clock is, normally only those weird rich nobles from the human cities have them.” He looks at me inquisitively.

“U-um… tehehe~” I’m caught like a deer in headlights. “...Samyra told me?”

“...” He doesn’t buy it.

I shift nervously “...”

“Riiiight… Keep your secrets.” He picks up a long metal file. “Since you’re here why don’t yo—”

By the time he turned to look at me, I was already out the door.

——— –– –– -- - -