Finally, I could explore the outside world.

During the third Spring, I got allowed to get out of home and farther than our street. Mom took me and our neighbour's daughter to her workplace, while my sister was entrusted to another lady I never saw before.

There seem to be no schools nor kindergartens in this world so they have a system to keep children around the same age together in a pooled workplace-babysitting organisation.

I was finally walking down our street, trotting as fast as I could on my short limbs. I had my mother's hand in my right and was holding the one from our little neighbour with my left. The little girl's hand was bigger than mine, I suspect she is older than I am.

Her dress tells me that we are of the same condition. She wears a simple brown tunic made of rough and itchy linen. To ward off the still cold gusts of this early spring's winds we both only have a short mantel of thin fabric. How much I miss sweaters, and cashmere wool, and puffy jackets.

She's so lean that any blow of wind can push her. I've never seen her until now and her fair skin tells me she didn't get outside much. Same as me. She is a head taller than I am but is so thin that I feel like I'm the one shielding her from the winds.

Her chestnut hair reminds me of mom's, it must be the common hair colour for the people around here. She lets it fall freely down to her shoulder blades and cover her face, she would be better off with a ponytail in my opinion. Right now she is closer to Sadako than to the girl next door.

Despite being obviously older than I am, her face still shows her youth: baby fat, round face, small nose, tiny mouth. Her most distinctive feature are her eyes: they have an unsettling deep purple colour, the like of which I have never seen, two small amethysts adorning an otherwise common girl.

I try not to lock eyes with her too often, as I've already figured out it flusters her very much.

She has the shyness of small animals, wary of the new, yet not able to refrain from throwing curious stares all around.

Mom calls her Gelcaria.

  The nearby streets are quite wide, there are two gutters on each side, draining murky and smelly water, no pipes nor sewers to be seen around here. Since I'm barefooted, I'd better be careful where I step from now on. I miss shoes and boots, but I'm starting to feel a bit too whiny here. Lamenting won't bring me shoes, keep your chin up man, you are no child.

We clearly live in a derelict part of the town, the streets here are only made of gravel and bare earth. I doubt the wealthier districts wouldn't have pavement or cobblestone.

Streets are wide enough to accommodate a car and a bike to ride side by side, except there are none of those in this world. Instead, we cross paths with carts pulled by big brown feathered nasty-looking ostriches (they have TEETH!) and man-powered big wheelbarrows. No horses, beef, or other donkeys in sight.

As we are getting away from our neighbourhood, more and more passers-by can be seen walking the streets. Most of them are humans just like us, crudely dressed in the same way we do, except for a few brazen ones who dare face the cold bare chested. No one seems to be bothered by the attitude, both men and women can be seen in this partial nudity.

We also come across a few Beastkins, a dog-looking one and a deer looking one. Them, I can understand they could be bare chested, their short fur makes up for the lack of clothing piece.

Houses along the way are mostly like ours: one-story tall, simple blocks of stone, thatched roof, wooden shutters at the windows, simple wooden doors. There are a few flowerbeds, though they still lack flowers this early in the year. The set reminds me of some old villages in southern France, crude buildings but that are giving off a charming picturesque vibe.

As we get farther from our neighbourhood, the houses seem to get wealthier. Some have tiled roofs and decorative mosaics on top of their front door representing what I believe to be either one of their gods or a symbol of the trade of the house owner.

From what I got from Grandma this city is called Nakunaui. We reside in the commoners' block of the east district.

We only walked a few streets before crossing a small marketplace centred around a 3m tall white obelisk, covered with strange hieroglyphs carved on it, maybe a memorial of some military victory? It's my first time seeing any written text in this world.

There are a few stalls around with fewer clients, haggling with small bronze square coins with a hole in the middle. One sells fruits and vegetables of variegated colours, purple spinach-looking leaves sitting beside brownish cherries. A butcher is chopping chunks of meat out of a big lizard and exposing some quail-looking birds. Another stall is selling dried fruits and various nuts, including the biggest cashew I can imagine and at the end of this small market is a baker's stall with big round loaves of bunta bread, greyed with bunta flour, crackers, and even a few cakes. I guess most of our provisions come from this place.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Our destination is right across this place. I'm glad it wasn't that far from home, I'm barefoot and have short legs, this walk was already quite tiresome and painful. I sneak a peek at my young companion only to note that her stoic face shows no complaints.

          *          *          *          *          *

  Mom's workplace is a two-story tall building with a small well-tended grassy front yard. On top of the front door, there is a nicely crafted mosaic sign: a thread and needle coiling around a pair of scissors.

Inside we are greeted by a mix of scents: a faint flowery perfume mixed with the strong odour of leather and a faint fragrance of tea.

Unlike our home, the room is well lit. This is thanks to a bunch of yellow crystals embedded in the ceiling. They are as powerful as modern lightbulbs, I can only suspect they are costlier than candles and that's why I haven't seen them at home.

Several worktables are scattered around the room, covered with work in progress: various rough tunics like the ones we are wearing, but also wool capes, dresses, and leather jackets. In a corner of the room, a shelf is filled to the brim with various dyes and other pungent coatings, alongside bolts of fabrics.

Before I can finish examining my surroundings, we are encircled by a pack of inquiring ladies. I become the heart of the storm, shouldering the gaze of the curious seamstresses.

Grandma is among them and steps forward to hug me: “Give him some space, you hags. You are going to scare him,” she jokingly says to her co-workers.

“come on, let us see him. You've sung his merits for a while now, let us be our own judge, “ retorts a deep and seductive voice, belonging to a middle-aged plump lady.

She stands out of the crowd with her bright orange dress, obviously made of better quality fabric than ours. The pack of seamstresses splits to let her come forward, she is the alpha in charge around here.

I am handed to her and she traps me in her embrace. A waft of heady perfume hits my nostrils as she pinches my cheeks to an almost painful point. I do not complain about her teasing and brazenly squeeze her meaty wrist back, which elicits a laugh from her, her fleshy cheeks dancing joyfully around her face.

“Aren't you a bold one?” she compliments me with a warm smile, “congratulations, Joc, he is adorable,” she says in a cordial tone before hugging me. I play along and hug her back, her black hair smells of flowers and coconut oil; if she is my mother's boss, I should better get on her good side.

She then drops me in the heart of a rookery of greedy ladies and I get pinched, hugged, kissed by a varied assortment: a few are younger than my mother, most look in their 30's or 40's, one looks older than Grandma.

Once they are satisfied with abusing me, their greed changes target. Their predatory attention and appetite for children turn towards my less courageous companion.

Gelcaria is disquieted by the excessive amount of attention and doesn't know where to hide. She looks like a cornered kitten, her lavender eyes trembling as she seems about to burst into tears at the first move.

“Ooooh,” slobbers the plump lady in a sweet tone, “don't worry my dear, no one wishes you harm here. Come on, come forward and greet us,” she gently yet firmly invites the scaredy cat.

The ladyboss turns toward my mother to ask: “Is she Danik's daughter? She doesn't look much like him, nor Ovidee. Except for her hair, maybe?”

My mom just nods to acquiesce.

The lady goes on: “let me tie up your hair darling, show us your cute little mug.” Before the girl can answer she is already parting Gelcaria's hair and tying it in a simple ponytail. I give her the thumbs up on the inside and notes that she seems accustomed to do as she likes and order people around her.

“By Akolai, you do have wonderful eyes indeed. Such a captivating colour. How did Ovidee make you this cute ?” She tries pinching the timid girl's cheeks but this one isn't as cooperative as I was and deft enough to escape the assault, making the meaty tormentor chuckle.

Gelcaria stays silent and runs to hide behind me, bowing down to make up for our height difference. Perhaps she is expecting to use me as bait to distract the ladies' attention again? Am I to be your meat shield?

The pudgy lady seems amused by the girl's attitude, “A shy thing you are. Well, you'll learn to get along with us, we are a nice bunch,” she overly confidently states. A few snickers sound alongside her affirmation, leaving her unfazed but I can feel my young neighbour trembling behind me. She isn't used to the attention and doesn't like to be in the spotlight.

A loud bell rings from nearby: the first daybell, and the bosslady orders everyone back to work. Mom joins the crew to go sew or tailor dresses and tunics.

Grandma leads Gelcaria and me to the other side of the room. We make our way between the worktables and piles of fabric and leather, to the backyard. Behind the main building, we find a modest walled court, thrice the size of ours. There's a small patch of grass and two flower beds and a larger patch of cobblestone floor under a patio with a low tea table, a few rough mats are scattered around.

My grandmother calmly explains to us: “You and Gelcaria stay here and play nicely together. No fighting, no screaming, no crying, just be nice.” She stares briefly at the cloudy sky before adding, “ If it starts raining come back inside. I'll check up on you in a little while. Behave, children.” she then leaves us to go back inside.

Wow, they really are lax with children care around here...

I take a sit on one of the mats, crossing my legs under me to get as comfortable as I can and rest them a bit. Our short walk took more of a toll on me than I'd like to admit.

Gelcaria stays up near the door, fidgeting and looking around desperately, she looks lost and afraid. If I wasn't as old as I am on the inside, I bet I would be scared too. Being left with strangers, without my mom and getting more unwanted attention than ever.

I pat the nearest mat and tell her: “Come, sit here.” I try to be both firm yet soft, my juvenile voice making me sound mostly soft I guess.

She hesitates, looks back at the door and seems to decide that I'm less of a threat than the ladies inside and that she'd rather stay near her meat shield. She approaches slowly like I'm some kind of snarling beast. Seeing that I'm only barks and no bites she finally relents and sits beside me. I bet she was as tired as I am and glad to finally be able to sit for a bit.

“I'm Telerios, you can call me Tel,” I introduce myself while extending my hand towards her with my best salesman smile on.

I finally hear her voice, a shy but crystalline one: “I'm Gel.” She grabs my hand hesitantly, unsure if it is the right thing to do.

A girl of few words, I bet she won't be the annoyingly-chatty type.