Jump-touch sat by the growing fire and watched as My-he-kal rummaged through his packs and bags. He had so much stuff.
Even now in front of him, he had scattered two coats, a thick blanket, two glass bottles, several small bundles of paper and all manner of little trinkets. She had spotted three knives so far; one on his belt, one tucked into his boot and a third pulled out of a little leather roll full of what she assumed were eating implements. The roll was lying in the grass now along with everything else, half open, a hint of silver within glinting in the firelight, and the knife had been thrown into one of the bags, she presumed as a nice surprise for later.
Her own small pack seemed so meagre in comparison. All she had to her name was her water-skin, a blanket, her fire-starter and a half-days rations, almost nothing.
She sat, and she watched.
He was digging in the bottom of a different bag now, one she'd been sure was already empty, and she wished she knew his language so she could ask him where all this stuff was coming from.
I can learn it though, right? It's just mouth sounds, it can't be so hard.
She had picked up Other reasonably easily after all. Even a lot of other kobolds didn't manage to get past basic greetings, so even if the job stone didn't give her a language primer, as she'd been promised, she could do it.
She'd already learnt the words for tree, rock, and fire, that was progress, it must be. Rat-tail had also taught her the words for human, toileting area, and strangely, sweep, the action of brushing a floor, and wash, the act of making something less dirty using water.
He had tried some others too, but they hadn't stuck.
Maybe I should have asked in the lower village.
My-he-kal was only pulling more stuff out of his bags, so she left to gather more wood for the fire.
When she returned he was still digging in the pack. He can't have fit all of that in there, where is it coming from?!
The pile of junk had grown to a level where she thought he might be digging things out of the ground, even Roo-set shouldn't have been able to carry that much. Were his bags bottomless somehow? Was it a special human magic?
If the kobolds ever got a hold of that magic, there would be chaos.
Arms full of sticks, Jump-touch took a moment, there in the fading light, to admire him. His hair was dark, almost black even in the daytime, and his coat was dyed a deep blue, like the sky on a winters night, when the days stretched long and the sun never quite went away.
His shirt, beneath the coat, was white as snow, and his trousers were the colour of freshly tanned hide, a light brown leading down to polished black boots, although they had become rather dusty on the walk today.
He also had more buttons on his outfit than she'd ever seen in her life. Small polished discs of metal, which gleamed and flashed in the sunlight. If you stood on the mountaintop in that outfit, they'd see you all the way to the valleys.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Should I get an outfit like that? She wondered. It's so pretty. Then, more worriedly, is that what people will expect me to look like, is that how all humans dress, will I stand out?
It was a strange thought, and she took a moment to examine it as she fed the fire. Clothing was merely decorative for most kobolds, but for her, it had been a necessity, without it she would have frozen to death in the first summer gust. Her village had textiles, but they were to decorate the walls, to sleep on, to protect the furniture. To wear them was a choice, to decorate yourself with, and for most of the villages nothing more than that.
She could have stayed in the Lower Village a little longer, asked them for a bolt of that nice red cloth Poison-eye had been wearing. Would she blend in better, then?
She had thought she was well dressed, until seeing My-he-kal.
In front of her the fire crackled, and she sat down with a sigh, looking at her bare knees beneath her favourite skirt. The monster they'd taken the pelt from had attacked the village one night out of nowhere, killing one goat and injuring a kobold, before the Guardians managed to run in and take it down. It had been almost a wolf, but much, much larger, and without their peaceful intelligence.
They had all split the pelt between them, and Rat-tail had helped her make the skirt, while Feather-paw leant heavy against her side, giving frankly terrible advice.
She touched it with one fingertip, feeling the soft leather. No. It's humans who are weird. You'll fit right in, Jump-touch. It'll be fine.
Behind her My-he-kal let out a cry of triumph, and finally pulled a rather battered-looking roll of cloth from the bottom of his bag as she turned to look.
"Yammer yammer jabber jabber", he held out the parcel to her, and after taking a moment to look it over, she took it from him.
It smelt like… Food?
A minute later, the two of them were both seated in front of the fire, the strewn objects abandoned to the darkness. She had in her lap two things; what appeared to be half a small birthday cake, and something else she couldn't identify. Meat and vegetables wrapped in some sort of thin dough?
She was more focused on the cake.
It was her birthday, or near enough to it. Close enough to the day the villagers had found her wandering the Mountain, and close enough to the day they had taken her in as their own.
They'd all celebrated together in the village centre before she left, even the Guardians who rarely spoke and even more rarely entered the village. Rat-tail had baked her a cake, and everyone in the village had taken a bite. Taking something of hers into themselves, something shared.
Don't think about it, she whispered to herself, staring down at the cake. You'll be home again soon. And nobody will judge you if you come back a little early.
She bit into the cake, expecting it to taste like home. Like that night surrounded by her family, Feather-paw brushing her cheek with his wingtips, the Guardians silhouetted on the edge of the lights.
She dreaded it almost. She didn't want to cry again! She was an adult now, she should be brave and strong.
Then the first bite of the cake hit her tongue, and it was nothing like!
It's sweet!
It's too sweet!
She resisted the urge to spit it out, more out of surprise than dislike. It was much, much sweeter than any cooked food she'd ever eaten back home. It was the sweetness of overripe fruit, fit almost only for brewing, and of small tart berries almost rotten on the vine. Sweet enough to pucker up your mouth.
She took another bite.
The dried fruits scattered throughout weren't what she expected either, unfamiliar, with none of the pungent hit of the spice-berries they cultivated down in the valleys.
On the top, something gave way with little crunches and bursts of pure sweetness.
She had never tasted anything like it, but it was still good, and best of all, it didn't make her want to cry.
She ate every bite, and then went to wash her mouth out in the spring.
My-he-kal had offered her the cake and the now quite boring thing he called a pas-trie, although she had no meaning for the syllables other than what was in front of her.
Maybe he'd like to try some of her jerky?