Protect your teeth she’d said. Jak had just confessed to being bullied by the bigger boys in Norwood. And that was all his gran had to say about it. She was correct of course. Succinct and to the point. Adult teeth don't grow back but aught else that got broke, Gran, Mother Nature and Father Time could mend between them.

Trusting her implicitly, Jak took to putting his teeth first in fights. Not going face first but protecting them, keeping his hands held up high by his cheeks and his head moving side-to-side like a snake about to strike. He'd been wise to heed her 'cause not only could he still smile completely but it turned out to be a good tactic too. One time he ducked into a haymaker and Manus Cleland broke a knuckle hitting his forehead. Receded right back into his hand. What a Manus move! Probably had his thumb inside his fist 'n' all. Manus!

All Jak got broke that time was his nose. He also got a couple of cuts and bruises but there were three of them. That was a top trip. It was also three years ago.

He’d take a similar result today and laugh all the way home. It wouldn't be a win as such but he was sure that once he got his growth spurt there would be a reckoning and a half. He wasn't far off as it was. Recently he’d added the headbutt to his arsenal. Had it down pat too - the key was to instigate it. Get your retaliation in first as Gran always said.

At thirteen and three-quarters years-old and "five-foot faff-all" as his gran often teased, he wouldn't generally be considered a man yet. However, Jak felt, since he could read, write, hunt, and halfway fight he was a more accomplished man than most of Norwood's meathead fishers and foresters. Moreover, his growth spurt was due any day now. And anyway, Norwood was a stupid name for a town that was actually west of the wood and slap, dab in the middle of the southernmost region of the country.

Not where he’d put a town called Norwood. Another point in his favour was his fantastic planning ability. Also, Jak didn't drink ale, wager on nags, chew tobacco or smoke a pipe, which saved a lot of silvers. And according to his gran, they were all "filthy habits" as well... Like picking your nose he supposed.

So, he thought shouldering his rucksack stuffed with herbs and pelts, if you added up the many positives and minus-ed the paltry few negatives, Jak the Lad was as useful as any man about town!...More so with his growth spurt coming on!

Hold up, wouldn't minus-ing negatives cancel out my positives?... Maths was not his strong suit. Gran would know...

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Ashraf Serkan strode confidently out through the swinging doors of The Wobbling Goblin Inn. A ballyhoo broke out behind him, but the Sarkian captain refused to turn. He knew the kerfuffle would be his second in command getting slapped in the behind by the saloon doors. He didn’t have to look, the smirks of the six other soldiers milling at the bottom of the stairs said it all. Inwardly he sighed, being beaten by a doorway was a new nadir, even for Ishak.

Outwardly, as always, Ashraf maintained his keen military bearing, keeping his eyes forward. He even ignored the pawing of his shoulder as his stumbling junior officer struggled to stay upright.

Instead, he descended the rickety stairway staring daggers at his men until he had the dignified silence and decorum he routinely demanded of them.

Like them, he’d chosen not to surrender his sword - as if he ever would - assuming the flimsy disguise of a trader’s guard. He left the role of the well-financed and well-fed businessman to the bumbling Lieutenant Ishak behind him. He may have lacked the head for high finance, but the body was about right, both portly and pampered.

The ugly truth was Lieutenant Ishak Rakkesh was a liability in the field, and indoors, in fact, every room except the officers' mess where he more than excelled himself eating above and beyond the call of duty. Despite these major shortcomings, Ishak had been earmarked as a general in the making, destined for a glittering military career by virtue of his last name being the same as the Emperor's.

Ashraf had earned his own rank the rough and tumble way, but didn't begrudge Ishak or mind being a babysitter. In fact, he hoped to coattail the clown's inevitable, cream-like rise to the top, to advance his own cause. That was the theory anyway. In practice, Ishak was infuriating. And after five dull-as-ditchwater days trudging through Perugian sludge from Seatoun - not to mention six days and sea-sickening nights spent crossing the Capri Strait - Ashraf's frayed temper was fair set to snap.

The junior soldiers just sniggered at “Lieutenant Lumpy” behind his back, but Ashraf couldn't afford the luxury of alienating his meal ticket. So he ploughed on, pretending to listen and sympathise. He even posted a pair of superfluous sentries this morning at his junior’s insistence. Soldier on as the saying went.

After pulling Ishak out of a puddle, Ashraf gave a silent signal, other than his heavy sigh - and he and his men resumed their struggle through the cursed mud. Heading across town to get supplies before their trek into the so-called Forest of Fairies.

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Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Arianna Granville let out a long, hot sigh like a boiling kettle taken off to the hob. She paused to swipe the sweat out of her eyes then got back to the grind mashing herbs between her mortar and pestle. Once palm oil was added to this lot, Ari would have an effective and, better still, expensive arthritis balm - a staple of their family's business. The fourteen year-old didn't mind or shirk the hard work, but missed her mother and father, now weeks away on their first trade caravan. When they weren't gallivanting about the countryside, her parents ran the town's only apothecary, or "apocathery" as it had been spelt out on their stupid sign.

It was a sign of the times too. It seemed anything that could was going wrong for the family. Norwood was made up mainly of men so the apothecary business was a bear market at best. Worst of all though was Mayor Maggard’s bank was leaning heavily on them via a large loan.

The family were so far in the red that her parents had to travel all the way to Kortar to get them out. In their stead, her father's cousin, Lianne Grimes had come from Kirkstead to look after her and Amohia, her ten year-old sister. From the first blush, Ari hadn't liked her wanton aunt and apparently the feeling was mutual. Avoiding each other was easy enough though, Ari was always in the workroom or their herb garden, while her aunt manned the store. Although her aunt's version of 'manning' meant flirting outrageously with any and all men. Unmarried, married, promised or otherwise engaged, it mattered not one whit to her slatternly overseer.

Meanwhile, Ari laboured the days away replacing the stock her mother had taken on the caravan - churning out oils, balms, pastes, potions, perfumes and medicines. Ari had quit school to assume her heavier duties. Amohia still attended, although very much against her will. Ari hadn’t minded school. She’d been a top student there for four years but now felt they really didn't have much more to teach her.

Also, Ari was her mother's daughter and gladly answered the apothecary calling, enjoying everything from the exotic fragrances to the finicky recipes. She studied the boiling pot before her, dandelion fuzz or sticklewort? The recipe said the former but her instincts insisted on the latter. As usual, Ari followed her inner feelings, stirring in a pinch of agrimony. Knowing it would work somehow she shifted the pot to the hob to cool, nearly spilling the contents at a sharp rap on the backdoor that led into the garden

It was Jak, the young larrikin that delivered his grandmother Imelda's supplies. Her mother had dubbed him The Wild Child, due to his brawling misbehaviour. She's even called him it to his face, now battered, bruised but smirking as usual. Bizarrely, the boy took the moniker as a compliment, despite being clearly well-educated and able to spout strange facts at the drop of a hat.

Now he stood casually in the doorway. He actually looked a lot like the door, fully outfitted head-to-toe in shades of brown. Walnut leather boots - still on of course- khaki breeches, a thick hickory leather belt peaked from under the umber cape and cowl he'd tied around his middle. Above the waist he wore a mohair tunic with the long sleeves rolled up in blue collar fashion. A tanned sheepskin vest completed the ensemble. His underclothes were probably brown. Ari wouldn't put it past him. Even his smooth skin was suntanned a burnished copper colour. To top it off, his unruly hair was brunette. He looked like stick insect except shorter and stockier. No, not stocky she corrected. Raw-boned with wide shoulders and thick neck and long arms. A log insect then... Or an ent?

Then she noticed the other colours he was sporting, the black and blue bruising around several raised red welts

"What happened this time?"

"The twins," he grinned. Pleased as punch. At least all his teeth were intact. "And Girly, plus Raymond Greene kneed me in the knackers for out of the blue for absolutely no reason."

She winced politely then fetched an unguent for his bruises plus a wet cloth to clean his cuts. He groused a bit but let her dab at his abrasions all the while attempting to unpack bundles of herbs, bark and sundry bits and bobs from his rucksack.

"At least your eyes are both still hazel."

"Huh?"

Her face flushed, it shouldn't have, he was a whole year younger than her. "Err, usually you have at least one black eye."

"Oh right. I'm getting better at ducking. I didn't know they were hazel though... Thought they'd be brown."

Ari was taken aback. "You don't know your own eye colour?"

Why would I? You look out eyes, not at them. They don't colour everything you see!"

"What colour are my eyes then?" she asked turning away as she did.

"Pretty... " he paused expectantly so she turned to face him again.

"Are you saying my eyes are pretty?" She blurted eyelashes a quiver.

"No, but I'm pretty sure you have two like everyone else! Hah! Got you!"

She swatted at him with her cloth. He just laughed and leaned away. She shook her head, swiping another dab of lotion onto her fingertip.

"There," she said with a final wipe. "Keep them dry until they scab up."

"Ta Ari," Jak turned away and produced a bunch of pink carnations from his pack, presenting them to her with a flourish. "Found these for you on the way in."

For me?" Ari blustered, her face flushing even redder than before. "They're lovely I'll get a vase..."

"What for?" The Wild Child was puzzled. "Need crushing, not watering..."

"Oh, of course..." Medicinal usage. Ari changed the subject by fetching his standard fee from under the good teapot. Jak pocketed the coins without checking. He never did. "Hey, how come those boys never steal stuff out of your rucksack or your purse?"

"Hide them at the edge of town before I come in, collect it all after the fights then come here."

"Oh…Wait, where did they set upon you?"

"Fairfield Commons, where all the children play…"

"Over by the bridge? That's the far side of town... You know you don't actually need to pass by there?"

"I do if I want to be bullied, besides Westcott gives me sweets for 'being in the wars’."

"You’d cop a beating for a few sweets? I'm sure he'd give you some anyway..."

"Mayhap, but this way I've earned them!"

He grinned triumphantly like he'd verbally trumped or tricked her somehow. Then with a cheery wave he left, taking his rucksack and own school of logic with him.

Ari shook her head, and rummaged through the herbal supplies strewn across the bench. It was all there. Everything she needed for the next few months. Unbelievable. Un-asked for too. As if by magic...

But for the bank loan at an outlandish mortgage rate they'd be thriving. Her parent's caravan profits would put them back in the black for the time being, but, make no mistake, their long term survival was dependent on the good graces of the Fae Witch and her Wild Child.