It took us days, days of wandering in this forsaken heat. But eventually we found a store where the owner was willing to make a deal, he’d get us the equipment needed and ingredients that weren’t too expensive and in exchange we got half of the profits. By the end of our first week we were making more gold than we were spending, morgan had dyed her hair black and cut it. Fortunately, the wanted posters of us that we saw didn’t bear too much of a resemblance… still we did our best to avoid the city guard. With our first week we turned into our regular room.

“so how much gold do you figure we need?”

[morgan] “well, I did ask about the relevant info and I think we need another hundred to be safe and sure that there will be enough. Before you ask it looks like we’re making, well saving maybe ten gold a week”

I sigh.

“I hate this place.”

[giggles] “what big bad bug doesn’t like the heat? Well, it’s a nice change for me, all sort of free people around to chat with and do business while the warbug has to skulk around in fear”

“hate me that much do you?”

[morgan] shakes her head with a sigh. “I grew up in fear of your kind looming over me for any failing no matter my desires or effort, don’t expect me to be the most sympathetic”

“and here I was thinking we were starting to get along somewhat”

[morgan] “I’m helping you so you don’t get the urge to kill me like some fucking warbug did to my little brother before tossing his body into the shit pit. So no, I don’t like you. I can tolerate you however which is more than I can say for most of your kind”

“shit pit?”

[morgan] “yes, a pit that had our camps shit in it, poop, crap, call it what you will now shut up and sleep.”

She went under her bed’s blankets and turned putting her back to me… an odd move. But I knew one thing, she can’t learn that I killed her brother. Wasn’t there something about smooth-skins turning their backs to others? Ahhh it could wait to think about.

The next week is quiet, she doesn’t talk to me. She barely interacts with me. After long thought as to why this old smooth-skin, companion was acting like that I recalled her saying memories can bring pain to them, so remembering her brother's death was painful? Hmmm, I suppose it would go away with time. If it didn’t then how would any smooth-skin function?

Halfway through our third week we went to our room, and she finally talked. At last I could have some conversation… and ask myself why I was so glad to have talk to me again.

[morgan] “look, I… I’m not sure you see it this way but… well, your people caused both of us a lot of harm. They took things precious too both of us, d-did you grow up in a family?”

“no… no I didn’t, not even a creche. Oh, uh it’s like what your kind would call extended family? I think?”

[morgan] “is that how your people used to be raised, way back when?”

“yeah, that’s what our records say… I was raised by the… caretakers, caretakers fits. They see to raising the hatchlings to adulthood… well they do now at least”

[morgan] “they do now? What did they used to do?”

“sane but for not as long, since it was all old souls”

[morgan] “wait, that’s right new souls were a recent thing. The earth mother woke up a bit and changed how that works for you guys”

“yeah, more or less. Nobody understands why she did it… actually some think she didn’t. After all how could a new soul help more than one that’s seen countless battles and honed their skills for centuries?”

[morgan] “… maybe, their age is why she did it?”

“explain, I don’t understand”

[morgan] “well at least for us the oldest tend to get a bit, set in their ways. Unwilling to change to new realities and improve themselves. They get too stubborn”

I don’t reply I just sit and think about her point, her potentially very valid and reasonable point. If it was true, if that’s the reason for the change then wouldn’t our input as new souls be highly valued? Had the great mother only been able to put part of her plans in motion before being put back to sleep?

[morgan] “well, let’s get to sleep then.”

Another day and more earnings, more heat, more tedium. Though I am distracted somewhat thinking about what was discussed.

“this is going to get old not talking almost all day”

[morgan] “your kind don’t strike me as the talkative type”

“little conversation isn’t no conversation. Besides, I can’t occupy my time with reading and learning other things like I could before” I sigh “those were two very good years”

[morgan] “they were better than many before them”

“you know he wasn’t my favorite but blade did save us”

[morgan] “yeah. He was devoted to his duty. But if that was to kill us he’d have done it in a heartbeat”

“… an old soul would have been able to fight it off, would’ve saved themselves as well as us”

[morgan] “we had other old souls with us then right? Didn’t they all die? Maybe they keep putting you down so they stay on top?”

“no, they devote themselves to the good of our people. To the restoration of our culture.”

[morgan] “have they? Did they start restoring that culture when they had new souls to raise? Do they know what’s best? I mean even if they try for what’s best they can still be wrong right?”

“… you’re oddly thoughtful. Don’t most of your kind just want simple things and not really care about the bigger questions like this? They just want their needs taken care off and family?”

[morgan] sighs “you’re not fully wrong… inaccurate but not entirely missing either. I am, weird. I never did take to things quite like the others. Spent time asking adults questions and not playing with the other kids as much… I hate to admit it but I did like being able to read so much at the old scribe job. Even if it was for your kind, it suited me.”

I nod. “I miss my friend, despite there being so many of us it was always a bit, lonely. Being a new soul means I’m not as good, not as useful. You know some would ask why one of us new souls had to take a body that could’ve been for an old soul instead.”

[morgan] “they resent you existing? I thought that was just for everyone but their kind.”

“I, well no they-… it’s, hmmm. Why do I sometimes feel like you understand my people better than me?”

[morgan] she just stares at me for a moment. “that’s, well. I guess being aware of others motivations is something my kind is better at.”

“yes well I suppose it doesn’t matter since you only tolerate me right?”

[morgan] “yeah, yeah I guess so… let’s get some sleep.”

Another quiet couple of days pass. Being alone like this is, well I can’t say I like it. Spending so much time in a city of these soft-skins. Though I see some that are surprisingly strong, and others I note are cunning.

[morgan] “hey. Uh, I know you might not want to answer this but… why do you want to go back?”

“what do you mean? It’s my home. It’s where my people are”

[morgan] “True. But is that all it takes? I mean do you really want to go back to that, back to where they resent you for existing despite being your kind? Back to the people that took your arms? Back to trying to please them when they’ll never be fully satisfied no matter what you do?”

“that’s… reveal was happy with what I did, mys was a good friend.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

[morgan] “and is that it? Just a friend and happy superior? You know there are places much further where they wouldn’t hate you like here. Places where you could become a valued member. Where you might be able to have more than just a friend and happy boss. There’s a lot more you could have.”

“so I should betray my people because it would be good for me alone? How can any society last with that as a basis?”

[morgan] “betray? Did you ever go against your people before being made penitent? Did you not work to further their interests? How did that end? How did the treat you for doing your best to help them? To do something with yourself when they kept telling you that you were less than them.”

“I’m not worthless, you are! All of you pathetic soft-skins, you’re all lesser, all deserving of death” standing as I shout back. She takes a breath.

[morgan] “that’s what they told you, can you tell me why? Without shouting, we are trying to not be detected.”

Practically grinding out the words “your kind destroyed mine, slaughtered them with your scaled monsters. Your kind started the butchery.”

[morgan] “alright, which ones? Come on, which individuals did it?”

“individuals don’t matter, your people, your kind did it so you share the blame”

[morgan] “then they were right to make you penitent, not for a mistake but for being born”

“NO, I did nothing wrong. I didn’t choose that, and I did my best to make the most of it. I helped as much as I could”

[morgan] “moonshadow, individuals don’t matter. Your kind, new souls are at fault so you deserved it.”

“...your kind chose to kill mine”

[morgan] “maybe, but if we are to pay for other's actions, then you are guilty and justly punished as a penitent regardless”

…

[morgan] “you might hate it, but if that’s how you evaluate then it’s true”

“then how do you evaluate it?”

[morgan] “same as most I grew up with did, by your actions, by your choices… perhaps with some leeway on context but by the individual.”

“fuck you soft-skins”

I go to bed. The next week I don’t chat, thinking things over. I hate it; I hate her approach… I have nothing in it, there’s nothing. No purpose, no higher meaning in it. Just everyone being terrible, everyone causing war and death without end.

As we are walking through the town at the start of our fifth week, I see a young soft-skin, one that goes up to a merchant at their stall. I’ve seen it before, this dirty and unkempt young talking to the merchant when they aren’t busy with a customer and getting a bag filled with something then running of after getting a kiss on the head. Morgan notices I stopped and comes up to me. I whisper down when she’s close enough.

“the young ran off with a bag the merchant gave, over there. Do you know why?”

[morgan] “stay right there grandpa I’ll be right back” she walks to the merchant, with the number of other people talking I can’t hear what’s said. Minutes later she comes back with some fruit.

[morgan] “these were at a good price! Come along grandpa. So the kid Taelyr, his mom was the merchant’s friend. Mom died trying to give birth to his sister and since dad died fighting the merchant took him in. I think she struggles to keep him and her own kids taken care of, she hasn’t been able to keep up with getting them properly clothed”

I nod and keep walking. After we finish our potion making I pull her along to a clothing store.

[morgan] “grandpa, we’re fine on clothes. There’s no need to enter here.”

I pull her close to whisper.

“for the kids, I asked about this morning.”

[morgan] “I… that’s, very nice thought but we really shoul-”

I pull her up to the counter. A green-skinned female smiles, small tusks showing.

[merchant] “well what can I do for you two? I’ve got clothes to fit all sorts of physiques in all sorts of styles.”

[morgan] “uh”

I push her.

[morgan] “alright grandpa. So it’s not really for us. There’s a fruit and vegetable vendor we saw this morning and a kid she-”

[merchant] “ah yeah Mylia, sweet woman. Too bad I have to make a living with this all.”

[morgan] “yes well, grandpa was moved to help her out so if you have it we’ll pay.”

[merchant] “well that’s mighty fine of you. I’ll be right back with what’s needed.”

she gives me a glare before the merchant comes back.

[merchant] sets a stack of clothes on the counter-top. “here we are, a stack for one gold”

[morgan] “that’s, a lot… are you sure it only costs one gold?”

[merchant] “well yeah, it’s at cost after all. Now go get her these.”

[morgan] “I… y-yeah we’ll do that right away”

Minutes of walking and we arrive at a simple mud made structure… it’s, less than what anyone of my kin would stay in long-term. The woman, mylia opens the door and quickly I can see her… fear, apprehension, panic?

[mylia] “uh wrong place we want no trouble.”

[morgan] “no no that’s, we’re not hear to cause you any trouble.”

[mylia] “then please tell me why you’re here.”

[morgan] “I, we talked earlier in the market. My grandpa here heard things from me and well.”

she holds out the stack of clothes.

[mylia] “is, is this?” she starts looking through the stack of clothes. That’s, you… how, n-never mind come in.”

I follow behind morgan; the woman sets us down at her table and soon she and her two children are eating soup with us. She thanks us and talks with morgan as the time goes on. The cover story of being refugees but having potion making skills seems to put her at ease. I see the young, rowdy, full of energy, somewhat oblivious to things around them. I also see the way she cares for them, shows affection to both of them. I can’t help but recall the differing traditions I read about, hands held in hands upturned. Heads softly pressed against each other with one arm on each-others head as a sign of care between lovers. Parent’s and family playing with the young. Things I had only read about, only ever in ancient history. Except here, in their own way the soft-skins were that way. I could see how she looked at the young she cared for, how they were precious to her like no wealth could ever be…

We chatted for a while more… well morgan did and mylia gave us here thanks, saying we must have been sent by… one god or another I forget. It didn’t matter to me, what mattered was what I saw. We went to our room, and I went to sleep immediately.

In the morning I lay in the bed.

[morgan] “ok you’re being really slow today. We need to clear out… are you going to move?”

“they never did that.”

[morgan] “did what? Who? Seriously, no more cryptic stuff please.”

“my kind, when I was growing up. They never did that.”

[morgan] “wait, you… the kids? Hugging? Your people never hugged you?”

“no, but yes. When she looked at them, took care of them. She cared, there was… what is that?”

[morgan] “lov-… oh, oohhh. Fuck, they. When they raised you they didn’t love you?”

“There’s all sorts of affectations, little actions. Different than your kinds, but they do exist. Just the only place seems to be in our history books.”

[morgan] “that’s… I. Damn, moonshadow I didn’t even know it was-”

a loud two bangs hits the door.

[innkeeper] “ten minutes!”

[morgan] “yeah nearly out! Moon, we’ll talk tonight alright”