We headed out of the caravan's main headquarters, rain pounding down on us, though blissfully, the cloaks caught most of it.
My feet were wet, but the rest of me was dry… Or dryer, and that was far and above what I could have asked for, given the circumstances.
Gunther guided me to the promised land, that place of great things. She brought me to my clothes.
Gods, but I needed some normal clothes.
I loved my current clothes. They were a great gift, but I got into too many fights for them to continue being my everyday wear… And they probably shouldn’t be my everyday wear regardless because they were nice clothes.
The nice stuff stayed nice because you didn’t wear it daily and made sure to take care of it. Taking care of them would have already cost me quite a lot; fixing them for daily use was more than I thought I could deal with.
The [Tailor] was a good man, but he was also an expensive man, and I wasn’t about to waste money when I could get cheap everyday clothes and fix them up for a few coppers or buy a new one.
After all, I didn’t need a dress in a fight… That would just be dumb.
Far more sensible were the padded coats and the simple and practical working tunic and pants.
I did get a strange look. But that strange look was followed by a, “Oh dear, we gave you the wrong thing, their more a blouse than a smock,” when the [Seamstress] put word to her look.
“They are somewhat short,” I agreed, “Though that would probably help me.”
“But they’re short, dear,” she told me, “Oh dear. We made the jackets… Oh dear. We’re so used to making the jackets for the boys we just made them all for men. Oh, bother.”
Gunther and I were practical people, and we both found ourselves confused for a moment.
“What's the problem? They’re as desired. They’re fine enough to work; they look like they’ll fit nicely. They’re even big enough for her.” She said, looking them over.
“Yeah, they’ll do nicely. They’re even better than I thought they would be. Gunther made them sound like they were going to be a step up from a hemp bag, but they are quite nice. They don’t even look scratchy,” I told her.
The woman looked at us like we were a group of unruly [Barbarians].
“No care for clothes amongst the both of you. We made her mens clothes? For men?” she said as if that mattered.
“That doesn’t seem like an issue to me,” I told her. I understand that the underwear is short, but besides that, there is not much difference, and a longer smock might get in the way.”
“Oh… It’s a Human thing,” Gunther said, “A social thing.”
“Ohh. What would the deal with a mens cut of clothing be?” I asked her.
“You would look, lose, miss,” she told me, and then when I didn’t understand, “Like a harlot. Pants are one thing; most working women wear them even if they are iffy in more civil lands… But with a blouse like that, you’ll look like a loose girl. We’d need to give you a skirt to cover you up.”
She sounded partly affronted and partly saddened by not making the right clothes.
I thought they were great as is. A skirt was nice; you could swish them, and they looked nice for cheap. You could wear one and drop the pants for some extra freedom, but they wouldn’t keep the bugs or dirt off your legs and could get stuck on stuff. These were work first. Wearing a skirt would not do. I could take them, but then I would add them on while resting… which was when I would wear a dress.
“I wouldn’t turn down more clothes, good miss… But I can’t see a reason to buy more, and I couldn’t ask for them when I’m not paying.” I told her, trying to back up from it, which only made her seem more affronted.
While she seemed to be rather disappointed, Gunther and I leaned in and gave one another a look.
“Just take the clothes. They’re in a bundle, so you can keep the wet off them. They’re yours; they’re paid for,” she told me.
I made a noise of agreement and turned back to the good, if picky lady as she murmured about how her work would make it harder for me to find a husband, which was highly ironic, and told her, “How’s about I try them on first so we can see them, and if they’re too indecent, I can order some skirts through Gunther.”
“Well… I suppose that would make sense. Sorry for holding you up, dear. Go on back to that room there and try them out, " she said apologetically, gesturing back into the shop.
I followed her advice and tried on the clothes.
The belts were nice, the pants were loose enough not to chafe, and the shorter top only came down to my rear so I could tuck it in. The tunic was good, and getting two layers was extra nice. The blouse and the tunic were similar, though the tunic was longer. They obviously went together. The tunic was rougher outerwear, while the blouse was more flaxen to stop it from chafing.
They were of a different style than I was used to. The ones I was used to were more like blouses, general outerwear like light jackets that would come down to the wrist, while this only had sleeves coming down to above the elbow, with the blouse going to the wrist.
I got my head around them quick enough. Putting on some dry clothes felt refreshing and downright heavenly. The only thing I could have asked for above what I got was a mantle with a hood, but that was what cloaks were for.
They were neutral in colour, with nothing eye-catching, mostly lighter earthen tones, but that was what dye was for.
I relished in the warming cloth and got the padded jacket on.
It was quilted cloth, maybe a third of an inch in depth, that I could close up in front of. It was heavy as far as clothes went and more restrictive than I thought it would be, though you could move in it regularly with some effort.
I decided to leave it on so I could get used to it, so I pulled the cloak on with it. Bundling up my wet clothes, I tied them to my belt behind me, and I walked out. I took the, ‘Oh no, you look so improper. Where are my pearls?’ and Gunther and I got on our way to the cobbler.
We retrieved my boots and got a second set of sandals, though the [Cobbler] was confused by my need to get a second pair and at my bare feet.
The boots were lined, and I dried off my feet and got into them without issue as the Beastkin man tried to figure out the situation.
Having acquired my stuff, Gunther stopped to find food and break her fast. She also took me along with her, even though I couldn’t buy food at the moment.
We made our way to a little stand with some finger food and talked.
“So, you don’t have some basic stuff you’ll need. A cloak for one, but is there anything I can interest you in?” She asked.
“Wondering if you can nickel and gouge me? You can buy stuff for me and charge me later at a higher price?” I asked her suspiciously.
She looked up at me, feigned shock written largely on her face.
“Me? Upcharge you? Why ever would I do that?” She asked.
I looked at her dead in the eye, as unmoved and stoic as Death herself.
“Sheesh, [Merchants] aren’t that bad… Now a [Money Lender], they’re that bad, but I’m a [Merchant] and a [Caravan Master], what people think about me is important, its what opens doors… Speaking of, sorry about Miriam. She’s very good at what she does, but she's from the western plains… They’re far more… Restrictive there. Harsher.”
“I see your sidestep and accept that you’re not as bad as a [Money Lender]. I don’t know that we could be friendly acquaintances if you were. We can talk about what I need in a bit, once you’re done eating, lets just talk for now. So Miriam, the [seamstress], she’s from the west? More civilized lands? She’s far from home,” I told her.
“Nah. You should know that home is where the hearth is, not where you got spat out into the world. You can decide where your home is, even if it burns bridges,” Gunther said.
“I know. I heard a lot of sermons when I was a kid, and I know that well. Still uprooting your whole life? And I can’t imagine it's an easy life living in a caravan,” I told her.
“Life on the road is, but many of my people aren’t full-time. We do require certain [Merchants] and craftsmen, but we don’t force them to be around all the time, and it comes with some nice loopholes. Miriam Joined the Company when she ran away with man and became a [Seamstress] to pay her way. They have a family home back at the companys main house in the empire, six children, and she comes out once every few years with her husband to keep her dues paid and get some good money. This leg is only a few months normally, though I have a feeling its going to be longer this time around,” she said with the certainty of wrote knowledge.
“Ran off and got a happily ever after? Why run off if the West has greener grasses?” I asked her, having a feeling the reason was probably obvious.
Gunther chuckled, understanding I doubted it. “Because they are not greener… That and the grass is always greener somewhere else. People have simpler lives in the west, the confederated states over there are at constant odds with one another and with the empire. They’re fractious, and built on the bones of a far more nomadic and tribal society, people who work the land are seen as universally disposable. They have few rights, and eek out meager lives. And yet the constant Dick measuring often comes in the form of showing off. The way to a better life is by providing something cultural. They’re rather stable for basic resources and have a surprising number of useful goods. Most of the [Surfs] there, while meagre, have a greater deal of culture. More fashion, more festivity’s, they keep their people happy enough to not rebel against their terrible leadership. The two states are opposites in that. The empire cares more about its institutions. You can have a happy life there and a good life here. You can find a place and escape your birth here and be told what you’ll do there.”
“So social obligation, vs institutional obligation?” I asked.
“Good way to put it. Here, you can do something like… Defy a [Noble], and as long as you’re too annoying to kill, you walk away with a slap on the wrist… Over there? The word of a [Warrior] could get you put to death, even if they're from another territory.
That was particularly grim. But that sounded like Shambler kin to me. Born [Warriors]. The name said it all: born for war.
I didn’t remark on them, however.
“So, it's that widespread?” I asked her.
“Yeah.” She said, “People talk, and mentioning a blazing eyed woman backtalking the lords son is a topic that goes far, fast. And that’s before you factor in the [Hunters], who were there, and many of them are Beastkin. Nothing spreads further than family gossip, especially about a person who had an incident just a few months ago. Thanks for keeping him alive; by the way, I owe you one for that.”
“How much?” I asked her, a bit more worried about how many people were thinking about me.
She turned to me, her casual nature belying the improbability of her giving anything.
“How about free food? Have you eaten?” She asked.
“No,” I told her, “Though I’m not very peckish at the moment.”
She shrugged, “You’ll need some food eventually, probably just running on fumes. You can’t have a good morning without good meal. Come on then, I’ll show you a good place.”
She was annoying, but I followed her. I did need to ask about a cloak and a shovel. I had ideas for a good combat shovel, but it was the kind of thing I didn’t see a normal [Smith] understanding.
“So, how are you settling in? You seem to have found a place for yourself.” Gunther told me.
“I think I have… Though its less about finding a place, and more a person.” I told her.
“Yeah,” she said, though less knowingly and more contemplatively. “So long as you have a something. Home is where the hearth is, or where the heart is. Ether or but you need one.”
“That’s the second time you’ve brought up sermons,” I told her. I didn’t take you for someone who paid attention to Hearth or anyone shy of Averice.”
She snorted at that. “You won’t find me worshiping Averice. That’s a fool's god, though I do have some preferences. Just because I don’t have a home doesn’t mean I don’t have a place or want a heart of my own one day. Though… You never answered.”
I sighed. I had been avoiding that.
“My home is here now, even if it’s a bit shaky at the moment. I’m floundering, but I’ll settle down eventually. It’s a different place, you know? Even though it’s the same one, just… A long way away from where I came from. Just distant by time, instead of proximity from one another. Does that answer you?” I told her.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
She nodded, “That’s good. I have a good feeling about you; having you wander off to the four corners of the world would be a shame.”
I shook my head at that. “I still can’t imagine you going to a sermon on a caravan.”
“That’s the funny part,” she said with a chuckle, “You don’t! You have to keep going where you stop. So you just do your best wandering pilgrim impression and drop by for some quick alter time, and off you go. It’s kind of fun; sometimes, you only have about half an hour to drop by when everything’s said and done. You know who’s going to have random bad luck for a bit, or you don’t, and you try to figure it out.” She said, a bit of glee telling me enough about it to be a bit iffy.
“Ahh… The glee of knowing others suffer.” I said, sarcasm in my voice while I stared down at the short elf.
“MMmm. Suffering,” she said, though in a way that told me it was overstated even if it was real. I couldn’t say that I didn’t expect the [Merchant] to enjoy others being laid low, but it did increase my sense of unease.
She was both old and young and seemed to look at those younger than her running into a bit of misfortune as kids being kids. She seemed to rest somewhere between a semi-benevolent, semi-vindicated old woman and a brat. She did have her upsides, at least. Upsides like knowing every member of her troupe, which continued to redeem her in my eyes.
She didn’t just keep them around for entertainment; that was just a benefit, I guessed.
Following along after her tiny legs, we made our way past stalls and into her caravan's back areas until there were fewer people selling and more places for sleeping.
I was starting to think there was something wrong until she walked up to a door, hoping up to a handle that was obviously meant for those that were taller than four feet.
I looked down at her as she stretched to reach the door handle and simply opened it for her. My hand brushed hers away as I took the handle and pressed down a little lever to open the door.
The room beyond was comparably bright, lit by several lamps and with a light plaster inside; the only standouts inside were the plush seating.
Gunther waltzed into the room, and I followed in after her. I found that this was not what I was expecting from Gunther, who was supposed to be getting me breakfast. The room wasn’t empty, but it was absolutely not a stall. It wasn’t a shop of any kind I had seen. It was, instead, a gathering place.
A gathering place filled with older Beastkin.
I stood there, taking in the group. In the back, out of sight, were the sounds of kids quietly listening to a voice in what I could only assume was them being taught. To the side was a kitchen area, with the clink and pop of cooking, and around the room, in what I could only call a den, were numerous men and women talking in a kind of low hum of casual conversation.
And they were wearing the same kind of clothes as Gunther.
Standing there like a moron, I kind of just looked around as Gunther walked up to the sitting elders and introduced herself to the crowd of strangers like she was one of them, and I stood there like I had my thumb up my ass. As I took in the room, I saw many new faces, and none of them I spotted the familiar face of a smug catkin. Ciliart Swiftfur sat there, lounging on a pillow.
“At least there’s one friendly face… I guess.” I thought to myself.
I took off my wet cloak and placed it off to the side on a nob where it wouldn’t drip all over the rest of the room. I kind of wandered around the edge, back and forth between Ciliart and Gunther, just trying to stay out of the way. While I did, I looked back and forth, hoping one of them would notice me and tell me where in the hells I was supposed to go. I did my best to get noticed while also doing my best not to bump into those who were standing around the sitting elders.
Gunther, having dragged me here without telling me what to do, went either unaware of my confusion or uncaring of it, instead talking to quite a few shaggy old lupines and a handful of faded felines and ignoring me entirely. I ended up gravitating away from Gunther and toward Ciliart.
He had at least spotted me; even if he wasn’t calling me over, he at least knew I was there.
And so I waited, waited for something to happen, waited for Gunther to explain what the hell was going on, waited for the gathering to make any gods damned sense.
Waiting was hard, especially with my tight schedule, but I was glad that I did.
I had to wait for half a glass, which felt like a second thousand-year nap, but it came with a rustling as young Beastkin children started to file out of the back, lining up across near the kitchen.
Each got a nice little bowl of food and quickly inhaled it, wandering up to their parents. The noise of the room intensified as the young and the old spoke briefly before many of the standing folks escorted the children from the room and out into the street, little lengths of cloth that the Beastkin favoured folded overheads like cloaks.
As they thinned, many of the older folks waved them on their way, continuing to talk amongst themselves. This freed up Cilliart, who waved me over.
Awkward as could be, I squirmed over to Cilliart, who welcomed me with a roguish smile and a, “What did I say about being a stranger, young Saphine?” in his Quilish rumble.
“The place had a ceremonial feeling; I figured it was best to stay on the side instead of stepping on a whole lot of toes… Or paws?” I told him.
“Either, or.” He said casually, “Besides, you were brought here by a trusted friend; you had every right to stand around wherever you desired, introduce yourself and generally mingle. You didn’t need to stand to the side like a child. Come, come.”
He beckoned me over, quickly saying to those next to him, “This young niece is Saphine. She’s been helping Gunther with…”
Quickly introducing me to several of the others around him, he drew me into conversation with those around him. They talked, and I talked, and despite the fact that we were two different people and that I was an outsider, while they were obviously some kind of elders, they talked like normal people, welcoming me with the simple effort of talking to me.
Through sheer openness and unguarded words, they got me talking. We talked about what was going on, Selly, and even Ciliart’s work, which got the others talking about how my hair had started to grow back in.
Ciliart was a bit shocked, questioningly asking, “How in the name of all the gods and their Angels did you manage to grow your hair out? That shouldn’t even be possible with my skills… Not for a few weeks. It’s grown out a half inch. What sorcery is this?”
I sighed at that, but unwilling to unload my entire history and every issue, I only told him, “The kind that I can’t control.”
One of the others, who was a kind of slim dogkin, mocked, “Don’t go blaming the girl. You were obviously skimping on your skills.”
Another turned to me and asked, “How’ed he charge you?”
“Eight silver for a haircut and a shave?” I told the thin-faced cat.
“Ciliart, you dog,” the catkin scolded.
“Dogs are more honest.” The other said. “For that price, you ought to be using your skills properly. Did you even say them aloud?” The slim dog berated.
“I did… I don’t even need to speak them aloud for anyone lower than me, and aloud is twice mine.” He placated before turning to me. “Come, come. I’ll clean it up for you, free of charge. I can’t go letting people think I cheat my customers.” He said, feeling out a pouch-like fold of cloth.
“I… Uh…” I started, taken aback by the speed and conviction he was going for… That and the dagger he pulled out, but that was balanced with the other two.
“Put that back in your pocket, Ciliart Swiftfur,” an older voice called out, the solid tones of his voice turning out heads.
Approaching us was a wolf so old I would take any age shy of one hundred as underselling him. He was so old that he walked over with a cane and the aid of a young couple to help him shamble over to us, Gunther in tow, radiating an aura of smugness so palpable I scrunched my face before I even saw her face.
The two aids had a familiar look, but the man's age and Gunther's company next to him were more than enough to draw my attention from them for the moment.
“Elder Longfur? I need to fix up her hair. This niece's hair has grown where it shouldn’t. Who would I be if I didn’t see to it that my work stuck?” Ciliart asked, though he managed to say it with deference.
“You can fix her hair later… There is something far more pressing she’s needed for.” The old wolf said, his eyes so droopy it was hard to tell if he had them open or not.
He had the look of an old hound, the kind that would lay by a fireplace for days at a time from rheumatism and only look up when someone called over to them to check if they had kicked the bucket. He looked as if every motion was a challenge, and Ciliart quieted to let him talk unimpeded.
The old man stared off into the distance before his aids needed to turn him to face me, the old dog letting out a “Thank you” that no one could tell who it was directed toward before he continued, “Hello, young cousin… Gunther here has told me about you, and I feel I need to meet you in person... I’m sorry to say I can’t quite make you out, but if half of what she’s said is true, I find myself in your dept.”
Everyone looked at him, each stuck in some variety of confusion, bewildered or stunned by the words of the elder. Everyone but Gunther had apparently talked me up for some reason.
“I’m sorry to say, Elder Longfur, that I don’t know why. Gunther brought me here to get me breakfast, not to be congratulated. I don’t know that I’ve done something of that kind of merit.” I told him, my head whirling away at the question of what Gunther was planning.
“I suspect you have. Though, perhaps it was a small thing among last night's events…” He said before turning to the couple holding him and asking them quietly, “Would you bring the pup over?”
The lady holding him let go, quickly making her way over to the kitchen, quickly returning with a young Beastkin that I knew. Or that I had met, at least.
It was the young Beastkin girl I had saved last night.
She stared up at me with big eyes and a confused look, one that I shared with her.
The Elder turned toward her, calm and collected, and asked, “Is this the woman that helped you?” And everything from there collapsed in on itself.
I walked through it in a daze. I was thanked for saving her in front of dozens of people for something I hadn’t even thought about. It added to a burgeoning feeling in my chest that I had done good, and yet it added a speck that added to a counter feeling that I had done it unintentionally. Stacked with Clause thanking me for saving three people, being thanked for saving a child made it feel… strange. It made it feel unearned.
Worse, I knew that Goblins could go overboard for the sake of tradition. It was one thing to save Clause, who was comparably rich as a sinner, to reward me with unused land. But a comparable reward? For a child? Who wouldn’t save a child? I could think of a dozen reasons not to save Clause, but a kid was a kid. You would need to be a real asshole not to.
It took me far too long to speak up after he had started thanking me, cutting off his heartfelt thanks with a quiet, “I don’t think I deserve praise for this…”
That made the old man slow, his head turning like he hadn’t quite heard me right. Gunther looked like I had stepped on her foot.
“Why wouldn’t you deserve praise? You saved a life.” He said quietly.
“I did, but I don’t think that’s something that deserves praise. I save her, but that’s not outstanding; it’s the bare minimum. I didn’t even mean to save her; I just happened upon her,” I told him.
Something I could only call recognition dawned on the old dog, a kind of simple backward motion that came with an unwillingness to move too much, coupled with a deep understanding.
“I see,” he said slowly, “You think that happenstance lowers the value of your actions.”
“Yes? I suppose? It's hard to take praise for something when it’s the bare minimum of decency, and it was only by happenstance that I was there instead of anyone else.” I admitted with a frailty to my words that I couldn’t take away.
“I believe I understand,” he said thoughtfully, the tone bringing a fade from the tension in my chest.
I didn’t have the words to say it, but I was glad to not be thanked for it. Being thanked by Clause was one thing; being thanked by this man was another. Hopefully they could take whatever they would have rewarded me with, and save it away for a rainy day… Or a cold hungry one.
I sighed in relief and then stopped as he continued, “And I’m afraid I have to disagree. I understand you seem to have an issue with accepting it, but I don’t rightly care about that. Your intentions, nor what is right, nor wrong, matter here, young one. What matters is that you did it. Just because it is the right thing to do doesn’t mean that everyone would or could do it, and from what it sounds like… You’re one of the only ones that could. It isn’t bravery intent or the nobility of one's heart that is the measure of one's actions… It is the action. Right or wrong, bravery or nobility means nothing without acting upon it. Your actions, regardless of what you think of them, have saved this child, and as her great-grandfather, I don’t care that you feel my gratitude is undeserved; I am grateful regardless. Because of you, she has a future where she would have none without you.”
I sat there feeling like an even greater fraud than before. Damn, Beastkin and their weirdly strict sense of what to do. They wouldn’t care that you feel like a fraud; they would take your feelings face first and not care. The only way to get it over with was to accept what they said or throw a fit and make them hate your guts. They couldn’t accept anything else but the way they knew. And I couldn’t throw a fit over this, even if it made me feel a little green behind the gills to accept the idea that saving a child was worthy of praise in front of a crowd of people. The only thing I could do was accept it.
“I understand, elder. Thank you for your gratitude.” I told him, feeling I knew what was going to happen next but disliking it.
“Thank you for accepting it, young cousin. But where is well-placed gratitude without a well-placed reward?” he asked, as the queasy feeling in my gut gained a twist as he reached into his robe and pulled out two folded lengths of cloth, the same cloth that matched everyone else's.
He handed the cloth to me, and I took it. The strange mana of the fabric skating against my senses like a smooth shimmering wall.
“What is it? What does it mean?” I asked him.
“It’s a cloak… or two of them, and it means you’re trusted, at least among our clans. Where you wear that cloak, the Longfur and Swiftfur clans will know you as a friend.” He said calmly.
That was a release of the knife-wrenching twist. As far as unrealistic rewards for things went, two cloaks, even ludicrous magical ones, were nowhere near the boon I had been worried about.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Gunther was staring at me like I was an alien creature that had crashed into the middle of the room and pulled myself from the husk of a shooting star, but everyone else seemed satisfied that I had accepted the gift despite my prior hesitance.
I was a little glad I wasn’t with Selly. She would have probably kicked me in the head for not accepting it flat out because it was rude, but I would have done it regardless.
“Thank you for what you’ve given us, friend Saphine; it will not be forgotten… now, let's have a sit-down. Gunther, if you would show her how to wear the cloak, I need to rest my old bones.” Elder Longfur asked.
“Of course,” she said, “I taught you; I can teach her. Take a rest now, young man.”
Nodding in thanks, he shuffled over to a nice, comfy-looking cushion before collapsing as he had died on the spot; the young pup looked around before hurrying over to her parents and keeping close.
I turned to Gunther, cloth in hand, and stared down at her.
She looked up at me and, in a tone that could only be chastising, said, “You’re bad with compliments. I get it, but you need to seriously learn to take one before you piss off the wrong Beastkin.”
“I was more worried that I would get more. I feel dirty for accepting any reward for that at all,” I told her.
“Ah, yes. Getting rewarded for literally saving a child, how terrible.” She said, “Now, over here, I need to teach you how to plead these because there's a trick to it.”
“I’m not saying it's terrible… I’m just saying that I think I should be rewarded for going above and beyond what should be done. It's like being rewarded for not stabbing people or being rewarded for not stealing someone’s goods, even though you could. Could you imagine rewarding me for not stealing from you? That’s what it feels like.” I told her, trying to explain it in a way she might understand.
She looked at me like I had just taken a leak in her office.
“Just don’t, Saphine. Don’t try to make your personal malfunctions relatable; your mind is twisted so far from reasonable that you are unable to accept good things when they come your way. Now, you start with the big one, the one on the bottom there and you…” Gunther told me, and I quickly followed along.
From pleading the cloth to how it folded over a shoulder to how it could be folded for pockets. Then came the second length, which hung over me like a mantel. She walked me through folding the cloth, wrapping it around myself, and pinning it down with a short leather cord and a stylized ball as a button.
By the time I was done, I had covered the cloth armour in a weird wrap. I could imagine it being rather nice, especially when I got out of the extra layers; it was like wearing a blanket, and inside, the cloth was warm enough, but both together made me slightly uncomfortable. I could see myself wearing them during the winter and get through the worst of the chill.
“And there you go,” she said, “You can fold it a few more ways, but that’s the way you’re supposed to fold it.”
“It's nice…” I said, leaving, ‘Too nice’ unsaid.
“Yep, it’s the only cloak you’ll ever need. I’ve had mine for a long time. And hey, now you don’t need to buy one. And we can go get some food.” She said.
I could feel my gut twist at the idea, and I told her, “I’m still not hungry.”
Pouting at me, she huffed, “How am I going to repay you then?”
“By actually paying for something?” I asked, “The food here looks like it's free, and I’m not just ehh, I’m seriously not hungry... Like at all. I don’t… Wait, I think I do know.” I told her.
“Oh? I got you a friendship and a free cloak, and you're going to hold me to pay for something?” She asked.
“Fine… I’ll pay, but I have a good idea, and you have the connections to get it done. How’s that for your share?” I asked her.
That was how we found ourselves at a very confused [Blacksmith], looking for a custom tool. That was where I paid for a brand-new, very strange shovel.