A moment later I find myself staring at a wooden sheet, a bunch of twigs, and some grass. I have a separate pointy branch, which I’m confident should generate heat if I spin it on the sheet, igniting the grass, which would ignite the twigs.
The issue is that none of that is working. While I generate a lot of heat by spinning the branch, it seems to be concentrated mostly around the hands doing the spinning.
I got slightly too enthusiastic —or should I say frustrated— a moment ago, and my hands hurt something fierce. I figured I could make it work if I tried hard enough, and a little pain was a small sacrifice to make for the ability to make fire. I tried making a firebow, but the threads I can pluck from my shirt aren’t strong enough, and quickly snap when I try to use them in that manner.
As I sit there frowning at my firemaking setup, willing it to work through sheer stubbornness, I suddenly hear familiar laughter. My head snaps up, and a smile appears on my face. Ronain is standing in the clearing in front of the cave, his hand covering his mouth in a vain attempt to stifle his mirth.
He's got grass stains on his knees and his hair's a tousled mess, like he's run the whole way here. The sight of me failing so spectacularly seems to be the highlight of his day. And the day has just started!
“Yeah, yeah, it’s very funny.” a flush creeps up my neck. I’m not really mad though; his laughter may be at my expense, but I’m happy to see that at least one person derives enjoyment from my failures.
Still chuckling, Ronain steps towards me, and inspects my hands, which I show him freely, familiar with his behavior from yesterday. When he sees the growing blisters there, he winces, and immediately starts rummaging in his satchel.
A second later, he seems to have found what he seeks, and he presents me with a small tin.
My expression must make clear that I have no idea what to do with it, because he mimes opening it and rubbing it on my hands. An ointment? He then points at my shoulder and leg in turn, apparently anxious for me to use this medicine.
I’m not entirely certain how much to trust this medicine, given where it comes from, but I suppose it can’t hurt to rub it on my hands.
When I open the tin, a milky white substance greets me, akin to hand cream, which is surprisingly similar to what I’m used to from my world. I look questioningly at Ronain, not quite sure how much I should use, and he takes a small swipe from the tin and expertly applies it to one of my burned hands.
Even given these were minor burns, the relief is instant. It’s nothing short of magical. “The hell is this?!” I look at Ronain in astonishment. His small eyes lit up in pleasure at the evidently expected reaction, and he puffs up his chest.
“Rinn mi sin” he points at the tin, then taps the spot above his own heart, and gestures towards the forest all around, and mimes mixing. “Tha e a' cuideachadh le leigheas diofar seòrsaichean rudan, agus tha e a' lughdachadh pian."
Well, I’ll be damned. Apothecary Junior to the rescue. That's more than I expected given our interactions yesterday.
Regardless, the effects are clear. I waste no time in applying the salve to my leg as well, though Ronain stops me when I want to smear it on liberally, and hands me an appropriate amount.
“Anns a' chùis eile, bidh do chas cho faiceallach 's nach fhaighear a chleachdadh.” he says with a smirk.
I let out a reluctant chuckle. "Thanks, kid," I say.
After my leg comes my shoulder, and when I take the improvised bandage and moss off, Ronain’s eyes narrow, evidently displeased by what he sees, and he wastes no time in taking the tin from me and spreading out the salve. I notice that he’s using a great deal more than he used on my leg. Strangely enough it doesn’t seem to affect the pain very much, I’m not sure whether that’s a good or a very bad sign, but given the amount he’s smearing on and his demeanor, I’d have to assume the latter.
That makes me wonder what would have happened to my shoulder if I hadn’t met him. It seemed mostly fine to me, and I was able to use it pretty well the past few days.
I suddenly feel the urge to thank him in his own language. Gestures seem to carry over fine, even though the language is different, so I bow my head and put my hands together, anything to clarify my intention, then point at my mouth.
We've gotten in some routine for this yesterday, and he immediately grasps my meaning.
“Tapadh leat". he says.
That’s a handful, but I try to repeat it as carefully as I can. He smiles, so I presume I got it at least marginally right.
While the salve is nothing like the magic in stories where the wounds visibly close in front of your eyes, the relief is still palpable.
When he’s done, he pushes the tin —still more than half full— into my hand and wraps my hand around it.
“Cum e. Tha rudeigin ag innse dhomh gum bi feum agad air."
The wry grin on his face speaks volumes, even if I have no idea what he actually said. The meaning is clear: He’s expecting me to blunder into more dangerous situations in the future. I’m not really sure what to think about that. It’s not as if I chose to get shot with arrows...
I put the tin in my sack, and again thank Ronain, but he just waves me away.
Then, almost as if to tease me—though he meant well—Ronain strolls into the woods and returns with a handful of branches and kindling. He goes on to demonstrate just how many things I had unwittingly messed up when trying to start my fire.
I’m really starting to feel a bit lacking here, being shown how to do so many basic things by a child. It’s not my first time being instructed by someone younger than myself, but a full third of my age is a novelty.
I happily swallow my pride if it means I’ll have a way of making my own fire though. Between words, gestures and him showing me I figure it out, and soon I have my own tidy little fire right burning right next to his now larger one.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
The lesson doesn't stop there though, and he shows me how to stack the wood to make maximum use of the little flame. Soon my fire is blazing as merrily as his own.
As I stare into the steadily growing flames, there’s suddenly a hitch in my throat, and tears come to my eyes. I spent so, so long trying to meet people in this world only to be thoroughly rejected. And here is this boy that hasn’t known me for more than a day going out of his way to provide me with medicine and to teach me how to survive.
What did I do to deserve that? I glance at him, trying to stop my tears, but when he notices and looks at me questioningly with his completely guilleless face, I instead completely lose it. I begin bawling my eyes out.
He jumps up and comes to check on me, worried. In lieu of an explanation I simply hug him, pulling his little body against me.
He tenses for a moment at the suddenness of it, before he relaxes. I’m glad, I really need someone, anyone to hold right now. Someone to remind me that there’s good people in the world. And I couldn’t have asked for a better person to do so.
I'm not sure how long I hold him. Not very long I'm sure, but when my tears have finally run out, and I look up, he's just there sitting on his knees, patting my head, like I'm some stray dog that he picked up in the street. The absurdity of a grown woman being comforted by a boy makes me bark out a laugh.
“Thanks Ronain” I say softly.
It's not strange as such. Kids have great emotional intelligence, more than we often give them credit for. But I still feel like I should be the adult here.
He just smiles, and I ruffle his hair. Words cannot convey the depth of gratitude I owe this boy.
image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]
The next two days, we get into a routine, where Ronain shows up every morning after daybreak, and we spend a few hours together exchanging words, and just how to live in the forest. Then he has to go into the forest for his daily task of gathering herbs.
It appears he’s decided to not inform the village of the thief hiding in the cave, as I haven’t seen anyone else any more. I’m kind of wondering what the people sending him out in the forest every day are thinking.
As far as they know a dangerous woman and thief is on the loose in the forest, who they’ve twice now failed to kill. I imagine I’d keep my children inside until she were found too.
After two days of Ronain’s medicine, my arm and leg are feeling a lot better. So much so that I’m reconsidering my evaluation of the salve as nonmagical. I don’t think any medicine in my world acts as fast as this does.
He’s also brought an actual bandage on the second day, and both my arm and leg are wrapped in something actually sterile now. Or well, as sterile as it’s going to be, considering they probably have no idea about germs if my estimation of the level of technology is correct. I tried to get some answer from Ronain, but it was beyond my ability to mime out.
Aside from the day we made fire, I followed Ronain on both of his excusions into the forest to gather herbs, and though his explanations still often go over my head, I’m able to recognize a few now and to help gather them. I get the feeling he’s just humoring me though. He could probably gather everything much faster if he were by himself, but he seems to enjoy the company.
Thankfully this is nothing like gathering the delicate magical plants in my stories, and the distinction is mostly between plucking either only flowers and leaves, or the roots that he’s interested in. The hardest part is recognizing them in the first place.
It’s a bit disturbing to see Ronain act out all of the maladies that the herbs are supposed to protect against. Headache and stomach ache were fairly benign, but apparently there’s something for an epileptic attack as well. If I hadn’t known it was an act I’d have rushed him to the village and consequences be damned. The boy is entirely too pleased seeing my discomfort.
It’s kind of funny to think that my vocabulary on the subject of herbs and maladies is increasing faster than any other.
At some point during our gathering, Ronain regales me with the tale of the aftermath of my theft. Apparently the lady of the house I stole from was entirely displeased with her husband for misplacing two of the six pieces that their wardrobe consisted of, and the recriminations were audible throughout the entire village, which had him in stitches. In the face of that commotion, the disappearance of the foodstuffs was apparently entirely missed, or at least Ronain didn’t say anything about it.
I do not particularly care how the family felt, but I’m glad that Ronain doesn’t seem to hold it against me. And even more, that what I considered a theft seems to have gone entirely unnoticed.
At the end of the two days, I've learned a smattering of new words, a lot of weird little nooks and crannies in the forest that might hide useful herbs, and the uses for a few of them. He's even tried to indicate to me how to prepare some simple concoctions, though they’re mostly limited to ones that work by sticking the ingredients in boiling water. I really hope he isn’t giving out restricted trade knowledge here.
The morning of the fourth day after meeting Ronain brings me a problem though. I've enjoyed these past two days too much, and ignored an inconvenient truth. After my breakfast today, I've nearly completely exhausted my supply of stolen food and I'm left at a loss for what to do.
While a lot has been covered these past two days, gathering food wasn't one of them, and I get the idea that it just hasn't occurred to Ronain that I might not have enough food to live on. He's seen me get food from my sack, and drink from my pot, but I get the idea that he considers them like the cupboard in his home. An inexhaustible supply of food that he's not responsible for providing.
I could probably make him aware of this fact, and I’m nearly certain that he'd try to bring me food, but some last vestige of pride prevents me from actually doing so. At the same time, I really do not want to go back to starving.
I'm not proud of it, but my thoughts immediately go to the village, and how hard—or simple—it would be to liberate another round of supplies. Not that I'm concerned about stealing from this particular village, but it leaves a nasty taste in my mouth that it’s literally the first method of obtaining food I think of. As opposed to, for example, hunting a rabbit.
Ronain's didn’t realize I stole from his village, but I'm worried that doing so again will make it much harder to hide. I’m fairly certain it wouldn’t really matter to him either way as long as I don’t take his stuff, but I’d rather not risk it. I like this little apothecary. Then again, I need to eat.
I’m stopped from worrying about it by shouting, and the rapid approach of footsteps. I’m immediately on guard, and grab the spear from the wall next to the bed. Prepared to stab it into whoever comes running into the cave.
A moment later I realize that it’s actually Ronain’s voice, as he storms into the cave nearly out of breath. He stops in front of me, and heaves a few deep breaths before he tries to speak. A few tries later he gives up, and catches his breath first. His excitement is undiminished though.
“Tha luchd-cainnte ann! Tha luchd-cainnte anns a' phàirc! Thig!"
There’s something, in the village? And he wants me to follow him? Right, well, this seems like happy excitement, not “you are imminent danger of death” excitement, so I suppose it’s fine to follow him?
Glancing at my now empty stash, I shake me head to myself, and nod to indicate to Ronain that he should lead the way. I suppose I had plans to visit the village anyway.
He practically bounces out of the cave, and I have to hurry to catch up. We're heading straight for the village, and when I notice I try to catch Ronain's attention. He eventually notices when I just grab and drag him back by his arm, but when he realizes what I'm on about, he just makes a placating gesture, and mimes hiding in the bushes. “Falaich dìreach, bidh e ceart gu leòr!" I guess that means we hide.
We swing around the village border in a wide arc, until eventually Ronain motions us forward towards the village. We're as close as possible to one of the trails that lead out of the village, on the opposite side from where I originally arrived, which leaves the forest. He enthusiastically drags me forward, which has me worried about the sentries until we're finally in a position to see the village, and it turns out that all the sentries around the village are gone.
Ronain points towards a caravan of wagons at the edge of the village, and when I finally see what I think he wants me to see, I blink.