“Sir! W—we arrived, Sir!”

“Thank you, Rod.” Euca smiled. Taut, good, and full —and with a proper duchenne. His lips’ ends, the muscles around his eyes, both were pulled to wrinkle.

Yes, it was quite ...different. Special. His go-to usually was just a polite flash, a little beaming, a little nod —often just a nod. Yet this time —well, all the times in this kind of times, he warranted that this extra step was worth it. An effort well-spent.

As he unlocked the inner latch, pulling the sliding rod to left, he heard a hurried shuffle —a shifting in the coach’s weight that was, well, careful. Gentle. The padded bench he was sitting on was slowly recoiling — no, not even recoiling; ascending. Yes, his bench was ascending. It was as if the one who disembarked maintained his upper body weight on the coach still. Step by step. Ever steady.

He smiled. Again. But this time it was to himself.

Rod. Roderick. That was the name. The young man was his [Coachdriver], Ed’s nephew. From his appearance, one might have guessed that he was in his early twenty or perhaps his late teen. Maybe. He never perfectly sure in guessing people's age. Caucasian, Asian, they just different beast altogether. Thirteen years old that had both height and look of someone in their mid-twenty? Check. A seventeen that looked like a battle hardened soldier. Also check. Then of course there were 'those'. The ones that on their late forties but thanks to modern cosmetics and fervent skincare routine managed to have a face so supple and so glowing no one would be blamed to swing the clock back by at least a decade.

And now there was the fact, striking fact that he was in another world. Telling whether people were young, old, or had different age categories altogether (which was a thing) became, well, an impossible task. The last one was particularly stark. His deviation wouldn’t just be five, ten, or twenty years. He could mistake someone by a century. Maybe three. Likely three. Four or upward surely he could tell. Maybe...

So what he concerned himself about wasn’t the man's age. Far from it. Instead it was his demeanor. Manner. The way he carried himself. The young man had a touch of shyness. Not red beet shyness like how one was embarrassed in front of their crush. No, his was a youthful shyness. A shyness that came from being always too serious, too stiff.

Not that as if he had quirks — like he walked with his chest forward or if he fell to salute every time he met him. What he meant was that the young man just tried his best every time. His very best.

First, his tunic. It was always knot-tied and always tied too high. Leaving only perhaps two to two and a half centimeter breathing space below his neck. The townfolks, or even the other servants he saw on the street just let the long rope dangled. Sprawled. Rod — Rod snipped his end, tying it to an immaculate inverse overhand.

Next, his hair. It was sleek and carefully combed. If it wasn’t for his natural wave and the fact that this world lack hair product, he sure that the man was going for a slightly asymmetric bowl cut.

Then, there was his built. He was this slightly lanky, slightly stout. Standard of those ectomorphs who just began to had an intense workout. Intense effort. He saw him once when he woke up too early and just want to grab a morning snack without bothering Ed. The young man was cutting logs in the backyard.

That was hard.

Hard hard.

He tried to lift it once — the log. Firstly, for his edification just in case he ever stranded on the forest again (which knowing how this world had been to him, remained a non-zero possibility). And second, well, because he was curious? He knew it was heavy, and he knew it would make his arms sore. But it was safe (safe-ish) and it was an experience.

As it turned out he could lift it. If gasping for air when lifting it five centimeters by the blade using both of his hand counted as lifting it. So yeah. Not great. That was when it hit him — Mrs. Crombe had been ordering logs. Not the chopped ones. Whole logs. And knowing how much the kitchen was using the stove since Clar came in, well. That probably why Ed asked him to hire Rod, not the primary reason, but certainly a factor.

But all of that — that trying hard things was not make him like the man. Noticed it maybe, approval of course. But like it? No. What made him like the man, well, he was considerate.

As he opened the door, sun-blazed and wind-blasted, a wooden step of four cases high had been placed in front of him. Yes, the step top was a bit wavy and yes, the sides had bits and bobs of barks left. But it was there. Stout, stable.

For weeks no one even realized, not even Ed that he was uncomfortable using the metal hinge’s step that attached to the coach. It just buckled his knee wrong — uncomfortable. Every time he got off from the coach was as if he jumped a half meter high and landed on a concrete floor. Not a pleasant experience.

Then one afternoon when he went to Pelt and Wyatt, checking on the mixing tank for the perpou, the step just suddenly there. Standing. He, very miffed from how the whole tank needed to be recast, didn’t even realize that. His feet just stepped down and went on its not-so-merry way.

And yet Rod — Rod, the man who put it there, acted like the step was indeed always there. That it had existed before, so it was used now. It was not until tomorrow when his mind was a bit clearer that he realized someone had noticed his discomfort and accommodate it.

Feeling his footing, how it transitioned him from the jumpy carriage to the stable, unmoving paved road, he again smiled a silent thank you. This one with a slight bow, a slight smile toward both the steps and him. The young man scratched his cheek but didn’t say anything. How cute.

“Park!”

Not even a second passed, just as the breeze in his hair began to flutter down, a whoosh passed his side. Not knocking, but certainly surprised him to stiff.

“Clar, slow down! Sorry, young master.”

That girl, he sighed, realizing what had had happened. Jeane lifted her skirt, chasing the little troublemaker by an ankle length. Her pink propped petticoat however no match for the girl’s preternatural pace. The former teetered and stopped on every leftover puddle while the latter skipped and hopped even on a boulder half of her size.

He swallowed a laugh when the girl finally stopped by something so, well, predictable. The locked gate.

Oh, might as well.

“Rod, here’s your lunch,” he said, handing a woven basket. “We’ll be back around second or third — sorry, fourteenth or fifteenth bell.” the young man paused a bit when a sound unmistakable clanging of coins was heard from the basket. Only after he nodded, that the young man accepted it.

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He had researched the place before. And like the rest of the descriptive, unimaginative term this town seemed to keep spout and he was thankful for, the ground was called Ar’endal’s Town Park. Located just outside the Hightown border, the entrance fee was two silvers per person. Which was why he also needed to spend quite a bit on the Day Pass for all of them. Luckily this town hadn’t managed to invent the concept of parking. Or worse, hourly parking.

So, his coach and Rod just need to wait at the nearby tavern. Which just a stone’s throw from here. Apparently having a drink and meal when one in a park was also a thing in another world. Who might have guessed?

“Come on, Leo.”

The dog-slash-wolf blinked his eye twice — taking a long yawn before putting his front paws upward, his back angled backward, stretching himself. “Woof. Woof.”

“Yes, yes,” he said. Petting his back fur. “You can continue sleeping later. Come on. Clar’s waiting with Jeane.”

The dog nodded and followed him walking down the sloped-down road. He breathed the crisp cold air, taking in the rare cloudless blue sky whole. Around him the river’s pavers —the cobbles shone sheen of a toned-down rainbow, cutting through the green landscape. He let his feet brought him to the wire-thin fences, passing the spurting green-yellow grass, red flowers hiding in nooks, and floating pollen, blue almost mana-like.

“Master!” Clar ran to him. “Mean man didn’t let Clar enter park...”

“Sorry young master,” said Jeane, three seconds late. The young woman was haggard. Her hem’s lace was wet from the puddles. Not muddy but certainly stained.

“It’s fine, Jeane,” he said, pinching both of Clar’s cheeks. “It’s this troublemaker’s fault. Why are you running so fast, huh? Look at sister Jeane’s cloth. It’s wet chasing you.”

“Ugghh… sorry, Sister Jeane.”

“Ah, so here the ‘young master’!!” a voice twirled in front of him. Light yet stable. Piercing yet clear. as if he was hearing a good woodwind.

“Hello,” he replied, lifting his head. In front of him was a man of mid to late twenty. The sun behind his brown curl almost made his splits end almost divine. He smiled. The man must be the so-called ‘mean man’.

“I’m sorry,” he bowed his head a bit. “My sister is a bit ...energetic.”

“Sure! My nephew is the same.” the man said, shaking his head — laughing. “The little rascal ran around all day. Bothering his father to play Cline and Knight even when the light almost out. Grace to that man, really. And I’m sure this little missy here” —he flipped his hand toward Clar— ”must be the same.”

“Hmph!”

“Kids, right?”

“Oh, yes!” Euca nodded —laughing. It was a bit cathartic. Knowing there were others who had trouble like him. Should he put it as one of his priorities? He was well-read, yes, but parenting was way outside his comfort zone. Maybe there was some form of parents’ support group? A single dad — No a single brother, 25+, looking for fellow suffering parents’ figure to vent about his bratty sister. That’d be hilarious.

“She is” —he patted Clar’s head— “is a glutton. We were supposed to have a picnic today, but she ate half of the food already when we weren’t looking. One of it hadn’t been cooked yet. But she just gobbled it up.”

“Master!!” the girl pouted. Hugging Leo’s neck. The wolf rolled his eyes toward him, disapproving his action that resulted in him being used as a comforting doll.

“Sorry, sorry.” he apologized to both of them. “But you shouldn’t have eaten that much, Clar. If Mrs. Crombe didn’t have [Servant’s Portion], we would only be eating no more than a bite today.”

“B—but, it’s good…”

“Yes, but others also want to eat.” he crouched to her eyes level, pointing to himself. “How about me, Clar? Wouldn’t I also want to eat?”

“Ughh…”

“Now, what about Sister Jeane, there?” he pointed to the smiling Jeane who already retreated to the bench beside the gate. “Clar loves Sister Jeane, right?”

“Yes!”

“So, Clar needs to share her food next time okay?”

“...okay. Clar doesn’t like sharing… But if it’s sister Jeane” —she turned to Jeane— “Clar okay with that.”

“Good job, Clar!”

“Woof. Woof.”

“Hehehe.”

“Now ran along to Sister Jeane, I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Okay! Come on Leo.”

“Woof.”

The girl and the wolf hopped and skipped together. Well, the latter actually prefer slowly walking, but that wasn’t possible when she pulled him by the collar.

Be strong, boy! He waved his hand.

“Sorry,” he rose. “A teaching moment there.”

“It’s fine! My sister could take advice from you.” he chuckled. “Although… —why were you crouching?”

“Oh.” Didn’t they know about — oh, right. Another World. “Umm, by crouching down, It’s err, how do I — well, imagine — imagine if I stand on the second floor building on that building over there.” he pointed to the top of a rather tall building, to one of the windows that opened outward. “And you’re on the first floor.”

“Okay?”

“Now imagine that every time you need to speak to me you need to speak to me from the first floor.” he paused. “It’d be uncomfortable right.”

“I guess so...”

“Like if you’re craning your neck up for too long.” “You’ll feel ache the next day, a little bit sore.”

“So it to make the children more comfortable?” he touched his chin. “Do children felt sore?”

“One of the reasons, yes.” Ugh, this was so hard. Explaining psychology wasn’t really his thing. “But also, if you only ever saw me from up there. And only there.” he emphasized ‘the only’. “You’d think that I’m some kind of high figure. Like nobles.”

“Nobles? Why would you become a noble just because you stand on the second floor?”

“Okay, okay.” he gave up. Obviously anecdote wasn’t working here. Let just went for full spiel then. “The point is that in my hometown this is a known technique. Called ‘going down to the child’s level’. So by lowering your height to his or her level the child doesn’t view you as a threatening authority figure.” he shrugged. “Instead the children, view you as their, well, their friend. It forms a connection. Especially if the kid a bit rebellious, you know how when you’re kid you trust your friends instead your parents, even though you supposed not to. This is the same.”

“Look, I’m not really sure. But the scie— sorry, the elders had like lots of experience.” he resigned. “And it seemed to work.”

“Huh, that — that’s interesting.” the man paused, looking at the sky, and seemed to have fallen into a deep thought. It was not until five seconds’ later when he stared at him again. “Where is your hometown, by the way?”

“Err, it’s a bit far, you may be haven’t even heard it.”

...stupid. He should just have said that what his parent did. And he didn’t know why. Stupid, stupid...

“Maybe I had! Uncle travels, and he visits us. Well, not often though. One in three to four calendars and no more than a moon. That how it is with [Caravaneer]. Can’t stay in the same place for too long. My grandmama said it because they had a Sylph’s step in their feet — anyway when he’s back, he’d tell us stories. Places where he went — people he met. I remember last summer he went to this Gram— garam something tribes, just before the blockade take effect. Before that was Lakeford, Owshrest, and I think there was one this time he got to Carven delivering Erwee’s fur. Oh, once he wanted to get on the ship to the Arrow’s isle. But it was pirate season so my aunt, they’re travel together, forbade it.” he said. “Is your hometown near one of that?”

“No,” he paused. Pulling whatever scarce knowledge he knew about this continent’s geography. “It was south of — of ...principality?”

“Oh, principality! No wonder, no wonder! One time uncle just— ”

“—master!”

“I’m sorry young master, but Clar’s really—”

Suddenly from his side, Clar was looking at him, bringing Leo with her. What the? Was that mana flaring he saw on Clar’s feet.

Did the girl somehow realize his discomfort? If he recalled correctly that one time also—

“Oh, oh — I’m so sorry.” the man interrupted his thought. He was scratching his head and look a bit ashamed. “Have you purchased the pass?”

The pass? Oh right. Looking closely, on the right shoulder of his leather jerkins and outside of his green-striped doublet was emblazoned H — the town’s insignia. So he was the park’s attendant.

“Y—yes. One moment.” He pulled out three wooden tickets and one paper note before giving it to the man who perhaps because he was a bit embarrassed just nod without checking it.

Huh, was the security on this town was that lax — no, apparently not. His eye saw the man’s hand flared. A green flame burst and activated the dormant enchantment from the wood to live.

“[Open]”

His voice echoed.

Suddenly, the flare jumped. In arc, like missile. It blazed to the sky for three seconds before landing on the tourmaline gate. Opening the door with fanfare of sparks and flowers.

“Welcome to Ar’endal’s Town Park! We hope you enjoy your stay!”

“Park!”

“Wait, Clar.”

“Woof!”

He watched as the unlikely trios, one excited, one worried, one indifferent, ran and ran toward the gate.

“Also, Mr — “

“Euca. My name is Euca, sir...”

“Sir? I’m not a sir!” he laughed. “My name is Finis. Nice to meet you, Euca.”

“Likewise.”

“Visit us anytime, good brother like you are always welcome in our house. It’s the one in south Calip, the one that had well..."—he scratched his cheek—"You can’t miss it!”

“Of course.” he nodded, smiling,

He waved his hand one last time to the man. Walking past the opened gate.

The breeze smelled of grass and flower.