The wine was the worst thing Dirt had ever tasted. The flavor was nothing but rot, with the addition of burning. Dirt wasn’t sure any even made it down his throat because as soon as it hit the back of his mouth he started coughing, and that sent it up his nose. The burning scent made his eyes water, and from there it was nothing but misery.

Hèctor and Ignasi laughed uproariously, which brought Socks to his feet with a growl forming in his throat. But he paused before biting them in half and turned to Dirt. -That was a prank. They think you will be fine.-

“Why would anyone drink that? Is that really wine?” complained Dirt. The smell filled his head, even his skin; everything in his face burned. He coughed again, but it didn’t help.

Hèctor, still chuckling, took the bottle away and handed his waterskin over. “Here, wash it out. You’ll be fine.”

“Okay, but what was it?”

“It was wine. Plum and apple, I’m guessing, and strong,” said Hèctor. He lifted the bottle overhead and gulped loudly, taking several big swallows.

Ignasi jumped up and grabbed it away, spilling some on Hèctor’s beardless face. A splash got in his eyes and he hissed in dismay. “Hèctor, dear man, you must be careful. You must be careful to share,” said Ignasi. Then he took a drink just as loud and deep as Hèctor’s, and both men laughed.

Dirt backed away as the smell got worse. His throat still burned and felt like he needed to cough, but there was nothing to cough up. He drank some water and swished it around, then swallowed. It only helped a little, until the third or fourth swallow.

“This was a bad idea on an empty stomach,” said Ignasi, amusement in his voice.

“Your cheeks are already turning red, you lightweight,” said Hèctor. He took the bottle back, peeked inside with a look of deep contemplation, and plugged the stopper back in.

Dirt leaned over to look at the bottle again, as if something on the outside would give away the secret. “Okay, but really, what was it? I thought wine was supposed to be rich and smooth and bold. Words like that.”

Ignasi asked, “Why did you think so? Did someone tell you?”

Dirt shrugged. “I don’t know. I just remembered that from somewhere.”

Hèctor said, “If you know how to describe something you’ve never had, then you must not have been alone your whole life. Feel like telling us anything, boy?”

­-Dirt has never seen living humans before you,- said Socks, to everyone. The men glanced at each other and chose not to argue.

The pup had his thoughts hidden, leaving the light of his mind almost perfectly blank. He was thinking about something he didn’t want Dirt to know just yet. Dirt looked at his friend carefully and saw his eyes drifting to the bottle, then at the waterskin Dirt was holding. Just a tiny flick of his tail, and Dirt realized what was up. He’d have to smell anything he drank for a while, because Socks was plotting his revenge.

Dirt pushed that thought aside and locked it up so Socks wouldn’t know he’d been found out and turned back to the men. “Anyway, if you’re not supposed to drink that stuff with an empty stomach, do you want some sap for breakfast?”

“No, dear boy, we have something better in mind. Noble Socks, if I may ask you a question?” said Ignasi, with a charmingly deferential air. He gestured with his hands in a way Dirt made sure to remember, since it was graceful and humble at the same time.

-What?-

“The wind that arose last night. Did it stir up any new smells? Shake the dust from these houses to reveal what’s inside?”

­-Yes. It is very interesting now. Why?-

“Then look closely, if you wish. These grains are called wheat, and wheat can last for a very long time. We grind it into powder, like so,” said Ignasi. He placed it on a ceramic plate and ground it with a rock he pulled from his pocket, crushing it into little crumbles. “That powder is called flour. With flour, we can make fresh bread. Tell me, mightiest of creatures, can you smell any flour? Save us the trouble looking everywhere?”

Socks reached his big head in through the doorway as far as he could go, getting his nose right up to the plate. He sniffed twice, just to be sure, then pulled himself back outside. He wagged his tail excitedly and disappeared.

Hèctor said, “You’re ridiculous, Ignasi.”

“Thank you, and you’re welcome,” said the other man with a little bow.

Dirt went out first. Socks was easy to spot as he bounced from house to house, sniffing in all the doors and windows, even the half-burnt and collapsed ones. Dirt and the men started walking in his direction, but the big pup wasn’t moving in a straight line and they realized they’d never catch him.

“Ignasi, head over that way and check those two houses. Dirt, come with me and we’ll check over here,” said Hèctor. He turned and started across the grass-covered street to a row of shorter houses with flat roofs, all built close together. Most of them still had shutters closed over the windows, although every one of them was missing the door.

“Why over there?” asked Dirt.

“Because those people were poor, which means they didn’t have much. Which means whatever they had were the most useful things they could get,” said Hèctor without turning around. He kept a quick pace and Dirt had to scramble to keep up.

“Why were some people poor?” asked Dirt.

“Because they had less money and fewer things. Come on,” said Hèctor. He peeked into the first doorway but didn’t go inside.

“What are we looking for?”

“Anything useful,” said Hèctor. “If you’re not sure, it’s probably not.”

“I don’t think the wine was useful. If I find any more, I’m not telling you,” said Dirt.

Hèctor snorted in amusement but didn’t say anything.

Dirt picked a different house and went in. There wasn’t much inside, just a big bed made from a wooden box with straw inside, covered with blankets. No real mattress. Rusty pots hung from hooks on a board stuck to the wall and some shoddy shelves held grimy old plates and cups. There was a wicker basket with a lid, which Dirt opened with the staff just to see if he could, but it just had cloth in it. No dead bodies, at least.

The next two houses in the row were similar except for the big holes in the roof. Everything inside was rotting and covered in mildew and even a few mushrooms. He found a shirt that looked like it might be his size, but when he lifted it up the cloth tore, so he dropped it again.

Useful. What was useful? He had everything he needed. More than he needed, in fact. He didn’t need the knife, or the pants. He would be just fine without them.

-Come. I found some flour.-

Dirt hurried out and spotted the pup halfway across town, standing on a roof. He sniffed, then looked around, then sniffed again, tail wagging furiously the whole time. Dirt grinned to himself and wondered what had gotten him so excited, but he supposed it was because wolves liked to hunt, and this counted.

­-In here,- said Socks when they got closer. He pawed at the roof of the building he was standing on, which was different from the houses. Its stone walls set it apart, and notably, it was circular instead of square.

“Looks like he found the molí,” said Hèctor.

-The scent was faint, but I found it anyway.-

“Very well done!” shouted Ignasi, coming up from behind. Dirt glimpsed at the man’s mind for traces of mockery but found none. More like amused respect.

Socks hopped down and peeked into the open door with one eye. -It’s in bags. Watch out for the dead human.-

“Is it moving?” asked Dirt.

-No.­-

“What a peculiar thing to ask,” said Ignasi. “Please, do not elaborate. My heart can only hold so much horror.”

-I think he got injured and crawled inside, then put that bar over the door to keep the goblins out. It worked, but he still died.-

The inside of the building was all one room with a large contraption in the middle, which Dirt recognized as a mill. Wooden poles to rotate the millstone reached almost to the walls, and the basin for catching the flour was empty. A stack of full sacks made of pale cloth rested against the far wall.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Sure enough, a dead human lay in the middle of a wide stain on the dirt floor that was probably old blood. The body was next to a chair against the wall, which it had probably fallen out of when it died. The corpse was face down and all in a lump, so Dirt couldn’t tell if it had been male or female.

Ignasi reached back to place his hand on Dirt’s chest and said, “Do not make any of your magical fire in here.”

“I wasn’t going to, but why not? Is there something dangerous?”

Hèctor said, “Grain dust can explode if it catches a flame, but I doubt there’s any in the air right now.”

“Better safe than on fire,” said Ignasi.

All the same, Socks grabbed Dirt with his mind and pulled him out, setting him a safe distance away from the door, and then getting in between. The wolf poked his head in the door and said, ­-There, in the back. Those sacks that are stacked up are full of flour. I opened one.-

“This one?” asked Ignasi from inside.

­-Yes.­-

Socks backed up and let Ignasi come out, holding an open bag. “How did you untie it?” the man asked.

­-With my mind.-

Ignasi looked at the string that used to hold the bag shut, and then at the enormous wolf pup, who was acting pleased with himself.

-I watched Dirt’s little fingers.-

“It’s one thing for you to throw large things around. You are a large thing,” said Ignasi. “But… somehow, this bothers me.”

“Can I come look?” asked Dirt, stepping as close as he dared, which was about even with Socks’ hind leg.

-No.-

“The flour smells fine,” said Hèctor.

“It’s been sitting there so long it lost the smell. Taste it. Wait. No. Taste it out there, so we can all watch,” said Ignasi.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

-He’s right. It’s rotten. Why do you drink rotten things, but not eat them?-

“Because eating rotten things doesn’t get you drunk,” said Ignasi, “and the drinks have to be the right kind of rotten.”

Hèctor started making noise inside, tapping on wood and pushing things that creaked and groaned. There wasn’t much to check, apparently, because he soon said, “Good as new. Come help me push this, you lush.”

Ignasi said, “You found grain in there?”

“Yep, and poured it in. Come on. Also, Socks, that boy is stronger than he looks, right? Let him help. There’s no problem if there’s no fire,” called Hèctor from inside.

-What if there is a problem?-

“There won’t be a problem,” said Hèctor. “This mill fed everyone in this town the whole time it was here, and it hasn’t exploded yet. Ignasi was mostly kidding.”

Ignasi said, “It’s true. I was mostly kidding.”

­-Fine. Dirt, you can help. But if there’s a problem, then there will be a PROBLEM,- said Socks. He let the last word resound, almost as loud as Mother’s voice. Dirt was sure he heard shutters rattle.

Dirt walked in and rubbed his hands on the bare floor to get some dirt on them, clapped them together, and grabbed a push bar. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Ignasi said, “Looks like you know how it works.”

“Well, sort of. I know I need to push this.”

“Yep. Now, don’t push too hard. Keep it steady so you don’t get tired. It’ll take a while,” said Hèctor.

“I’ll be fine,” said Dirt.

With a pop and a creak, the three humans got the wheel turning. It was heavier than Dirt expected, but he had no trouble keeping a steady flow of mana cycling to strengthen his arms and legs. Around and around they went, listening to the muffled grinding sound and making sure to keep it even.

Socks laid down and watched through the doorway, and from how he flitted his ears, he was probably keeping track of the whole area. Both men were panting and sweaty after countless turns, but Dirt was still fine. When the milling stopped sounding so muffled they paused. Hèctor looked around for an empty bag and couldn’t find one, so he took a full one and stepped outside to empty it. He began scooping the flour out of the basin under the millstone and started filling the bag.

“It looks like it’s exactly enough,” said Dirt.

“Almost like someone thought of that, huh?” said Hèctor with a flat tone of voice. A peek at his mind showed he was amused, though, not annoyed.

“Finally, some proper food!” said Ignasi, taking a pinch of the flour and tasting it. “Let’s go find a stove to warm up.”

The very next house over was larger than average and had a whole room dedicated just to cooking, which was convenient. Most of the goods left there were too old, but Hèctor pointed out some salt and other dried powders that were still usable. The brick stove built into the back wall was close enough to the kind Dirt’s people had used for him to recognize it—a space for firewood and baking, a chimney for the smoke, and a flat metal surface to heat up and cook with. The cook-plate wasn’t very big, just large enough to set a pot on, but it would do. A handsome stack of evenly-chopped firewood lay ready and waiting.

Poor Socks couldn’t fit that far into the house. He tried to peek through the one window but couldn’t get an angle to watch what was going on, so Dirt shared his sight and the pup sat down outside and closed his eyes.

Ignasi showed Dirt how humans were supposed to start fires, when they didn’t have magic wolves as friends. Take some wood, shave some of it really thin, then get some slightly larger pieces, and make sparks by rubbing iron on flint, which was a special kind of rock that Dirt couldn’t tell from any other. The sparks made small flames in the kindling, and then you added bigger and bigger sticks until you had a nice fire.

While Ignasi got the fire going, Hèctor pulled a bowl off a shelf, blew in it to get the dust out, and shook in a couple handfuls of flour. To that he added a few pinches of salt and some dried green flakes and mixed them together with his finger. Then he took a small pot of grease from his backpack and used a spoon to throw a big dollop of it in with the flour. Finally, he dribbled some water from his waterskin and started mixing it all together with one hand.

Even Dirt could smell how it started to come together. That grease was animal fat, and the scent of the flour changed completely when it got mixed in. Hèctor mashed and squeezed and pulled the dough, adding a bit more of this and that until he was satisfied. When the stove was finally hot enough, he set a frying pan on top and added a tiny bit of grease to the pan, pinched off a ball of dough, flattened it, and fried it on the pan.

The rich aroma filled the room before Dirt even had time to count to thirty. It smelled nothing like the bread Hèctor had given him that first day. That had been too boring and unappealing to finish. But this was completely different. Hèctor had to keep pushing Dirt away because he couldn’t help but get closer and closer to the frying pan, and he was getting in the way.

Hèctor slid the flatbread out onto a cool part of the stove and said, “Let that cool off a bit before you pick it up.” Then he started cooking another one.

Dirt waited patiently for about three heartbeats and then grabbed it, burning his fingertips. He hissed and tossed it from hand to hand to keep from burning any further, which made Hèctor chuckle. Before he finally took a bite, he shared his sense of taste with Socks, who was sitting up now and sticking his nose in the window to enjoy the smell.

The fresh bread was the most incredible thing Dirt had ever tasted. Everything tasted so bold, so vivid. Far more than anything else—blood and meat, innards of various kinds, baby ferns, grubs, eggs. Lots of things had a good flavor but they all seemed mild in comparison.

The flavor awoke a deep nostalgia in him, colored by Prisca’s memories and the holes left in his own. Memories of doing just this—cooking fresh bread and eating it with friends, gathered around a stove. Or perhaps family. Perhaps both. The taste and scent tugged at his mind so sharply he expected to get some of his own memories back, but they didn’t come. Only the feelings did, the warmth and happiness. Comfort and safety from the weather, affection. There was so much rushing in, yet still so little.

“Ah,” he muttered. He felt his chest tighten as a tear slid down his cheek and dripped off his chin. That made his nose start running and he sniffled. Another tear slid down. He took another bite.

Hèctor noticed and didn’t know how to react, choosing to look away and ignore it while he cooked the next one.

“This is really good,” said Dirt, quietly, around a mouthful.

“This is just a start,” said Ignasi. “This is only flatbread. Proper bread has leaven to make it large and fluffy. It needs butter and jam on top and currants or sweetmeats baked in. It gets much better than this.”

-I like it too,- said Socks, only to Dirt. His voice took on a note of sympathy as he added, -Strange things make you sad, little Dirt.-

“I know. I can be silly sometimes. But it’s hard to explain, I just… well—”

-I know exactly how you feel and why. You don’t have to explain,­- said Socks.

Of course he did. Dirt smiled a little and sent a puff of affection to his wolf.

Hèctor made enough flatbreads for Dirt to have two, which he appreciated, and for himself and Ignasi to have three. Dirt made them all go sit at the table to eat, each person in a chair. Dirt rested his elbows on the heavy wooden table while he nibbled, but he couldn’t see the appeal. Maybe if there was lots of kinds of food, like drinks in cups and plates with different things on them, it made sense to sit up here instead of just on the ground. You could only hold so many things at once.

Socks hadn’t gotten anything to eat, though, so as soon as the humans were done, they went outside and Dirt fed him sap from the Home-staff, lump after lump until he was satisfied.

It seemed like every day it was one more lump than before. The pup really was growing quickly lately. When they’d met, Dirt had to duck slightly to walk under his belly. Now he had to reach his arm up and stretch to touch the fur. Socks’ legs were getting long and lean and his fur was losing some of its poofiness. His face was slowly sharpening, too, growing more predatory to match the big scar over his eye. In the meantime, not a single thing about Dirt had changed at all.

Oh well. His body was already eight years old and he was only halfway grown. Another eight years, perhaps, and then he’d be an adult. Socks will have been an adult for several years by then, maybe even claimed some territory and taken a mate. Hopefully he’d still want little Dirt around. That thought disquieted him, probably due to the lingering nostalgia.

-You are worrying about silly things again. I don’t have to take a mate right away. I will wait until you are grown up, and then we can take mates at the same time,- said Socks. Then, to everyone, he said, ­-I want to go hunt. I will bring back an animal and you will cook it for me. I will share if you do.-

Ignasi said, “Wonderful! Bring us a fat cow or deer, noble wolf, and we will give you a feast worthy of you.”

-Show Dirt more human things while I am gone. Everything you do is complicated with a lot of steps so make sure he pays attention. Do not let him get hurt.-

“I’ll be fine,” said Dirt. This got him thinking, though. Complicated, with a lot of steps. Socks was right. How many things did it take to build a house like that? How many pieces? And all the ingredients for bread. He’d never really thought about it that way, but humans should be complicated, with lots of steps. Plans and tools and little pieces of things. Wolfish excellence was found in strength and speed and cunning, in sharp senses and all kinds of magic. In knowledge of ancient things and the world.

Dirt was learning those things as well as he could and he wasn’t about to stop, but maybe that wasn’t natural to humans. Maybe human excellence was in careful consideration, in accurate plans and fine details. He’d have to watch the men and think that over. It made him curious what human magic was like. He used to know, a long time ago.

And more relevantly, what could they do with meat, now that they had salt and spices for it? Plain meat cooked over fire hadn’t been that impressive, but now he had to wonder. What did meat become, with a few more steps?

Speaking of plots and plans, another thought crossed his mind. “Hey, Home? Good morning. Sorry I didn’t say that earlier. I hope you’re having fun with Marina.” That was unfortunate phrasing, but oh well. “Is she ready to come back yet?”

The staff twitched but nothing else happened. Dirt rested the staff in the grass just in case, but Marina didn’t appear. “Okay, well, take good care of her, please, and give her back soon.” Then, in their language, Dirt said, “So what else is there for me to learn today?”