The snow had returned.

Not as strongly as before, but enough to keep the store empty of customers and the streets silent.

Although even if the snow wasn't falling, and it wasn't cold, the streets would still be empty.

Off in the distance I heard the church bells ringing a tune I wasn't familiar with. Crane had mentioned that most of the humans would be there now, celebrating some kind of holiday.

Although a part of me had wanted to go and see it myself, Crane and Lughes being so upset over it made me keep that desire hidden.

If it bothered and upset them that much then there was no way I could go and enjoy it. It wouldn't be kind.

I sat on the small stool behind the front counter, and had been for awhile now.

The curtains blocked the large windows, but the front door also had a small window near the top of it. Three small panels of glass, which let me see the slow falling snow outside.

Sighing, I wondered how much longer it'd be before it got busy again. We never got many visitors, but someone showing up once or twice a day had been normal.

Slowly letting my head fall to my arms; I laid my head down and sighed again.

The house had become a little too quiet.

Amber was still gone. She was staying at that noble's house, painting.

Lughes was busy in his room, painting something, and only came out to eat. He was so focused he didn't even say hello half the time when he emerged.

Crane was keeping busy, and although I got to talk to her during the morning, and during dinner, she too kept herself busy enough that we rarely spent time together.

And now Lomi was gone too.

Shelldon wouldn't even talk to me...

With no customers, and a strange festival happening down the road, I couldn't help but feel a little lonely.

I'd even welcome Vim walking back in, even though sometimes he wasn't much fun to talk to.

Staring at the countertop, I wondered how it was so clean. Not a single blemish was in the wood, nor a drop of old paint stained it.

Not a single mark either, from something heavy being dropped upon it.

Yet it didn't seem new. The wood felt old. Lacquered and smooth, but old.

Running my hand along it, I wondered who had made it. Lughes was an artist, but did he also craft furniture? Crane sewed, knitted and cleaned, but did she sand and polish?

Did Shelldon do anything?

Tapping the floor a few times with my foot, I wondered how deeply he slept. Although we had floorboards, beneath those were stone I was told. Thick and heavy stone. Yet Crane had hinted that he could in fact hear us, even when we were simply talking lightly.

I wonder if we kept him awake, or if he slept through even the banging and noises when we were noisy. Like when Lomi had been running around.

Heavy feet made the ears under my hat perk up, and I turned a little to watch the hallway. Sure enough a smiling Lughes emerged, nodding proudly to himself.

“Renn, I have created a masterpiece,” he said happily.

“Oh? It's done?” I asked, sitting back up.

Lughes nodded quickly as he walked out into the lobby, then around to the front of the counter... standing before it as if he was now a customer.

“A moment of brilliance came! The other day, I heard you and Vim speaking to one another about coins,” he said, eager to share his excitement.

“The coins?” I asked, wondering when he had heard us. I hadn't realized he was nearby.

Lughes nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes! It got me thinking about humans, and their greed, and our greed too! So that made me think of the mountain tops, and so I painted my home. A scene I had thought I forgotten, yet there it is! Before me again, as if seeing it now!” he spoke quickly, yet happily. Proud of himself, and yet fulfilled.

“Wait... your home?” I asked, trying to follow. How did he go from coins, to mountaintops, to his home?

He mentioned greed. Maybe his greedy desires left him homesick.

“Indeed! Come, you must see it!” he ushered me to follow as he hurried back to the stairs.

I complied, especially since he seemed so excited. He was even more excited than he had been when Vim and Lomi had first arrived, and threw a feast.

Following him upstairs to the top floor, I had to pick up my pace as he hurried. He ran into his room as if fleeing an unknown enemy.

“Behold!” Lughes shouted as I followed him into the room. I noted that it was his actual bedroom, not the room he normally painted in.

Sitting in the center, propped up by an old and somewhat decrepit easel, was a large painting. One of the biggest I've seen yet.

It, sure enough, was a painting of mountains. High and tall... where the clouds were thick and low. I counted seven peaks, each higher than the last. The scene looked to go on forever, as if I was looking out a window. It'd not surprise me if the clouds began to move, as if real.

“It's beautiful,” I said, and meant it. Admittedly it was a little... odd. I saw only mountains. Snow. Some trees and rocks. The details were very fine, and it had been painted and drawn masterfully... but...

There seemed to be nothing else than the mountain scene. No homes or people. Not even goats.

“Hm, it is,” A new voice entered the room, and I stepped aside to let Crane in.

She studied the painting with a keen eye, her long neck stretching even more as she drew closer to it.

“Is it? Isn't it?” Lughes asked, happy. He looked delighted.

“Looks cold up there,” I said.

“Cold! Nonsense! It's warm as can be, it is,” Lughes scoffed, but his smile remained large.

“It's a wonderful painting, Lughes. Shall we display it in the window?” Crane asked.

“No...! No... never,” Lughes's smile dissipated as he rapidly shook his head, as if suddenly worried.

“Hm. Still, this is a joyous moment. I'll go start preparing your tea. You've earned it you think, yes?” Crane asked him.

“Oh yes! I have!” Lughes seemed to grow even more excited, he perked up as if someone had just given him a wonderful compliment.

Crane nodded, and turned to leave. “Would you help, Renn?” she asked me.

Help make tea? Me?

Although the request made little sense, I realized the true meaning of it.

“Yes, of course. It really is beautiful Lughes, thank you for showing me,” I said as I turned to follow Crane out of the room.

Lughes though no longer heard me; he was staring at his painting... his eyes blank, his pupils wide.

Crane slowly shut the door after I left, and for a few uncomfortable seconds I followed her quietly down the hallway.

Stolen story; please report.

Reaching the stairwell, I kept my tongue in check as we descended. Lughes hearing wasn't as good as mine, but it was still too close to his room to say anything yet.

Once down a floor, I followed Crane as she walked down the hallway. Towards my room.

“Tea?” I asked her.

“Hm. Lughes is old, Renn. Older than any of us. He occasionally paints that scene. It's been a few years since he has, and he always acts as if he's never painted it before. Here, let me show you,” Crane guided me down the hallway. All the way to the back. To the storeroom I hadn't been in yet.

My heart ached as I watched Crane open the door to the backroom, revealing a rather large storeroom. One full of paintings.

There were hundreds at least, of varying sizes, and the room smelled horribly of paint. It was strong enough of a scent that it made me wonder how I didn't smell it normally. Was this room specially made to keep the stink in?

“See?” Crane pointed to a section in the corner. About a dozen paintings sat up against one another, a little lonely by themselves. Noticeably kept alone amongst the forest of wood frames and painted canvases.

Sure enough, the same seven peaks were displayed.

Stepping into the room, past Crane, I felt my heart slow in its beating as I understood.

Quickly scanning the painting, I tried to compare it to the one upstairs. Yes. They were the same. Down to the location of rocks, and trees. Even the clouds were...

Stepping up to them, I grabbed the edge of one of them to look behind it. At the one just behind it. Sure enough the same painting was there.

As was the next, and the next.

With a dry mouth I sighed. “I see. But he seems so fine otherwise? A little... air-headed yes, but fine it seemed,” I said.

“He's air-headed, yes. But only on certain things. This however is a... special characteristic of him. He'll spend a few days staring at it, and then will bring it down to the first floor to sell. Forgetting that it's special. We make sure to put them here for him,” Crane explained.

“I see,” I said softly.

“It was his home, Vim says. It's the scene he saw each morning. Yet he seems to have forgotten it. Vim won't say why,” she said.

“Oh...” I nodded in understanding. Humans got like that often.

Honestly I hadn't thought our kind could suffer similar ailments... but maybe it was obvious that we could. We too got old, after all.

Maybe it was so rare, and why I had not thought it possible, because so few of us lived to such an age.

“We all have our quirks, Renn. Hopefully when mine causes issues you'll be gentle with me too,” Crane said.

“Did I seem gentle just now?” I asked her.

“You look like you're about to cry,” she said with a huff, as if annoyed I'd even consider doing such a thing.

“Well... it's sad,” I said honestly.

Crane reached out and patted me on the back. Her strange smile, a mix of anger and kindness, was an odd but pleasant sight. “I'm going to go make him his favorite tea. Make sure you close the door firmly when you leave. It'll stink up the rest of the house if you don't,” she said, and then turned to leave.

“Can I look at the rest of these?” I asked her.

“Of course,” she said flatly, her usual annoyed tone back in full force.

Watching her go, I smiled and wondered how long it'd take for me to learn everything about them. Years surely... but how many? Decades?

Such a wonderful thought...

Though...

Glancing back at the painting of Lughes home, I wondered where it was. I didn't know of any mountains that were that high, nor that many. There looked to be at least seven massive peaks, and who knew how many were behind and around, out of sight from the view of the painting.

He must have traveled a long ways.

Granted, that might also be the reason he seemed to forget his home. Only remembering it on occasion, and re-painting the scene... only to forget it again later.

Maybe the memories hurt.

Maybe remembering home was a joyous, wonderful occasion... but then as he stared at the finished painting, he began to remember the rest. The stuff that hurt. The memories that broke even the strong.

Looking away from the stack of mountain paintings, I glanced around the room. Most paintings were larger in size, and simply stacked on top of each other or up against each other along the wall. There were only a few crates and shelves in the room, and there was no rug. The floorboards looked a little... old. Parts were breaking, and I was going to have to make sure to step lightly. I was wearing shoes, and didn't worry over splinters or anything, but I'd hate to be the reason the floor broke and the paintings got ruined.

A nearby stack of paintings were of animals. Basic ones. Bunnies, deer, birds... just seemingly in their natural habitats. On branches, in groves, running in forests. A few were beautiful, but some were also a little plain. Like the one I had seen in the inn, which had led me here.

Part of me had thought that this room was full of precious paintings. Things that had great meaning... but maybe most were simply extras, or paintings that can't be sold for one reason or another...

I remembered that Vim had come into here. Now that I knew his personality a little better, I knew he had not gone into my room. So this was definitely where he had gone... but why? For what?

Which had he looked at?

Another stack of paintings nearby were of towns and villages. Some looked vaguely familiar, but nothing stuck out enough for me to name any of the locations. Some were painted in summer, others with layers of snow or seemed dark and broody thanks to the rain and storms.

Oddly, as I began to look at the many paintings... I began to realize that most were old. Probably older than Amber. Some I could tell were very obviously painted by Lughes, while others seemingly had a style of art that told me that someone else had painted them without doubt.

Granted Crane had mentioned that they've had many painters over the years. Many humans too. And...

I paused for a moment, holding a panting back as I peered at one hidden behind it. It was a little smaller than most of the others here, but still large enough to be very detailed.

After only a few moments of studying the painting, I had to push the painting I held back in front of it. I couldn't stare at it any longer.

Taking a deep breath, I sighed and controlled myself.

Yes. It was obvious that people would paint such depressing scenes too.

Joy and fond remembrance weren't always the sources of art.

Very carefully, I pulled the painting back again. To take another look. This time I steeled myself, and readied for the heartache.

It was a dark colored scene. Even though the setting sun loomed over the horizon, letting its rays beautifully illuminate the dozen or so graves. A pair of figures stood before the graves, and what looked to be someone bowing in front of them, grieving. There were houses in the distance, still smoking from fires... and the hill they were on looked burnt too. As if at one time the dirt spot they were on, had been full of flowers and trees.

Gulping, I tried to tell who the figures were.

One was obvious. The broad shouldered man was staring off in the distance at an angle, enough of an angle to see the human features clearly.

Next to Vim looked like another man. A man missing an arm, leaning on a crutch of some kind. His legs looked fine, but he was obviously injured.

There was a woman between them, who had been painted as if she was about to rush to the one before the graves. The one grieving... weeping.

I couldn't tell who she was, or the man, but I knew for a fact that it wasn't Lughes and Crane. The woman was too portly. The man, crouched before the graves with his hands held tightly together as if in prayer, was far too big to be Lughes. Even at this angle, in this somewhat unlit room, I could make out the man's massive muscles.

What I couldn't see clearly were the oddities. Where were the Non-Human features on them?

Pulling aside the painting I held, to lay it against another, I bent down to get a better look at the scene.

Oh. There was. The woman had odd ears. They were on the side of her head, not the top, like humans... but they were far too big. They created great shadows even, forming behind her. There was a single ray of sunlight illuminating her, and her great ears looked fuzzy thanks to it.

The man as massive as he was... was curled up in a way that didn't show much... but the other man, the one with a missing arm, had a tail. Something with scales it looked like. Part of it was missing.

Was this a scene so often beheld?

Looking around, at the hundreds of paintings, I felt sick to my stomach as I tried to envision how many of them were like this.

How many heartbreaking scenes had been painted? How many hadn't been? How many couldn't be remembered?

How many had Vim seen alone and told no one of?

Daring to look at the painting behind it, I almost didn't look... but was glad I did. This one was much happier.

A family. Of our kind. They were all tall and skinny. It looked like even the young child who was running around in the field of grass was taller than me. They all had smiles, and it was a lovely scene. I didn't recognize anyone, but I could tell by the white horns sticking out of the top of their heads and their height that they were most likely some kind of larger animal.

I enjoyed how happy they looked.

Made me wish my own family could have looked like that.

Slowly sitting down, to sit before the painting... I found myself silently basking in its glow.

Hopefully no one would show up, daring the snow and cold... so I could spend some time in here.

These paintings were like tiny windows to another time. Another place. Another world.

A world where there was peace and happiness. A world of disgusting reality. A world of fantasy.

Our world.

Yet...

Would one day my painting be here too? One of many? One of countless?

Would it get hidden behind others? Would anyone ever look at it?

By the layer of dust, I could tell it's been some time since anyone's looked at this painting. Years. Maybe even years upon years. And even then, who was to say the last person who had seen it had only moved it or cleaned it... like Crane or Lughes?

If so...

Studying the young girl's face in the painting, smiling at her parents who watched happily as she danced around in the knee high grass... I wondered if they were gone too.

Rather something told me they were.

“Gone, but no longer forgotten,” I said softly.

Sitting alone amongst hundreds of paintings, I vowed to study each one.

To remember each one.

No matter how long it took.

Even when, or if, I grew to be as old as Lughes... and became forgetful...

I vowed to remember all of them, even till the end.