Omar stood in the room. Various pieces of glassware were filled with liquids with a variety of color. Omar was confident he could name most of what he was looking at. He didn’t have time to look through the room to the extent that he wanted to. Samuel had sent him here for a rotten annie potion. The flower had a rather unique smell which only became more pungent as the potion brewed. It was an excellent antidote for most known poisons. Bastian had given an initial dose to Sidra when she had been poisoned by the elf. The potion was probably what had saved her life.

Omar found the potion. It was brown with a white froth. Depending on the angle, it would shift between purple and yellow. Omar lifted the jug with a grunt. It was heavier than he expected. If he hadn’t reinforced his muscles with mana, there was no way that he would be able to have lift the jug. He made his way back into the house, stepping slowly and deliberately. He wanted as little motion as possible to transfer to the potion.

Samuel sat near Sidra’s still body. He pressed his fingers into her skin as he felt for a pulse. His free hand held a board with paper. He had been scribbling quick notes down using a piece of charcoal. Black fingerprints were obvious as Samuel pulled back his hand to scribble down more notes.

“Where do you need this?” Omar asked.

Samuel pointed at the nightstand without a word before he got back to scribbling down on the paper.

“Thanks, Omar,” Samuel said as he looked up, “Have you seen Bastian?”

“He was sitting on the grass at the front.”

Samuel helped Omar place the glass jug down on the nightstand. He left the board and went to see Bastian. Omar looked over the notes that the expert had scribbled.

“Your handwriting is just as bad as ever.”

Omar pressed his own fingers into the same spots that Samuel had, using the charcoal spots as a guide. He poured his mana into her veins to see if there was anything that had been missed. He tried using his healing spell, but her body again rejected it. Omar prepared some of the rotten annie potion and filled a small glass with the spigot on the jug.. When he was done, he covered the top of the glass and made his way back outside. He grabbed his javelins that sat by the door. On the porch, both Samuel and Bastian sat in silence. Their legs dangled off the edge.

“I’m going off to hunt.” Omar stated.

Bastian remained silent and nodded.

“Bring us back something big,” Samuel said with a quick wave and a grin.

In truth, Omar left to find the elves. He planned on not catching anything. It wasn’t uncommon for Omar to just use the time in the jungle for himself. Out of everywhere he had been, the jungle was always the most relaxing. Omar didn’t have to look for the elves long. There was something that just didn’t mesh with the rain forest. The elves stuck out like sore thumbs. He found Aimon with no trouble. The elf had set himself the task to cook food the elven way. Little cubes of dried meat were piled on a leather spread. Aimon hadn’t noticed Omar walking into the clearing. Omar whistled and the elf turned, eyes wide.

“Oh, Happy,” Aimon said, “Qinran later”

“I’ll sit here,” said Omar as he pointed at the ground.

Aimon nodded and went back to work on the meat that was currently cooking. Omar couldn’t understand how the elves did it. Aimon seemed to be pulling the meat apart with a twig. He shaped the meat with two other twigs he held in his other hand before placing the completed cubes on a rock near the fire.

“Happy, fire?” Aimon asked.

Omar looked at the elf as he tried to understand what he said. Omar looked around for context. The wood pile was low.

“You need wood?” he asked.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Wood,” Aimon replied.

“Sure.”

Omar got up again and wandered back into the jungle to look for some firewood.

—

Aimon was busy making rations. A whistle behind him nearly made his heart escape from his mouth. He twirled around spotting the human. He internally groaned. He hated the fact he was stuck with the disgusting animal. The human’s magic capacity was increasing every day. He was a monster.

“Oh, Happy,” Aimon said, “Qinran later.”

The human mumbled something as he pointed the ground. Aimon was annoyed he would have to spend any time together with the creature. He continued to work with the meat that was cooking before him. It wouldn’t turn out right if he kept sitting here being stressed by the human. They were starting to run low on wood.

“Happy, Fire?” Aimon said.

The human looked shocked that he would be asked to help with the camp. He mumbled out a few more words. Aimon caught the word wood.

“Wood,” Aimon said.

The human said a reply and left. Aimon breathed a sigh of relief as he went back to cooking. The wood was enough to cover what he needed. If he could get the human to get ahead of his own usage, Aimon would be a fool not to take advantage of the offer. He was nearly through the meat from the boar. When Qinran made it back to camp.

“Your pet human is here,” Aimon said in elvish.

Qinran looked around.

“I sent him out to get some more firewood.”

“Good,” Qinran said.

When Qinran say he placed a bundle of plants down. He unrolled them from a cloth that had been wrapped outside. He was near his makeshift mortar and pestle. It was more a couple of rocks that he rubbed together to grind plants together.

“Do you have to do that here?” asked Aimon.

“Yes, I’ll be needing the fire in a bit,” Qinran replied, “Potions are low and we need to restock.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Aimon said, “I just don’t like the grinding sound.”

“If we were back on the island, it would be the sound of money.”

“Not my idea of good money.”

Qinran grunted as he continued the work. They worked in silence. Aimon was forced to trust Qinran. They had exchanged names. That was a bond that couldn’t be broken. He also had to admit that the human was a bit useful to have along. Aimon did want to learn a little more of the language. Hearing Qinran speaking it was a little amazing. The clunky sounds actually sounded like poetry coming from him. On the other hand, he didn’t want to be executed if he ever returned to the island.

Aimon made it through the last of the meat. It sizzled as it cooked slowly. He transfered the now cooked meat to the leather and spun the ends together. Both ends were tied together from some rope that he had.

“That should keep us for a few more days.”

Qinran nodded, he had become engrossed with his work. It happened from time to time and Aimon had become accustomed to it. He made his way toward the cave.

“I’m going to take a nap,” he said.

—

Qinran had indeed become absorbed in his work. He occasionally tasted small samples of the plants to get some degree of understanding of what they did. More often than not, his tongue became numb. It was a part of his trade, so it was something he had to grow used to. Qinran had wanted to start boiling solutions with his collected samples, but a lack of cookware made the task more difficult that he had expected. He could dry out the various pastes he made and try to figure out good ratios for desired effects.

A whistle alerted Qinran to Omar’s presence. The child held a pile of three logs in his arms. Something was different with him. Qinran had understood it as a difference in experiences. The boy had lived for at least hundreds of years. He didn’t even want to know the true answer. What had he experienced? Qinran couldn’t even begin to imagine. Elves only had a lifespan similar to humans, only getting a few extra years.

The sound of logs being stacked pulled Qinran out of his thoughts.

“Alchemy?” asked Omar.

“Yes,” said Qinran.

Omar pointed at each plant and described each in detail. He made educated guesses with the pastes that were now drying by the fire. Omar wished he had a notepad. This human was knowledgeable. The speed as he recited each effect and side effect was impressive.

“What did you use to poison the woman?” asked Omar.

Qinran instantly knew what Omar was asking for.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“I can’t tell you. I have an oath.” Qinran said.

“You and I both know that the world is more flexible than that.”

“What do I get out of it then?”

“I’ll tell you about something that’s just as useful.”

“You first,” said Qinran.

“I offered first. If you want to know, you have to tell me what it was.”

Qinran ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought about it.

“What exactly is your information?”

“I know how to make a cure all potion for poisons.”

Qinran was tempted, really tempted.

“Ah, fine, I don’t really care anymore,” Omar said.

“Fine. We used the scales from the wormvein fish.” Qinran said, giving in, “There isn’t much preparation, it’s just ground up and boiled till the scales dissolve.”

Omar produced a purple and yellow flower. The elf looked suddenly offended as the stench hit his nostrils. He started to gag. Omar waived the flower around as he animatedly described the production method. Each slash through the air Omar made with the flower hit Qinran hard. Qinran offered to start making the cure-all but Qinran declined.

“You know, I’ve never seen a wormvein fish.” Omar added.