Through the winding forest, a pair walked, ragged and dirty, worn and tired. One was staring up with bright blue eyes, mouth slightly agape, barely looking where he was walking. The other being perturbed, not used to recieving such a piercing, praising look, even if the look wasn’t aimed solely at him. The knight on his shoulder on the other hand, seemed to drink in the attention, standing stoically, arms resting on his hips, staring out at nothing as if looking at the greatest of treasures. Rick avoided the boy's big eyes, being truly immersed on his own two shoes, splotches of blood caked on them, needing a good scrubbing when he had the time.

The boy hadn’t spoken since he stopped crying, seeming content with just guiding them to somewhere unknown, looking like a flower boy spreading his petals in front of a parade of marching soldiers, of walking heroes. It amused Rick; It made Rick feel awkward; It made him happy; It made him feel weird. A mix of emotions. He wondered where they were going, but he couldn’t ask for obvious reasons. But it didn’t bother Rick, boy meant civilization, and civilization meant people, and people meant money, and money meant food. Rick’s stomach screamed in anger, the thought of food bringing out his worst enemy. The boy being pulled out of his trance by the noise, the first noise that the dirty hero had muttered, one that made him chuckle, and then stop.

Rick walked past before he had noticed, turning to see why the little boy had stopped, surprised to see him looking wide eyed at him, like a deer seeing a wolf. Rick leaned his head to the side, like a dog trying to hear better. The boy took a step back, bowing deeply as he stuttered out something barely audible.

“I-I’m s-sorry”

The knight and Rick stared down in pause, taken off guard, even while wearing armour. The two blinking twice, thrice, Rick shaking his head, knight jumping off in one gallant movement. The boy glanced up at Rick, but his attention captured by the marching knight, like staring at a parade, his eyes filled with wonder, his face showing fear, darting between the emotions in tune with his eyes darting between Rick and the knight. But when the knight was standing right in front of him, his eyes fixed completely on the knight. The knight saluted, then bowed, posturing himself as if standing in front of the very king himself. It caught the boy off guard, mouth opening into a giant cave, exposing white teeth, one tooth missing at the front, like a frame missing its window. The knight bowed even further, then went up, and bowed further, looking like a bird picking the ground for worms. The boys' eyes growing wide, his back going straight, cheeks turning up, smile glowing. Without thinking, the boy grabbed the knight, giggling like the purest gold, jumping around while swinging the knight with him, the knight taking it in stride.

The two spinning and giggling without a care in the world, Rick smiling inwardly, happy that the kid was happy, outwardly looking like a blank canvas. Wondering if he had the strength to do what the knight had done. Then Bob made his appearance, clapping loudly with his wooden hands, like a plank against log, laughing soundlessly with closed eyes. It drew the boys' attention, stopping mid swing with knight in hand, glowing bright red around his small cheeks, the knight puffing out his chest while patting the boys' rough hair. Rick understood the boys’ redness, yet he felt awkward, he didn’t want to feel awkward, didn’t want the kid to feel awkward. So he smiled, a smile to try to reassure the boy, a smile to bring calm into the situation, looking more like someone trying to push something heavy, like someone pretending nothing was wrong, like a father reassuring his son that his painting was indeed, perfect.

The boy stared, then laughed, a high-pitched laugh full of innocence and joy. He pointed at Rick, yelling something that most adults would consider suicide.

“Haha you look super stupid! Right mister knight? Old man is funny.”

The knight nodded wisely, one hand under his chin, looking at Rick as if assessing a piece of art. Rick’s smile vanished completely, replaced by his own redness. A cough to cover it up, soundless but effective, the boy smiling, not pushing the issue.

“Old man, where did you get mister knight? Is mister knight from the lands of pixies? Is he their king? Oh my god! Is he the best knight in the world? Why aren’t you speaking? Are you like me! I also don’t like to talk, the others tease me for it, but it’s not my fault. Mister knight doesn’t speak either, but he’s so cool so that doesn’t matter. I want to be like mister knight, he’s the coolest. Do you and mister knight wanna come back with me? I heard your stomach. You must be starving!-”

The boy practically screamed, the earlier silence gone like a hurricane, as if it had never existed. Rick nodded where he could, shook where he should. The knight seemingly growing taller with each praise, his nose like the sharpest spear, pointing straight up at the sky. Bob leaned from side to side, looking happy to just be there, something that deserved a pat on the head. The group walked in the dim light of the moon, guided by a talking kid, talking about anything and everything that popped into his head, seemingly endless things to talk about.

The first thing Rick saw that wasn’t trees, was the end of the woods, stopped at the border of grass and crops. Further away, Rick spotted singular houses, dotted like mountains on land, far from one another but within a certain pattern. The group moved towards a well-kept road made of dirt and stone, straight and wide, well-kept for such a small village. Little to see, dark as it was, but Rick noted that there weren’t any crops growing, nor animals grazing, the cold being the enemy of all.

It didn’t take long at all before the group neared the outmost located house, a house that just so happened to have a woman standing on it, leaning forwards dangerously on a wooden fence. As they got closer, the boy saw the woman and screamed out “Mom!” jumping off into a sprint. The mom yelling back “Benji!” as she too ran. Mother and child embracing as they collided, one welling up in tears, the other yelling out delightfully as he talked about his adventure.

“Mom-mom-mom-mom I encountered a monster! But the old guy saved me, and a knight! Mom, I was saved by a knight! It was so cool!” The boy yelled, mom smiling through wet eyes, nodding along as she held in louder tears. Rick walked closer, Bob dozing off in his pocket. It had been a long day. The mom turned her head up as Rick came nearer, her smile growing wider, but more reserved. She pushed her son gently away, going up on her feet as she bowed deeply at Rick, as if he was a most distinguished noble.

“Thank you so much for saving my son. I can’t thank you enough.”

Rick looked down on her, having to take a step back, not comfortable by the sudden show of respect, not feeling worthy of the warm reception. The boy Benji also seemed uncomfortable, but for totally different reasons.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Mom! It wasn’t just him! It was the knight too. He was so cool and brave and awesome!”

The mom slowly moved out of her bow. A small smile pointed towards Rick, a warm smile at her son.

“Is that so? Where is this brave knight?”

Benji smiled, pushing his two arms forward with the knight held firmly, standing stoically in the air, staring bravely at mom’s face. The mom looked surprised, confused, but settled on a gentle smile.

“Oooh, I can see that now. Benji, can you go inside for a second? I want to have a little talk with the nice gentleman.”

Benji looked at his mom, then down at the knight, his open mouth exposing his missing tooth, the knight poking him on the cheek with his wooden sword. Without a word, Benji ran inside, giggling as he held the knight high, knight swinging his sword at nothing and everything. The mom smiled seeing that, but quickly turned her attention back to Rick, Rick feeling like a dog ready to be yelled at, patted or praised. He wasn’t sure what the mom’s expression meant.

“I’m really thankful for your help. When the other kids came running, screaming “monster!” without my little boy, I-I wasn’t sure what to do. How could they do that? How could they just leave him like that? He’s their friend-”

She said, tears pushing at the back of her eyes, making them hazy, unfocused. But she kept her cool, she had too, her honour wouldn’t let her do otherwise.

“I’m sorry, it’s been- it’s been a long month. I’m Sigurdsdottir, or Sigurd for short.” She paused, waiting for Rick’s response, a response never to come. Instead, Rick glanced down, then up, opening his mouth while wheezing out nothing but soundless air. Sigurds eyes opened, quick to realise the predicament.

“Oh, I see. Not everyone’s blessed with such a perfect voice like mine, eh? Hahaha”

Sigurd said with a tease, leaning forward as she giggled into an open palm. Rick nodded, forcing a smile that was as natural as a sword. Sigurds smile being perfect and gentle, repeatedly saying sorry as she assumed Rick offended by her sudden teasing, Rick repeatedly calming her with a gestures of peace, the two looking like stage performers miming a play.

Eventually, Sigurd guided Rick into the house. A petite little thing, a fireplace roaring with warmth and pleasantries, a table with four chairs, cupboard and utensils hanging seemingly randomly. But what caught Rick’s attention was the toys on the table, the shoes hanging instead of lying, a lone painting of a big, rather handsome man. And next to it was another painting, a rather poor drawing of three people, one small, one bigger, the third huge, drawn with nothing but chalk and coal, poorly yet lovingly made, oozing with charm. Next to the painting leaned a big, very big axe. Intricate and loving carvings on the handle, the axe part simple yet sturdy. Rick stared wide eyed at the little room, cosy and comfortable. He was staring, for he was looking at a home, a place where people lived, a place to be oneself, a place to really call, home.

“You want anything to eat? Maybe some tea?”

Rick nodded, his stomach roaring in success, happy that it would be sated, reminding Rick how painful it was to go without food for days. Sigurd nodded back, picking up a kettle and placing it in a cauldron that rested on top of a fire. The cauldron having a rune of unknown design on it and scribbles of what Rick knew to be words or letters, things just as alien to Rick as the monsters in the night. Benji came running into the room, giggling and shouting, a knight running after him, sword held high. The pair running from room to room, chairs tumbling, wood creaking. His mom yelled for him to calm down, wearing a bright smile as she did, not really meaning it. She then opened up one of the cupboards, exposing a plethora of breads and jerky and other tasties that oozed of wonderful smells. Rick had to wipe his mouth upon seeing it, cursing himself for such a lack of courtesy, feeling shameful, out of place. But Sigurd didn’t seem to notice, maybe not caring. Instead, she handed him an entire loaf, picking out a smaller piece for herself.

It took every bit of willpower for Rick to not wolf down the bread, to not act like the starving dog he felt like, like the dog he was. He bit down gently, enjoying it, frothing at the stale bread, feeling so much joy at such a simple thing, his stomach agreeing with him. Sigurd stared at Rick as he ate, biting down on her own bread, happy that her savior enjoyed her meager offering, her bad hospitality, her poor dwelling.

“Can I ask you something?”

Sigurd asked suddenly, moving her attention away from Rick and towards the bubbling kettle. Rick swallowed a particularly big bite while nodding.

“You don’t happen to be the toymaker?”

Rick stopped biting, stopped mid-bite, staring up at the woman. His thoughts also stopping, emotion flaring into light, flaring into existence. His face expressing that same emotion, the emotion of anger. He was no mere toymaker; He was an artist, a creator of beauty. He carved the finest of things, the best of statues. He wouldn’t have anyone calling his creations mere “toys”. That could not stand.

But just as fast as his anger had flared, it ebbed away. It would not do to be angry at such a hospitable woman, at such a nice woman, at a human treating him nicely. But Sigurd had seen his flare of anger, feeling that she needed to explain herself else she shame herself.

“I’m sorry! It’s just, your ehm, creation, really remind me of the talk going around the village.”

Rick gestured that it was all-right, that he wasn’t angry, but had to look sideways as he didn’t have a clue about what she was talking about. Sigurd picked up on it, continuing.

“The queen’s searching for the toymaker.”

She said, looking expectantly at Rick, Rick looking expectantly back, waiting for more information. When she didn’t give more, his face fell, expressing sadness. As he realized what she had insinuated, he shook his head vehemently, for it was impossible that it was him, he wasn’t a toymaker. She laughed seeing his reaction, Benji peeking his head into the room to see what was happening, the knight doing the same.

Then the tea was ready, Sigurd turning towards the kettle, putting a hand on what should have been a sizzling hot cauldron, only seeming luke-warm. The next second, the rune on the cauldron lit up, light of the warmest blue, like the most soothing wind, immediately making the boiling water calm down to a mere trickle of vapor. The rune stopped glowing and Sigurd took the kettle, placing it on the table as she collected two clay mugs, a stark contrast to the finely and luxorius made kettle. Pouring the tea, she slid the cup to Rick who graciously took it, sipping on it, drinking it, greedily gulping down the slightly bitter content. The taste like the purest angel gracing him, like a blind man seeing for the first time, like a man stranded on a desert finally getting water. Sigurd laughed at the display, pouring him another cup before Rick had even drunk the first, then sat herself down opposite Rick, pouring a cup for herself.

Sipping on the second tea cup, Rick did his best to not gulp it down with the rest of his bread. Benji ran into the room, hiding behind Rick’s chair as he peeked around him, saying with slight alarm in his voice.

“Old man, you gotta protect me”

Rick turned to look at him, but was interrupted by Sigurd as she gently, but firmly, told Benji that you don’t call someone an old man.

“I’m sorry Mom.”

He said with his head hung low, but immediately changed pose as the knight snuck into the room, stalking slowly towards Benji. Benji stood with Rick in between him and the knight, the two dancing around the chair, trying to get an advantage over the other. Stopping when the knight made a bold move, giving Benji a chance to dash away and into the next room, giggling loudly. Rick watched with bated breath, weirdly invested in the play-fight. Sigurd smiled as she watched too, glowing like the most sparkling diamond.

“You know, it has been a long time since I’ve seen Benji this happy.”

Sigurd said, staring at the door leading into the next room, her face mellow with a hint of sadness, like a lost soul staring up at the sky, looking for guidance. The two sharing a moment of silence, one used to it, the other not. Then Sigurd turned to Rick and asked something that came out of the blue.

“Can you be Benji’s daddy?”