《A Cure for Happiness》 Chapter 1 - The Witch Once upon a time, in a small village, there lived a young girl and her mother. They were travelers, you see, and seldom stayed in one place for long. But the woman, Enor, had fallen in love, and because she did not know how to say goodbye, she stayed. Mother and daughter were curious creatures. They came into the town in the middle of a most terrible winter, and had, through their strange herbs and potions, staved off the worst of the illness that plagued the little village. It came once every decade, you see, and it just so happened that the illness came on that particular winter, and that the wild-haired Enor and her child had also arrived that particular winter, and a more curious ¨C or a more fortunate ¨C coincidence had never been witnessed in the village. Many of the villagers were ecstatic. Their loved ones had been saved, and they owed their lives to these strangers. One of them was a widowed man whose son had been a hair¡¯s breadth away from perishing of the unstoppable disease. He had watched the illness ravage his son¡¯s body, and he sat beside him and felt helpless and forsaken, and then the two strangers came. The woman had taken one look at the child ¨C one look at the little boy on the verge of death, barely clinging on to life ¨C and given him a potion. So simple ¨C so quick. Within hours, the boy¡¯s energy had been returned. The child that was dying had been saved by some odd miracle. And that miracle ¨C the man was sure ¨C was the woman. Her arrival to the town could have been nothing other than destiny. Some wonderful gift to keep his son alive. Not just his son, either ¨C so many of the villagers had been saved from a horrible fate. He¡¯d decided, then, that he was very much in love with Enor. It was admiration, at first, and a slight feeling of awe, and lots of gratitude. He felt that was love, and Enor, who had been traveling alone with her daughter for so long, felt that perhaps it would be alright to stave off her loneliness for a little while. And maybe she decided that it was love for her, too. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. But it was not to last. One young woman in particular found the stranger a threat. Kaleena had long set her sights on the widowed father of one, and the small but prosperous farm which he managed. She would not be so easily thrown aside ¨C not for some wild-haired woman who¡¯d stumbled into town in the middle of winter, with nothing to show for herself but two suitcases and a case of potions. And so, she began to plant seeds of doubt about the mysterious Enor and her daughter. Soon, the people who once heralded the strange woman a hero began to whisper. They spoke of malicious things, of a craft not practiced, of a power most unnatural, and a covenant most evil... One by one, the villagers¡¯ minds were changed. While the man had decided that he was in love, and the blissfully ignorant Enor had decided that she might have been, too, these villagers had decided that she was a witch. These thoughts festered and grew in the collective psyche of the little village. They began to suspect all that the witch and her spawn did ¨C all the remedies they offered the sick, all the advice they gave to those suffering, all the items they purchased and the herbs they picked and the potions they made. And day by day, while the two of them were settling into a comfortable daily life in the small, quiet town, hosted most graciously by the farmer whose son they had saved, the people grew increasingly unsettled. It all came to a head one fateful night. The wife of a merchant was in labor, and all was not well. There was banging on the door, and Enor was asked to come ¨C desperate as the merchant was, there was nothing he would not resort to, nobody he would not seek aid in. And, of course, Enor went. And, as always, her daughter followed. The night was long. There was much yelling, much blood, much pain, and all the while Enor did her best to help the merchant¡¯s wife. But there is only so much that a person can do to keep someone alive when fate has ordained otherwise. That night, the merchant lost his loving wife, and the child ¨C a boy born too early, and unable to survive. It happened ¨C it happened often ¨C for childbirth was a terribly dangerous thing. But the merchant could not find reason in his sudden grief. He accused the stranger ¨C the cursed, evil sorceress ¨C of murdering his wife and his newborn son, of sacrificing them to some evil power. Winter turned to spring, and the people of the village ushered in the season of life with the burning of a witch. Chapter 2 - Coming Home As the carriage jostled me this way and that, I tried my best to keep away from the portly woman sitting to my side. I could not understand how she could sleep through the lurching of the carriage, but she snored away peacefully, and I envied her the ease with which she could rest. These country roads were always quite exhausting ¨C bumpy and full of pot-holes that shook the very bones in your body. I found myself lamenting the decision to take a common carriage. While I certainly could not afford to hire a private carriage of my own, I could have splurged just a little bit more and bought myself a horse for the journey home. It would have destroyed any savings I had, as meager as they were, but it would have possibly made for a much more comfortable ride. If I was going to have a back-ache either way, I should have just taken that old horse I¡¯d seen for sale near the station, I told myself with a sigh, staring out at the passing countryside in some helpless attempt to keep the growing nausea at bay. Alas, I¡¯d had to be very frugal with my money of late. After five years of owning my own bakery, my business had crumbled quite disgracefully when a competitor had opened a bakery and patisserie right across the street. Of course, we¡¯d put up a good fight ¨C dropping prices and even opening a small patisserie counter ¨C but it simply was not to be. After all, how could I compete with stretching palmiers and whistling cream puffs? They had brought in a chef who had the most expert touch, and mine was simply no match. Bad luck, I supposed, but at the very least everything on my side had been solved amicably. I¡¯d been able to pay my workers their last wages, had been able to pay the last month of rent, and had even sold all the items and furniture that I could. It left with me with a small fortune of my own, but all of it had been used up quite quickly in the following months, as I tried to think of what else I could do to eke out a living in the bustling city. There weren¡¯t many opportunities, to say the least. With very little money left, I felt I was out of time. And so it was that I was returning to my home town, the little village I had spent my most formative years in, and the place that had helped me find my love of baking. I had wanted to bring that passion with me to the city, and I did, for a while. It was a good run, all things considered. Perhaps it was simply time for a change. All this I told myself again and again as I watched the rolling landscape pass me by, though if I was being honest with myself, it was true that I was disappointed. I had plans ¨C big plans ¨C and now all of them were gone. Poof! So quickly, so decisively. ¡°Lisanne Station!¡± came the coachman¡¯s gruff call, and almost immediately the woman to my side awakened, sat up straight, and began fixing her tight blue curls with the utmost concentration. She looked as though she had never been sleeping at all. I wondered where she was headed to. Perhaps she was visiting family, or returning from a visit. Perhaps she, too, was down on her luck and going home. Once we had climbed out of the carriage, I took my cases from the coachman with thanks and watched until the carriage had traveled out of sight, turning back. Lisanne was a small town, but it was much bigger than the village I called home. My coach-mates were going to stay here, it seemed, but my final destination was a little ways down the valley, towards the sheer mountain that towered over the peaceful landscape of the countryside. I could walk the distance in a few hours, I supposed, so I¡¯d better get started. As I set off, I noticed the castle. Even from Lisanne one could see it, shimmering like a dark and foreboding mirage, perched on the edge of the sheer side of the mountain. Naturally, everyone in the region knew about the castle and its tragic history, but its residents were no more, and there was no family interested in purchasing the cursed structure that loomed over the little towns and fields in the valley below like an ever-watchful raven. Even this, I had missed. The dirt path that led away from the station and towards the mountain was empty. Few people ventured out to the valley, so most of the traffic that this road saw came from my village ¨C usually farmers driving their wagons to Lisanne to sell their goods or people seeking to purchase something that was not available in the small town. A little ways down the glow-brick road to the village, a small one-horse carriage caught up with me, its wooden wheels creaking and groaning under its own weight. The coachman, an older man with deep wrinkles and a smile that presented his two missing teeth, waved me down and rattled the carriage to a stop at my side. ¡°Headed for the village, young man?¡± he asked. The horse shook its head and snorted impatiently. ¡°Yes,¡± I said, taking in the state of the admittedly worn carriage. ¡°Are you headed there yourself?¡± ¡°Hop in,¡± the coachman invited me. ¡°Or scoot in next to me, if you¡¯d rather. I¡¯ll take you there.¡± ¡°Oh, it¡¯s not a very long way away,¡± I protested politely, and then added with the smallest twinge of embarrassment, ¡°and besides, I don¡¯t have much money on me to pay for the ride.¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. ¡°Nonsense, my friend,¡± the man replied with a chuckle. ¡°It¡¯s my pleasure! This here stretch of road is one of my favourites, you see. Would be even better with some company. No fare required! So, what say you to that?¡± Well, I said yes. It wasn¡¯t even a minute that I had climbed on to the bench and taken a seat next to him when he started chattering away. It was to be expected, I supposed. In small towns like these, newcomers were a source of intrigue. Besides, I didn¡¯t particularly mind it. ¡°You¡¯ve got family in the village?¡± he asked, eyeing me as if to spot any resemblances to someone he knew. ¡°Not anymore,¡± I replied. ¡°My father lived here all his life, but he passed away a while back.¡± ¡°Ah, so you¡¯re a returnee, are you?¡± the coachman said with a decisive nod. ¡°Well, it¡¯s always good to see young people who know the worth of the country. Too many of them up and leave, thinking there¡¯s some kind of gold out in the cities!¡± He shook his head with a tsk. ¡°Nothing better than life in the countryside, I¡¯ll tell you that much! Good for the lungs, good for the heart, good for soul!¡± I sensed a lecture coming, and in my desperation I grasped at the first question I could think of to change the subject. ¡°Do you make the trip to the village often? You live in Lisanne, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°That I do,¡± he said proudly. ¡°Small little house with a one-horse stable my father made himself. Been making the trip to the village almost every week now, even when there¡¯s no reason to go! I like this road. I always feel ¨C well, I always come back home feeling in high spirits, is all,¡± he said, scratching his stubbly jaw with a sheepish smile. ¡°Suppose it¡¯s a bit strange, when all the roads here are practically the same old country roads!¡± There was a lull in the conversation, but it didn¡¯t last too long. ¡°Tell you the truth, lad, the reason I made the trip ¨C the first time ¨C was that castle up there,¡± he said, nodding at the dark mass on top of the mountain. ¡°It¡¯s been empty as long as I¡¯ve lived in Lisanne, but one night ¨C oh, about five months ago now ¨C I saw lights! Lights, in the windows! Could hardly believe my eyes. Say, you haven¡¯t heard anything about any new tenants up there or anything of the sort, have you?¡± I shook my head apologetically. ¡°Regrettably, I haven¡¯t kept up with the news from home much, and with my father gone¡­ Well, there¡¯s nobody to keep me up to date, in any case. Perhaps you could ask the villagers? They would know better.¡± ¡°Well, I did, and it¡¯s the strangest thing!¡± the coachman replied as the village drew nearer. ¡°I did ask. Asked as many people as I could. Nobody knew a single thing about it, but I¡¯m sure ¨C I¡¯m sure I saw lights up there. If only someone could take a look-see¡­¡± ¡°That is strange,¡± I agreed, but thought nothing much more of it. To be fair, strange things often happened in the countryside. Some of it was simply a trick of the eyes, and some of it was real, but most of it was better left alone. If this man thought he¡¯d seen lights up in the castle ¨C well, then he either had or he hadn¡¯t. I wasn¡¯t about to go traipsing up to the castle to check if someone lived there. It was none of my business, and I wasn¡¯t about to get myself involved. ?? The coachman let me off at the village square. From there, I eagerly walked to my father¡¯s farm. I was happy to be home, regardless of the circumstances that had made it happen. I should have come home a long time ago, to visit, but ever since the death of my father, I had not felt myself prepared for such a step. Now, I found myself in a situation wherein I had no other choice but to face it. Surprisingly, it was a more welcome sight than I had imagined. Despite my father¡¯s passing, the farmhouse looked well taken care of, and I had a very good idea as to why that was. I opened the front gate and strolled up the beige cobblestone path, up the terracotta-tiled stairs, and knocked on the front door. At first, there was no response. I knocked again. The tiny patter of quick footsteps on the wooden floors sounded through the door, and in a short moment, it was unlocked and swung open to reveal Mawna. I smiled down at her, hoping she might remember me, and she stared up at me unmoved, her earth-brown eyes scrutinizing my face. ¡°Hello, Mawna,¡± I greeted her. ¡°It¡¯s me. Brieuc.¡± She tilted her head to one side, and all at once recognition animated her expression. ¡°Brieuc! You look all grown!¡± the hobgoblin exclaimed. ¡°I was grown before I left, Mawna,¡± I said with a chuckle, then gestured to my bags. ¡°It¡¯s a bit late, but I¡¯ve come home.¡± ¡°Come in, come in,¡± she said, pulling me through the door and ushering me into my family home. ¡°How good it is to see you again! If only your father was here to see you ¨C oh, how he¡¯d have loved that!¡± She crossed her arms, tapping her bare foot on the wooden planks of the floor. ¡°It¡¯s disgraceful, you know, going away for so long and not even coming by to visit. Your own father, no less! I¡¯d understand if it was your stepmother or that brat of hers ¨C but your father, Brieuc! How could you neglect him so?¡± It was a well-deserved scolding. All of it was true. But it didn¡¯t make me feel any less horrible. I cleared my throat. ¡°I know, Mawna,¡± I said quietly. ¡°I really made a mess of things there, and it¡¯s too late to put it right.¡± Mawna, ever the stubborn hobgoblin, seemed reluctant to concede. Finally, she sighed and shook her head. ¡°Well, as long as you know,¡± she said, ushering me into the kitchen and guiding me into a seat at the table. ¡°Good of you to have made the funeral arrangements, anyway,¡± she continued as she swept into a flurry of activity, pulling out various pots and pans and vegetables and a chopping board about the size of her whole body. She climbed onto a chair, brandished a knife I hadn¡¯t noticed her taking out of the kitchen drawers, and began chopping some spiral carrots quite aggressively. ¡°Would have been better if you¡¯d actually attended, of course, but it was good of you all the same, I suppose,¡± she muttered, a final barbed stab. ¡°Mawna, please,¡± I said helplessly. ¡°I did have other responsibilities, you know. I had a job and people working for me and rent to pay and a life--¡± ¡°You had a life back here just the same,¡± she said, waving the knife at me. ¡°You should have been here, and there¡¯s no excuse you can make for not making it happen.¡± I sighed in defeat. ¡°You¡¯re right, of course,¡± I said. ¡°But let¡¯s not have any more of that now, all right? I am tired, and I do miss him terribly, and I do regret not coming home sooner, and you are a sight for sore eyes ¨C as is everything here,¡± I added, taking in the kitchen that hadn¡¯t changed a bit since I¡¯d left for the city. ¡°You¡¯ve no idea how good it is to be home.¡± ¡°¡¯Course I do,¡± she replied, scrunching up her bulbous nose. ¡°Why else would I be home all the time? It¡¯s fools like you that don¡¯t know any better until it¡¯s too late.¡± I exhaled again, and she shrugged her little shoulders. Chapter 3 - Happy People The night of my arrival, I found myself unreasonably tired by my journey home. I¡¯d taken the time to unpack, bathe, and help Mawna in the kitchen. I was overwhelmed by a sense of belonging and peace ¨C to be home again, to be in a place that was completely incomparable, no matter what wonders lay in the world beyond. And so, I slept better than I had in a very long time, strong in my conviction that the beautiful, cozy farmhouse I grew up in was unlike any other place in the universe. I suppose all people feel the same about their homes. Memories of a generally rich and happy childhood overwhelmed my mind as I awoke with a peculiar excitement to a familiar melody. With the coming of the sun, the morning ringers would sing their song ¨C our song, which my great-great-great grandmother had taught them. Perched on our windowsills, the morning ringers would usher in the day. This morning was no different, I realized with a content sigh. I sat up and stretched my arms, looking through my window pane to see the morning ringer that stood there. My favourite had always been Eldo, whom I¡¯d named when I was a little boy. How beautiful he was, with his fluffy lavender plumage that was always just a bit too ruffled, and his red, elegant beard like a tiny lance. I would wake up to Eldo every morning, grateful for the fact that he had chosen me ¨C of all the members of my household, and of all the other morning ringers, he would come to me always. Only, it wasn¡¯t Endo that came to me this morning. In fact, my beautiful and loyal Endo had been replaced by another of his choir ¨C a morning ringer of magnificent blues and greens which I recognized as Valetin, the one who sang my father awake almost exclusively. Perhaps it was simply my imagination, but Valetin was not quite the ringer I remembered him to be. He sang half-heartedly, the tune coming quickly, and did not look into my window during the song. Then, when it was finished, he flew away, back to the old tree in the garden they called their home. Valetin, I realized, was heartbroken. My father¡¯s death had left a deep scar in his heart, and while morning ringers lived to see many generations of family come and pass, it wasn¡¯t often that a morning ringer would attach itself to one particular member as Endo and Valetin had done with me and my father. At the very least, Endo knew that I was not dead; that I had simply left. Valetin knew that my father was long gone and buried. Forever chained to the family they served, morning ringers could not simply up and leave; he must have been quite lonely in his grief and sadness. Perhaps I should have come home sooner, I thought with a twinge of guilt. Perhaps I should have cared more about everything my father had left behind, and less about the high-flying dreams of the hustling and bustling city. Though he could not speak, Valetin¡¯s behaviour had made it very clear that I had some work to do. It was the least I could do. After all, I had nothing better to do with my time. I was here for the long haul, and it seemed there was much to be taken care of. I rolled up my sleeves and slipped out of bed. Breakfast was a small, trifling thing that morning. Mawna had explained the night before that she only stopped by the house once a week in order to clean and keep everything in order, and the food she brought was often for her own lunch and dinner on those days. It was simply luck that I had returned on the very day that she was at the farmhouse going about her business. She didn¡¯t feel right, she¡¯d said, living here all alone with the whole family gone, and she certainly wouldn¡¯t listen to reason when I tried to tell her that it made more sense for her to be here to take care of the home while I was away. Regardless, she¡¯d given me my dinner, cleaned up at some point in the night while I lay dozing on my bed, and disappeared to whatever abode she called home nowadays. I didn¡¯t have much stocked in the house, but there was some jerky I¡¯d found in the pantry and dried tea was always present in our home, given that my father enjoyed withering his own tea and producing different mixtures from the herb garden he kept behind the house, just outside the kitchen door. Tea and jerky it was ¨C at the very least, it was delicious, but I needed to purchase some supplies soon or that jerky wouldn¡¯t last the rest of the day. I spent most of that morning traipsing around my father¡¯s farm ¨C my farm, now ¨C and taking stock of everything. Mawna had taken care to ensure that everything remained the way it was in the running of the farm, as my father had instructed her to do so before his passing. Between her and Kasir, the garden gnome, everything was well in order. I wanted to speak with Kasir about the farm itself, but he wouldn¡¯t be awake until dusk, and so I had no choice but to survey the land myself. Or, I would have, if it hadn¡¯t been for my grumbling stomach. It seemed that jerky alone was not enough to sate my hunger. Off to the village I went, with whatever few gold, silver, and copper coins I still had to my name safely tucked into my leather coin purse. Surely they were enough to purchase basic food supplies, and when I was finally running the farm as it should have been run, I could make use of a little of the produce while selling off the rest of it. After all, my father¡¯s farm had always been quite prosperous. It was now my duty to return it to its former glory. The walk to the village center was short and entirely uneventful. I walked by hardworking old Idel, whom I¡¯d waved to in passing. Idel was an old friend of my father¡¯s father, and somehow he was still energetic enough to work his fields with gusto. Never once did he miss a day of work out in his farm, and while his land was small and his children had all moved on years before I¡¯d left for the city, the man continued to ensure that the farm brought in a respectable profit. It couldn¡¯t have been easy, doing everything as a one-man show. My father had had the benefit of enlisting the help of the gnomes he¡¯d inherited from his father before him, as well as my help, while I¡¯d still been living under his roof. As far as I knew, Idel had never bought a gnome, despite how well they aided in garden and farm work. The village center was nothing more than a cobblestone square with a fountain in the middle, around which were located the various premises I¡¯d come to know like the backs of my hands. There was the Smithy & Forge, where anything metal could be made, fixed, and repurposed. More often than not, this was where one went where they wanted their teapot mended, or a frying pan made. Anyone with a horse would also drop by for horseshoes. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Beside it was the Knight¡¯s Blade Bakery, named after a visit from a renowned knight so long ago now that there was nobody left alive who remembered it ¨C or, for that matter, who had received the story from those who did. All of the bread, buns, and cakes in the bakery were decorated with a seal bearing the figure of a proud and noble knight, raising his glinting sword to the sky. And there was Morton¡¯s Goods, the sole grocer¡¯s in the village, and the only place to find such supplies as candles, sweets, quills, paper, baskets, soap, ink, cloth pins, coffee beans, sugar, salt, and so many other bits and bobs that it made the place look quite cluttered. I remember as a child how overwhelmed I¡¯d be when stepping into the shop, my gaze dragging over all of the offerings on the shelves. They even had vegetables and fruits for those who did not grow them themselves ¨C mostly people who lived here, in the village center, above or near their shops. Then there was the apothecary, the inn, the feed store, and the clothing store. If all of this sounds relatively minimal, that is because it was. The town was simple, bare, and didn¡¯t have much more to offer than the community its residents fostered. Here, one would not even find a post office; whatever mail sent to us would find its way to Lisanne, and every now and then people with business in the nearby town would drop by their post office to check and see if anyone had been sent something. It was early enough that some of the shops still hadn¡¯t opened for business yet, but, as fortune would have it, Morton¡¯s Goods was always the first shop open and the last shop closed in the village, and today was no different. I took a deep breath to prepare myself for what lay within and stepped inside. A chill of nostalgia ran down my spine at the little trinkle of the bell above the door. Morton the Sixth stood from where he had been crouching behind the counter organizing something or other and offered me a wide grin of a smile. I suppose, looking back, that alone should have been enough to make me wonder. ¡°Good morning!¡± he greeted me with a chipper tone, causing me to pause, frozen in surprise. ¡°Welcome to Morton¡¯s Goods. What can I do for you today, young man?¡± For the smallest moment, I stared at him, waiting for the recognition to twist his expression, but it did not happen. Ah ¨C perhaps he simply doesn¡¯t recognize me. I cleared my throat. ¡°Good morning,¡± I said, not particularly eager to remind him who I was. As a child, I¡¯d stolen a few candies from his store when he wasn¡¯t looking, and I¡¯d been reprimanded for it quite strongly by my father, who¡¯d found me out almost as soon as I¡¯d returned home. While I¡¯d brought everything back and apologized shamefacedly to the store owner, Morton the Sixth had never quite forgiven my misstep. Ever since that incident, he¡¯d scowl and watch me with suspicion whenever I stepped into the shop. Still, it isn¡¯t as though I am so very different when I left the village for the city, I thought. He should still remember me. Well, if he didn¡¯t know who I was, I was in no hurry to do the work for him. ¡°I¡¯m in need of some supplies. Mind if I use one of your baskets?¡± ¡°Certainly,¡± he replied, pulling a basket up from behind the counter and handing it to me. ¡°Take your time!¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, and began to make the rounds, pulling items off the shelves and setting them gingerly in the woven straw basket. Peach confiture, peanut paste, coffee beans, and a few other items I thought perhaps I might need. Since the garden had been taken care of while I was away, I didn¡¯t see the need for vegetables or fruits; I was certain there would be some to grab when I returned home. It wasn¡¯t until I set the basket on the wooden counter and paid for everything that Morton the Sixth had quipped: ¡°No candies in your pockets this time?¡± He said it so easily, so good-naturedly, that I knew he wasn¡¯t accusing me or harboring any suspicion. Nevertheless, it felt off-tune, for him to joke about a matter that had bothered him enough for years after the fact that he had always watched me like a hawk whenever I¡¯d stepped foot in his store. I blinked, wondering if I had even heard him correctly. ¡°Er ¨C no, sir,¡± I replied uncertainly. ¡°Not this time.¡± Morton the Sixth chuckled and shook his head, then pushed the goods towards me. ¡°Well, then! I hope you have a good day, son.¡± Son? Hope you have a good day? Had Morton the Sixth suffered some kind of terrible head injury while I¡¯d been away? Had he suddenly found enlightenment and wanted to forgive those who had wronged him? This man was completely different from the Morton the Sixth that I remembered from before I¡¯d left the village. Slightly unsettled by this, but not entirely averse to it, I decided to accept his good humour. ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, taking hold of the basket. ¡°I¡¯ll return this basket to you as soon as possible. Have a good day!¡± I was still thinking about the incident long after I¡¯d finished my business in the village center. Basket full with the supplies from Morton¡¯s Goods and freshly baked bread rolls from the Knight¡¯s Blade Bakery, I was on my way back home when I passed once again by Idel¡¯s little farmhouse. This time around, he was near the fence, and I paused for a short time to speak with him. Idel, too, seemed in good spirits. In fact, everyone I¡¯d met or passed by in the village center seemed quite happy and carefree, too. Perhaps these were the benefits of country living. Perhaps they had always been this happy ¨C and I had been, too ¨C and it was my time in the fast city that had made all the difference. The contrast now was so stark, I was beginning to honestly wonder why I¡¯d ever left at all. I should have stayed here and apprenticed at the Knight¡¯s Blade Bakery. ¡°Good to have you back, Brieuc,¡± Idel told me as he leaned against his property fence. ¡°Last I¡¯d heard, you¡¯d left for the big city! How¡¯s that coming along?¡± I set my basket of goods down beside me. ¡°It went well, for a while,¡± I told him honestly. ¡°I quite enjoyed it. But the city¡¯s expensive, and competition can be quite fierce ¨C and people quite fickle ¨C so I suppose some rough weather was to be expected.¡± ¡°Ah, all¡¯s well that ends well,¡± the old man said with a big grin. Behind him, a little girl stepped out of the farmhouse, her white overalls blinding in the sunlight. She giggled, then looked at me, then giggled some more. ¡°What a joy it must be to be home!¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I replied. ¡°It has been quite lovely.¡± The giggling still hadn¡¯t stopped, though the girl had moved on round the side of the house and seemed to be crouching down, examining something ¨C an insect, perhaps. I couldn¡¯t see what was so funny, but children will laugh at most anything. ¡°Who¡¯s that young lady?¡± I asked, nodding towards her. ¡°Ah ¨C that¡¯s Lily,¡± Idel said, glancing towards her. ¡°My eldest son¡¯s daughter.¡± She sprang up and ran off behind the house, laughing all the way. ¡°Came to live with me after her parents passed,¡± he went on, turning back to me. His smile never left his face. ¡°Oh ¨C Idel, I¡¯m so sorry,¡± I said, shocked. ¡°I ¨C My condolences.¡± He waved a hand. ¡°Oh, well,¡± he said with a content sigh, then chuckled. ¡°Both in the ground, now.¡± ¡°...Right,¡± I said, shifting uncomfortably. Not the reaction one expected, but then, one never knew what to expect from a grieving person, did they? Nevertheless, something about his reaction seemed to put a chill in my bones, and I decided that it was high time I got moving. I picked up my basket. ¡°I should head home,¡± I told Idel, and took my leave. When the familiar sight of my ancestral home popped up, the relief flooded my body. For some reason that I couldn¡¯t quite explain, speaking with Idel had left me nervous. I hurried into my house and tried my best to forget about it all. After all, there was quite a lot of work to be done. Chapter 4 - Illegible Writing I was putting my newly purchased goods away when the door swung open and in trudged Mawna, her short legs drumming against the floorboards. Today her auburn hair was braided into twin plaits, and her sun-drenched skin contrasted with the bright yellow frock that went down to her calves. She even had a little flower in her hair, and despite her ever-grumpy expression, all of it suited her. She looked positively adorable, though I would have never told her that, for fear she¡¯d wollop me over the head. ¡°Well, at least you know to make yourself useful!¡± she muttered, still sore about the fact that I hadn¡¯t visited home before my father¡¯s passing. ¡°Suppose you¡¯ll be wanting to raid the garden for some fresh produce, won¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Good morning, Mawna,¡± I greeted her slowly, putting away the last of the fresh rolls in the bread box. ¡°I think I¡¯ll have to bring in what I can. I¡¯ll need to take stock of the farm, too. Has Kasir been taking care of everything while I was away?¡± Mawna shrugged, climbing on top of a chair and then onto the kitchen table. ¡°That stubborn gnome isn¡¯t getting paid for nothing!¡± She sat at the edge of the well-worn wooden table, letting her legs dangle back and forth over the side. ¡°Seems to me that the farm is running the same as it always has. Only, we haven¡¯t sold anything, of course. That¡¯s not for us to do.¡± ¡°Right,¡± I said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. ¡°I¡¯ll have to get on that. Does the produce go to waste?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t let anything go to waste in this household, and you know that well,¡± she said with a huff. ¡°All of the milk is turned into cheese, so it can be stored for long periods of time. The cellar¡¯s overflowing with wheels of all kinds of cheeses ¨C there¡¯s no room to stand in there! And all of the rainbow wool¡¯s been put aside, along with those pesky quills from the quill-cows. Not many places to store it, so I think you¡¯ll find the attic¡¯s a bit stuffed at the moment.¡± ¡°To my deep misfortune,¡± came a familiar voice from a nearby mirror. ¡°You¡¯d think they¡¯d have enough decency to leave my space alone!¡± I glanced over at the mirror that hung beside the kitchen door. There was no reflection there, no shape, but I knew that was where the voice was coming from. ¡°Espel,¡± I said with a smile. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you again!¡± There was a sniff. ¡°Yes, well, I would believe you, Brieuc, but you didn¡¯t exactly look for me when you got home, did you?¡± Espel¡¯s disembodied voice asked. ¡°Didn¡¯t even look for me this morning before you headed out. I¡¯ve been in this house since it was built, and this is the kind of disrespect I have to deal with. I¡¯m practically an ancestor. You should be ashamed of yourself!¡± ¡°I am sorry, Espel,¡± I said quietly, fighting the urge to grin widely. ¡°I have been a bit preoccupied, my friend. I really did miss you.¡± A figure stepped into the mirror ¨C vague and undefined, only a shade of a shadow. ¡°Well, now that you¡¯re here, you can do something about the nightmare of a mess your hobgoblin has left in my attic, hm?¡± Espel demanded. ¡°It¡¯s bad enough that I¡¯ve been stuck with only her company for the past two months! Do you have any idea the kind of foul mouth she¡¯s got on her?¡± ¡°Come now, Espel,¡± I said, glancing over at Mawna. She didn¡¯t seem perturbed in the slightest, focused instead on smoothing out the wrinkles in her yellow dress. ¡°I¡¯m sure we can deal with the things in the attic. We can sell them right away, can¡¯t we, Mawna?¡± ¡°I¡¯d say you¡¯d better,¡± Mawna replied. ¡°You smell like you haven¡¯t got a single penny to your name.¡± I stood, rolling up my sleeves. ¡°Well, you¡¯re not wrong,¡± I said, fully aware that she wasn¡¯t referring to my body odor. Hobgoblins had a nose for money, and she could sense that I was flat out broke. ¡°We should waste no time getting started, then. We can begin by taking inventory and seeing if my father¡¯s clients are interested in purchasing any of that iridescent wool and those quills. That should bring in a pretty penny on its own, I suppose.¡± ¡°You¡¯re going to have to sell a lot more than that to keep yourself afloat here,¡± Mawna said, but she jumped off the table and landed on the tiled floor with a loud thud. ¡°But it¡¯s a better start than nothing. No time to waste!¡± She sighed and waved for me to follow her. ?? My father¡¯s study, bursting at the seams with shelves of books and scrolls, was completely untouched. I could feel his presence here, lingering in the air. The papers that he¡¯d left on his desk, the stack of books he¡¯d been reading, the letters he¡¯d been responding to, the quills he¡¯d been using ¨C everything was as it was. I half-expected him to pop up behind me, pat me on the back, and ask me where I¡¯ve been all this time. A shiver ran down my spine. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡°Well, what are you waiting for?¡± Mawna demanded, standing beside my father¡¯s desk. She was just about a few inches taller than the table, and she ducked underneath it to climb onto his creaky wooden chair. It wasn¡¯t long before her head popped up from behind the desk, and she leaned over the surface, rifling through the papers. ¡°He¡¯s got the ledgers here somewhere, I think,¡± she muttered. ¡°Or was it one of those books?¡± She reached out and tapped on the cover of one of the leather-bound notebooks my father liked to use. He had countless of them ¨C most filled to the brim with notes on various plants, animals, and bits and pieces of interest. There was no rhyme or reason to any of them, so whenever he wanted to find something he¡¯d written again, he would always spend time going through each of their contents one by one. ¡°Contents, please,¡± Mawna ordered. She wasn¡¯t speaking to me. The book shook slightly, its pages bending to form the vague form of a mouth. ¡°Oh,¡± it said, clearly disappointed. ¡°It¡¯s you. Well, sorry to disappoint, but you¡¯ll have to read his chicken scratch yourself, hobgoblin,¡± it replied. ¡°You¡¯d think a grown man would at least take the time to improve his handwriting!¡± Mawna¡¯s lips twitched in irritation, and I stepped in before her temper got the best of her and the books decided to clamp shut. Then where would we be? ¡°I¡¯ll take a look,¡± I said hurriedly, grabbing the book before the little hobgoblin could. ¡°I¡¯m sure I can figure it all out,¡± I added confidently. I flipped open the book, but was met with truly the worst handwriting I¡¯d ever laid my eyes upon. Was this my father¡¯s handwriting? It couldn¡¯t be¡­ I remembered his writing being a little scribbly, a little messy, but it was never this illegible! The script was wobbly, shaky, and looked more like a toddler¡¯s attempt at imitating writing than my father¡¯s usual way. ¡°Did he write in you recently?¡± I asked the book. ¡°If by recently you mean over the past year, then yes,¡± the book told me. ¡°I told him none of it was legible, but of course, you humans care little for the opinions of others, don¡¯t you?¡± I frowned and rubbed the area between my brows. ¡°Was he very ill before he passed, Mawna?¡± Mawna avoided my gaze. ¡°He wasn¡¯t well for a while, but he always said it was nothing to worry about.¡± ¡°What do you mean, he wasn¡¯t well?¡± I demanded, setting the book down in front of her. ¡°Look at that! That¡¯s not my father¡¯s writing. Something must have been very, very wrong. Why didn¡¯t anybody contact me?¡± Mawna sniffed and crossed her arms. ¡°He didn¡¯t want to worry you, the old fool,¡± she said, glaring at the open notebook before her. ¡°He kept saying it was nothing to worry about. Besides, I couldn¡¯t very well go against his orders, could I? You know how it is for us hobgoblins.¡± She huffed and jumped down from the chair. ¡°You should have come back on your own, anyway. But it seemed like you were all too happy with your new life in the city. Forgot all about us back here, didn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°That¡¯s--¡± I bit my lip. I was about to say that that wasn¡¯t true, but that would have been a lie. I should have gone home ¨C I knew that. It had nagged on me even while I was away in the city. Even when I had successfully opened my bakery, even when I had finally broken even and started making profit, even when I had been able to afford the chef I¡¯d wanted ¨C even through all of those celebrations, I knew, in the back of my mind, that I needed to go home and visit my father. It¡¯s strange, how life seems to pull at you in every which way. I was young and foolish, and the city was everything I¡¯d dreamt it would be. Or, at least, that¡¯s what I¡¯d convinced myself of. I had allowed it to seduce me completely, to keep me from my roots and take all of my fruits. It was my fault. Mawna had every right to be angry with me. I should have been here. I sighed, leaning against the table and covering my eyes with my hands. I should have been here. There was only the sound of my pounding, twisting heart and my silent breathing for a moment, until at last it was accompanied, briefly, by the dull thudding of Mawna¡¯s feet as she left the study and went off down the hall, leaving me alone with my guilt. ?? So it was that I found myself back at the village center, my spirits completely downtrodden. It was almost midday, and while I now had food back at the house, I didn¡¯t want to face Mawna or Espel. I wanted to be alone ¨C to marinate in my own misery for a little while. My stomach grumbled in protest, reminding me that my misery was all good and well, but it still needed feeding. I still had a few coins to my purse, so I decided to go to the inn ¨C against my better judgment, since I¡¯d been quite resolved to save as much of my money as I could to tide me over until I could make some more through selling the farm¡¯s produce. I was in such a foul mood, however, that it mattered little to me at that moment. I didn¡¯t want to go home. I didn¡¯t want to return to the house where my father had spent his last days, evidently so sick he could no longer write legibly in his beloved notebooks. I didn¡¯t want to deal with the fact that I had failed him ¨C and I had, no matter how I¡¯d looked at it. For some reason, I had naively believed that my father would be there for me forever, and that he could not possible leave me so soon. The inn was not very full at this time of day. It was just an hour or two before the general lunchtime crowd would pop by ¨C and anyway there wouldn¡¯t be many of them in a village this small ¨C and so I did not pay too much attention to my surroundings. Even the cheerful inn-keeper, whose face I remembered vaguely as they had taken up their post just months before I¡¯d left the village, must have noticed my irritation through my short, curt replies to their questions. They were good-natured enough to ignore my ill manners. I ordered something ¨C anything ¨C the first thing I¡¯d laid my eyes upon ¨C and proceeded to the table farthest into the corner of the large room, beside a window that overlooked a grassy field. Staring at the world outside, beyond this little inn, with the sun beating down against the emerald blades of grass and the breeze ruffling them ever so gently, I felt a sense of displacement. My misery and guilt had no place there, under the stark gaze of the sun. Or perhaps there was exactly where they belonged ¨C out in the open, to be experienced and bleached by the sunlight and warmed by the heat and lived. After all, what else was there for me to do? There was a jug of water and an upside-down cup on the table, and I poured myself some water. Not to drink it ¨C I wasn¡¯t particularly thirsty ¨C but to have something to do with my hands. Holding the cool cup of water in my hands was oddly comforting. It was only a few minutes before the inn-keeper called me ¨C my food was ready ¨C and I stood hurriedly to fetch my order. In my haste and my mood, I was less attentive than I should have been. Somehow, I ended up bumping into a burly man whose crooked nose ¨C a remnant from a fight which had left it broken ¨C was all too familiar to me. Water poured down the front of his shirt. My food ¨C a plate of cooked beans ¨C splattered down alongside it, ruining not only his shirt but a good portion of his pants for good measure. I froze. The man¡¯s piercing gaze found mine. I couldn¡¯t believe what was happening. Part of me was frightened. Part of me was sorry. And part of me was triumphant. In one fell swoop, I had run into my childhood bully and poured my lunch all over him. Chapter 5 - Laughter is the Best Medicine For one terrible moment, the two of us were frozen ¨C me with the plate still in my hand, still hovering, still tilted but now empty, and him with arms slightly pulled back, the beans still making their way down his clothes and dropping to the floor with tiny thuds. And then he looked at me, his direct gaze still as challenging as I remembered it had always been. He lifted his arm, and I flinched reflexively. Instead of hitting me, or shoving me away, I was shocked when he placed his hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. His face broke into a cheerful smile. ¡°No worries about that,¡± he said, patting my shoulder. ¡°Happens to all of us.¡± I should have turned around and walked away, grateful that he supposedly couldn¡¯t recognize me, but it made absolutely no sense, and the logical part of my brain stared back at him uncomprehendingly. ¡°Bruce,¡± I said stupidly. ¡°It¡¯s me. Brieuc.¡± Bruce ¨C the same Bruce who had bullied me all throughout my childhood, had made it difficult for me to attend school when I knew he would be there, and who used to lob stones at me when I was working in my father¡¯s farm ¨C chuckled. ¡°I know who you are!¡± he said, patting my shoulder again. ¡°Good to have you back, Brieuc. Been a while since we last saw you roundabouts.¡± My mind flashed back to the day I left the village. I had a very clear memory of Bruce, walking along the side of the road as I sat in the little coach, leaving the only home I had ever known. A very clear memory of Bruce looking up as I passed, making eye contact with me, and sending me a particularly rude and obscene hand gesture. This was that same Bruce ¨C the one who had held a strange hostility for me since we were just boys ¨C and yet he clapped me on the shoulders and welcomed me home now. It was enough to make me feel quite disoriented. ¡°Are you¡­ Are you alright?¡± I asked him, because I did not know what else to say. ¡°¡¯Course,¡± Bruce replied, tilting his head to the side. The smile never left his face ¨C but most unsettling about it all was that it seemed a genuine thing, not the least bit like the kind of smirk he used to give me when he was about to make my life as difficult as he could. ¡°You¡¯ve moved back into your father¡¯s house now, eh?¡± I nodded mutely. ¡°Well, I suppose it¡¯s your house, now,¡± he continued. ¡°Did a few odd jobs for your old man before he died, you know. Just this and that around the farm. It was nice. Always felt a lot happier around that farm.¡± ¡°You used to throw stones at me,¡± I said. It was the only thing that came to my mouth in the moment, but it felt somewhat appropriate. The more he spoke with me as though we were old friends that had just been reunited, the angrier I felt. ¡°You used to wait for me to leave the farm and throw mud at me.¡± Bruce¡¯s brows raised. ¡°Oh ¨C I did, didn¡¯t I?¡± he replied, then shook his head with an easy grin. ¡°Bit of good fun, I suppose. Good times.¡± Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°No,¡± I said, stepping away. ¡°No, they weren¡¯t.¡± ?? Meeting with Bruce had felt like the universe had poured a bucket of cold water over my head. I was in part confused and in part enraged. Something about the whole thing felt abnormal, and perhaps I had simply misapprehended the true meaning behind his behaviour. Maybe it wasn¡¯t genuine at all, but rather a part of a ruse, another mean plot to make me feel horrible. It had certainly worked, if that was the case. But Bruce had always been a straightforward person. Certainly, he¡¯d hide from the adults as a child and pretend he was as innocent as a garden gnome in the day, but when it was just me and him, he was nothing short of evil. He didn¡¯t resort to these kinds of roundabout tricks. Did he? I wouldn¡¯t know anymore, I told myself. People changed over time. Things changed. Regardless, it was better left behind me. I did not want to meet the man again. With my lunch plans completely ruined, I trudged back home, resigned to whipping up some small meal for myself. Despite the day¡¯s sour turn of events, I was still hungry, and I saw no reason to keep myself from eating simply because I felt miserable. It wasn¡¯t until I was well past the edge of Idel¡¯s land that I heard the door to his house open, and out came the little girl. Lily ¨C that was her name, wasn¡¯t it? She wore a blue dress now, and she clutched on to a worn old teddy bear that seemed as though it should have been thrown away a very long time ago. Just like the last time I¡¯d stopped by, the little girl was giggling again ¨C no, this time, it was a bit stronger than just a giggle. It was laughter, from the bottom of her belly, loud and raucous. She could hardly walk without another peal of laughter bringing her almost to her knees. I found myself smiling at her, as one tends to do naturally when they see others laughing so wholeheartedly. Whatever it was that had amused her, I should have liked to know what it was! Perhaps it would lift my own spirits somewhat. If she saw me, the little girl did not make it clear. She went round the back of her grandfather¡¯s house again, disappearing from view, just as she had the last time I¡¯d dropped by and spoken to Idel. ¡°She¡¯s been laughing like that since last night.¡± Idel¡¯s gravelly voice startled me, and I jumped to find him standing beside me on the glow-brick road that went past our lands and connected us to the village center. ¡°Seems to me that living here has done her some good,¡± he added. It took me a moment to register his words. ¡°Laughing like that since last night?¡± ¡°Oh, yes,¡± he said, his own smile as wide as ever. ¡°Could hardly sleep with her laughing like that all night. Non-stop, you know. Couldn¡¯t even eat her breakfast this morning. Almost choked, she was laughing so hard!¡± He shrugged and gave a contented sigh as he watched his recently orphaned granddaughter pop in and out of view as she ran around the backyard. ¡°She must really like it here. Who wouldn¡¯t?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but is that¡­ normal?¡± I asked dubiously. Even then, she hadn¡¯t stopped laughing. ¡°I¡¯m quite certain that there must be something wrong there...¡± ¡°Wrong?¡± Idel¡¯s bushy brows shot up in surprise. ¡°There is nothing wrong with a little happiness, is there? That poor child has been through the ringer, but here, she¡¯s as happy as a hobgoblin in a mansion. Everyone¡¯s happy here. Why would that be wrong?¡± While he did not seem offended in the least, his good humour ever-present, I still felt it prudent to tread carefully. ¡°It is good that she is happy, Idel ¨C of course it is,¡± I said placatingly. ¡°But, surely you can see the problem here. You said yourself that she couldn¡¯t even finish her food ¨C she almost choked on it ¨C and that she¡¯s been laughing like that ever since last night! Idel, there has to be something wrong with her.¡± ¡°Nonsense!¡± Idel replied stubbornly. ¡°Lily is as healthy and as happy as a garden gnome in the moonlight, my lad! Laughter is the best kind of medicine there is, don¡¯t you know? There is absolutely nothing to worry about at all!¡± I wanted to protest some more, but he opened his gate and stepped inside. ¡°Now, I¡¯ve got some lovely potatoes that need harvesting before sundown. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve got your own lot of work to do back at home. Get going, lad, or you¡¯ll miss the best part of the day!¡± And with that, the old man was walking up to his house, whistling a cheerful tune I¡¯d never heard before. For a moment, I watched in disbelief. Had Idel always been so bull-headed? Had he always been so¡­ so carefree? Was I wrong about Lily? Had I overstepped my bounds? I went on my way, and all the while, Lily¡¯s laughter followed me, growing fainter and fainter as I went farther and farther, and I could not help but think that something terrible was going to happen. BONUS: The Trees Have Eyes At first glance, this seems creepy. Okay, no matter what I say, it¡¯s always going to be creepy. But hopefully less creepy if I explain it? So here goes: Brieuc¡¯s countryside village exists at the foot of a mountain, and perched on the edge of the mountain, overlooking the village, is a mysterious castle. To get to that castle, you¡¯d have to go up the mountain. But there¡¯s a most peculiar forest you¡¯d have to go through¡­ A forest where every tree has eyes, and all of them follow you around as you pass through¡­ How to explain the eyes? They¡¯re¡­ almost vestigial. Is that the right word? Probably not. Basically, the eyes do see, but they don¡¯t see. They see you walking around among them, but they don¡¯t see enough (or get sentient enough) to then judge your clothing style or wonder why in the world you¡¯re wrapped in all those layers of cloth when you could just grow yourself a nice thick layer of bark. The eyes are part of a defense mechanism for the trees, allowing them to sense threats and react accordingly. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Say you¡¯re a soon-to-be-deeply-unfortunate traveler making your way through this not-at-all-creepy forest. It¡¯s getting dark. You¡¯re not going to be able to see anything soon. (Sure, the nice lady at the inn told you not to make that journey until morning, but these country folk are always so superstitious!) You decide to bring out your handy dandy torch and light it on fire. Voila - light! And then you die. What did you do to deserve such a fate? Because the eyes see. Fire is bad for trees. Fire is dangerous. Fire is a threat. And these trees aren¡¯t completely helpless. They can release a deadly toxin into the air to battle any threat they may sense. So, you¡¯ve made a deeply unfortunate mistake, and you¡¯ve paid for it with your life. But, again, the eyes are more like visual sensors that recognize specific things. They recognize fire because fire = threat. They recognize enough that if you were to bring in an axe and plunge it into one of their trunks, you = threat. Equally, if you¡¯re carrying fire, you = threat. Since they¡¯re not registering that they¡¯re on fire, that means that instead of shooting water droplets out into the air, they will instead deploy deadly toxins. To get rid of you. The thing carrying the fire. (And then, if the torch causes a forest fire, they will proceed to shoot water droplets into the air.) Okay, so we¡¯ll pretend that that makes total sense and that there is absolutely no flaw in the evolutionary logic of my fantasy eye-trees. BONUS: Smoldering Tortoises To be fair, there is something slightly terrifying about the smoldering tortoise, as adorable as it sounds in my head.
A smoldering tortoise is a tortoise with a cracked-ember-type shell. Basically, imagine something kind of like this but as a shell:
They¡¯re really great at warming your house during the winter or colder days, so it¡¯s nice to have them pop in and get used to your fireplace. They will likely not wander out of your fireplace if your create a good environment for them, but even if they do, it¡¯s not particularly dangerous as long as you¡¯re keeping an eye on what they¡¯re up to. Wouldn¡¯t want them to set your favourite blanket on fire or anything. They¡¯re basically like walking heaters.
They like eating anything as long as it¡¯s been burned. Accidentally burned a batch of cookies? Leave them in your fireplace. Need some nice snacks to feed your smoldering tortoise? Burn some sticks or an old shoe or something and throw it in there. They¡¯re very easy to feed, very low-maintenance in that regard. You can pretty much toss anything into the fireplace, and when it¡¯s burned enough, they¡¯ll eat it.
Do not throw water on these little fellas (well, I say ¡°little¡±¡­). They will be very angry with you, and you do not want an angry smoldering tortoise in your house when you are not fireproof. And they actually need fire to live, because they can die if their smolder ever stops smoldering (?), so they¡¯ll need to take a fire bath every now and then in your fireplace (or wherever else there is fire.) When they do that, it makes very nice crackly noises and a bit of a pleasant smoky smell ^^ The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
But here¡¯s the (slightly terrifying) catch: it¡¯s an interdimensional creature. In other words, it will pop in and out of existence, moving from one realm to the next. Little is known about interdimensional creatures, but they¡¯re certainly not an uncommon occurrence, especially in the countryside. There is a theory that by making your fireplace as attractive as possible for them, they¡¯ll create a sort of ¡°anchor¡± that allows them to keep returning to your fireplace often. They will know that in that particular anchor, they will find a nice firebath and food and will often come back to visit. There is also a theory that they can smell/sense a fire burning at a specific area, even when they¡¯re in another realm completely, and will travel to the place where the fire is. You just have to be careful that they don¡¯t pop into existence and set something on fire by accident.
It¡¯s not uncommon to find smoldering tortoises randomly hanging out in an area where a big fire has taken place. But little is known about their lives outside of how they are experienced in Brieuc¡¯s realm. Do they have a home realm that they come from? What¡¯s it like over there? What are the other realms like? Are there any other realms for them to visit? How do they have babies? Mysteries, mysteries everywhere.
But they¡¯re cute little potential arsonists. BONUS: Iridescent Sheep
So, these sheep have iridescent wool, which is neat because *iridescent*, but it¡¯s also neat because I recently learned about the only mammal to have iridescent fur: the golden mole. (Here¡¯s a link to a short article about it.) And apparently, its iridescent fur does great at repelling water.
So basically, these iridescent sheep have iridescent wool that also does a great job at repelling water. Which makes it wool that you can create jackets and raincoats and cloaks out of, so that you, fellow adventurer, can wear them in the rain without becoming a sopping wet mess as you travel. A must-have in any explorer''s suitcase, really.
In A Cure for Happiness, Brieuc¡¯s family farm has iridescent sheep. They sell the wool to factories that then take that wool and turn it into yarn which they can then sell or make tight-knit water-proof clothing out of. Because its main use is to create clothing that protects you from the rain, the yarn has to be pretty fine so that the result can be a tightly-knit shield. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Also, it¡¯s really hard to dye the wool/yarn from iridescent sheep, so whatever is made from it tends to stay iridescent. I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the worst thing in the world, though. It''s a classic look, and everyone who can even call themselves somewhat stylish in the smallest sense of the word own an iridescent-wool jacket. Or, at least, a (very) wide-brimmed iridescent-wool hat. Or a cape. You get the gist. As long as Brieuc''s supplying high-quality, genuine iridescent wool, his farm will never go out of business, because it''s always on demand. But in order to provide high-quality iridescent wool, these sheep have to be pampered. And when I say pampered, I don''t mean a little pat on the head and a little extra feed in their trough. I''m talking the highest-grade food money can buy - and each sheep gets a personal bowl. Weekly bathing trips to the river. Only the best mud-soap to wash them with. A visit from the hoof specialist once a month. And - a family secret that Brieuc''s father made him swear to never tell anyone - a few minutes with each sheep at the end of each evening, to talk to them, to ''tuck them in'', as it were. Drama queens and divas, the lot of them. But be warned: iridescent sheep are an envious lot. If you give something to one of them, you''d better give it to all of them.
There are probably going to be some more fun facts about the iridescent sheep, but for now, this is the main idea behind their concept.