lmaoooooooooo what you BIT wolf???? does he REMEMBER. what. lol, comma, lmao
he probably deserved it tbh nobody is THAT polite and reserved while secretly being a huge battle pervert without having g
The first story I ever learned was the story of the house I grew up in. Generations upon generations upon generations ago, when Oaretsch itself was less village and more a smudge on the road between larger towns, my ancestor Kaleva planted a pomegranate seed.
Why it was a pomegranate I couldn’t say. By the time I lived in the house, entire walls were woven of espaliered fruit trees. Pomegranate, apple, fig, and lemon intertwined made up much of the southern walls. It was always pomegranates, though, that we ate when we celebrated that first seed, and from that seed multiplied many others. Kaleva loved amply, and his love built many rooms in the house, and his children in turn loved many people, and as the house grew, new seeds, new trees coaxed to make room for them all, so did Oaretsch as well.
By the time I was born, Oaretsch was one of the largest towns in Almachadta, though I still call it a village. It sits not exactly opposite where the Centrelight tethers to the earth, but near enough. It is a village of weavers and spinners, of dyers and tailors. Most members of Kaleva’s family were weavers. My grandparent, Iikka, was no different. What was different is by that time, it was only Iikka and I in this sprawling house that had once been brimming with people. Many of the rooms were full of items whose stories hand been lost; we lived in only a very small part of that house—the hearthroom, the atelier, the open-air atrium where we collected rainwater in a shallow pool. Later on, I would realize how strange it was to live in such a large, empty house. At the time, it was simply how it had always been.
However, sometime, around when I was nine, something had started to shift. The village headwoman, Marjaana, was always over at our house. This was nothing new. Marjaana was one of Iikka’s friends, and Iikka had few friends in Oaretsch. I never understood why, at the time, because they treated me as if I were something precious, but in retrospect they were difficult—stubborn, proud, and sharp-tongued. Marjaana was one of the few people who seemed to find delight in that. She would come by and play cards late into the night. But Marjaana wasn’t coming by to play cards anymore—she mostly came to scream at Iikka, and Iikka screamed back.
It was about the house. It was about the village. Marjaana wanted us to move, said there were families that needed the space, and the Iikka was too frail to manage a house of that size on their own. This was not untrue. Iikka was the best weaver in Oaretsch, skilled enough that they received commissions from all over Almachadta. Iikka also had a bad back and worse legs and it had been getting worse. By this time, they needed my help to stand.
I don’t remember the details, really. I was young, and I’ve lost many of my memories, and much of this was overheard conversation. I do remember understanding enough to be scared. I do remember Iikka biting out threats, saying if Marjaana forced the issue they’d burn the entire house down with themself inside. I remember wondering if I was meant to burn along with them. I can’t remember if I asked anyone that, but I might have.
At any rate, they requested a yeresh come and manage the situation. Diana and her apprentice came in response.
I don’t know if anyone explained the yeresh to you. They are carriers of memory from the world that was, and they are peace-makers and wayfinders and warriors. They keep the balance. The yeresh that came was one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen in my life—not just because she was lovely, though she was that, but because she was patient and kind and thoughtful and, occasionally, quietly funny. She was a strange contrast to her glowering apprentice, who spent most of the time sneering at anyone who dared look at him.
I only spoke directly to her once, when she asked me what I wanted, and what I needed. told her I wanted to stay in our home. I told her I needed Iikka to let the healer do deep gnosis-work on them at least once a week. She made both of those things happen.
And for the rest of it, well. She helped us sing life back into an abandoned home with walls made of dead, rotting wood so the overflowing family would have a place to live. She did not wield a hammer as ably as she wielded words or song, but no task seemed below her. Her apprentice also assisted, and though he did not grumble about it terribly loudly, if you were observant it was impossible not to notice.
The whole thing was stupid to him. The village, the problem, the solution. It was just the same thing, over and over again, he said, stupid people arguing over stupid things. He was above us stupid villagers, you see. He was special and could be doing something more valuable. I can’t remember what insult I finally threw at him to make him call me an “uppity little snit” but it must’ve been a fairly cutting one, by nine-year-old standards. At any rate, I bit him.
And then I didn’t let go, no matter how much he yelped and yowled and tried to shake me off.
Diana lectured us both, though got the worst of it—he was significantly older than I was, though I think he was still only in his teenage years. She managed to say something to get me to let him go, which is impressive in and of itself. He huffed and he puffed and eventually they left Oaretsch and I never thought much about him again.
Until, of course, I told this story to Tasna and Duškomira and Xilai, and Wolf recognized himself in Diana’s surly apprentice.