Adventuring #1

I was getting used to this.

Another weekend, another youngling out seeking their fortune.

Not that I mind so much, really, but I needed more tea. My stock was getting quite low, and it was a dry harvest last year.

But it is my way of giving back. Help them on their way, like I was helped. A little boost to help the difficult journey. A small kindness where one was not expected. It might make all the difference. So many don't have that help, and I worry for them. So many don't make it.

I've had my adventure, succeeded, settled down. Go back? Are you mad? There's a reason I left, and there's a reason all these new adventurers also left. There is no “going back.” There is going forward. Finding a new place, off the beaten track enough to stay away from the townsfolk unless they need something. Me and my friends, and old friends when they wander through, and I'm mostly left to my own devices.

Too weird for every day, that's me. That part will never change.

Moondays are usually my day to forage, because most Sunsdays are wet and cold here. It is fortunate that I planted a small set of cold mint in a sunny spot inside the forest, because it's hardy enough to stay green for longer than most. And away from the cats, who love it more. They don't venture this far, because they have a very healthy regard for those who live here. I pinch a bit on the way back to freshen the cup, so to speak.

I gather the eggs in the same basket before heading out. It's not the usual procedure to subject them to such a hazardous journey, but I must, because as soon as I travel the last curve in the path towards my door -

Another one. Nervously perched on the bench out front, waiting for me.

I am strategically placed. One day's journey from a village of any consequence. Too homey to avoid, too normal-looking to burgle safely. Too many eyes on a visitor. My friends keep me safe, as I keep them safe.

Time to make breakfast from my gleanings. And tea. Lots of tea.

**********

“I don't want a normal life!”

“There's nothing wrong with being normal. As a matter of fact, many people take comfort in becoming normal, because so many seem to crave it. They're obedient, find a mate, or one is found for them, have a litter or five of kids, raise them. They learn their life lessons at home, and are content. A few run off, have a small adventure, learn they liked it better back home, and return. Or they never leave, and learn it anyway. Life is sneaky like that.”

“But I want a grand adventure!”

“Then you must be smart about it. Map, rope, fire starter, knife, healing kit? Know how to make a fire, build a trap, trade what you have for things you need, fix a wound, discern friend from enemy?”

They were silent, but not sulky. Good. They were thinking.

“There are people that can help you.” I have quite a good network of friends, and I can neatly scribe on decent paper I keep handy. At least our schools turn out kids who have passable cyphering. “Here. These are people who will hire you and teach you a bit of their craft. You can earn a bit of coin, buy some of the things you need. If the job speaks to you, stay and learn. If not, move on. Either way, you will be better prepared for whatever life you choose.”

“But what if I fail?”

“At what? Choosing a place in life? Or if it doesn't fit right, choosing another? The only true failing is not learning the lessons that life throws at you. Even in death, there are lessons – for the next adventurer, at least, though I think perhaps death is another adventure beyond our ken. Like meeting a dragon properly, or taunting an ogre and surviving the experience. But some lessons need forethought, to live to impart the lesson to others.

“But if they live, they make choices. There are no old heroes off adventuring. They find a good place, settle down, maybe open a small business, find a mate, start a family. They grow up. We all do. The ones who fail at growing up we avoid, and reject their petty schemes. Not for being not-normal, but for being abnormal. And we are correct in doing so, for they have failed to neither grow up or learn the wisdom of their life lessons.”

“I don't understand.”

“You will. Just remember what I've said, tuck it into a cupboard in your mind. Take it out every so often, look at it again, put it away till it's time. Then, observe those around you. Watch what they do, and what they say. Compare the two. Figure out why the two differ. Then you will learn their true motivations, and learn to fight them, sabotage them, placate them, or route around them. In time, you will learn what wisdom I have given you. But, here I am, nattering at you, when you're about to have your own adventure! If you continue on the path, you'll arrive at the next holding at about sunsdown. Not very friendly, but ask for Marta when you knock, and she'll give you some tasteless food for the chore of sweeping and drawing water from the well. At least the food's not poisoned, and detecting that is a good skill to learn. The next night, at the next holding, ask for Pietr, and deal with him for chores for a bowl of soup and a hayloft bed. Do not allow him to sucker you into mucking out the barn, unless he's willing to pay you two silver coins for the 'privilege.' Thank you for stopping at my cottage, and sharing a meal with me. Off you go now, while the travel's good.”

My friends emerged as the youngling strode off with a fuller backpack.

The giant snake stealthily slithered up behind me as I cleared the remains of lunch off the rough wooden table. “You haven't been normal in your entire life, how could you say those things to a child?”

“Wisdom, Sssydney. You haven't learned it yet, which is why you're still a snake.”

The raccoon giggled from under the table, where it was stuffing crumbs of bread into its greedy maw. “Aww, I would have gone with them, if they asked me!”

“They weren't ready for that, either. But I think you will find Pacer is missing from the paddock, come feeding time.”

“What? The I-can't-be-a-deer-I'm-a-Royal-you-can't-do-this-to-me, decided to follow that one? This will be a disaster!”

I glanced at the tea leaves, neatly mounded by smaller hands. “It depends. Pacer may still learn wisdom as well. Cooperation would be best, of course, if Pacer can learn it. We'll see what happens.”

The rest of the animals fell to chattering, laying odds on the outcome of this adventure. The scrying bowl was conveniently placed in the corner, and I carefully placed a single hair collected from the table into the clear water.

The cat, as usual, was inscrutably silent.