Save for their wings, you'd think they were human. They were wild and free-spirited. And their only desire was to learn about the world. The good parts, the bad parts, and everything in between. They were not angel, they were not demon, just... themselves. -- Anon Guest
"What'cha doin'?"
Barthus was used to hearing that kind of question from someone between three and eight years old. Not, and they had to look up from their work to check, an adult-shaped entity literally hovering over their shoulder.
When one shared a world with Dragons, many, many things are possible. Faeries, for instance, or the Faekindred, which were generally treated with the same respect one would extend to a growling dog with orange eyebrows. Travellers passed through with horns on their heads, tails neighbouring their seats, and like this stranger, wings on their backs. So, naturally, there had to be some internal calculations as to how to properly greet this new being.
Not a Halloblood. Those who had wings had the feathery sort. The Hellkin's wings were more like a Dragons. Same with the Dragon-blooded Sorcerors. This being had wings like a butterfly, and they were too large to be a Faerie. Besides, Faerie wings were more like dragonfly wings. And anyway, the wings didn't seem to be doing much of the work of keeping them aloft. They were vaguely flapping as this strange new being bobbed in the air.
Faerie manners seemed to fit, which meant cautious respect, being very careful about their words, and offering some variety of official welcome. Honey and milk in a gilded cup was generally the default... though some etiquette held that one could not go wrong with a ham roll. The problem was, Barthus had none of those.
They should at least provide an answer, all the same. "I'm pressing a pattern into the leather. It's called 'embossing'. This embossing is careful work on account of it being His Lordship's new design. One mistake and I have to start over." And with that in mind, Barthus put away their tools and set the work aside. No good work tended to stay that way with the Fair Folk in play. "I can't say I've seen the likes of your kind very often."
"Neither have I," said the entity. Pale and shining like the moon, but a pale yellow... like cream about to become butter. "Do you know my kind?"
"Not at all, not at all," said Barthus, fighting the urge to apologise. "I was sort of hoping you might have an answer to that for me."
"Aw," said the entity. Almost as tall as a Gnome, if they stood on the ground. Thin and lanky like an Elf. And apparently as naked as a jay bird. Not that they really needed clothing. There was nothing to conceal. "That's an answer nobody knows." They flitted to the high shelves, peering at the bottles and tins. Sharp-looking fingers poking and prodding at this or that.
"Be careful up there," said Barthus. "I put the dangerous things on high shelves so the young 'uns don't come to harm. All the stuff up their is either poison or sharp."
"What's 'poison'?"
"Poison makes folks sick. Sometimes sick enough to die. A person has to know what they're doing with the stuff to use it safely. It's why I keep it where the young ones can't reach."
"I think I might be young," said the creature. "Many have asked me if I'm a child."
"You seem to talk a lot like one," allowed Barthus. "You look like you're full-grown, if I were to guess at it." The thought occurred. "Are you alone?"
"No, I'm talking to you."
"I mean... where are your people? The people who care for you?"
"Care... for?"
Barthus' stomach sank. "The ones who always welcome you in. The folks who gave you your name, or taught you to read. The ones who nursed you when you were sick or tended your hurts." They couldn't mention clothes, since this creature wasn't wearing any.
"Is that necessary?"
"Well... it works for lots of folks. And since you don't know a lot, you should have someone teaching you of the greater world."
"Can I find one anywhere?"
Barthus thought about the village prodnoses, always after them to marry and breed up a prentice. Or at least marry. They'd never felt compelled to gain a bedmate. The prodnoses all seemed to think their life was empty without someone else in their house. And since there hadn't been any foundlings or orphans... "You could find one here if you don't mind it," they offered. "And if you do mind it, well. I'll do what I can to find you a place you don't mind." They offered their hand.
"That will do," said the creature, accepting. Their whole hand barely fit across two of Barthus' fingers. It was cool to the touch and smooth as a river stone.
"Let's begin with introductions. My name is Barthus. What may I call you?"
"I... don't... know."
Well. Everyone had to begin somewhere. "I think the library has a big book of names. I'll read them to you and you can pick one that suits you best."
[Photo by Megs Harrison on Unsplash]
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