Adam spent the next day doing nothing in particular, for it was a typical day, spending it eating and drinking in peace. Dunes remained with him, assuming why the half elf was taking it easy.  

It was but the prelude. 

Rabin stood tall and proud, the middle aged man glaring at the few who entered, but not because he was particularly upset at them, but because he always looked as though he was chewing on lemon peels. He had short hair, greying already, and his dark eyes were focused upon a particular trio of figures, one a Priest who wore such vestments that denoted he was from the nearby Order, the other who wore a helmet fashioned into a lion, silver, with eyes outlined in gold, denoting he was from the special force of the Shen, and the last was a young woman, guided by beautiful bronze skinned woman who certainly held Aswadian blood, not that he would ever dare to state such a thing, for if she was guiding the young woman beside her, who stood tall and proud, glaring at the world, but not because she was particularly upset at it, but because he always looked as though she was chewing upon lemon peels. 

‘That child must be an Iyrman,’ the swordsmith thought, wiping his hand nervously against a clean rag, as though rubbing off imaginary dirt with his nerves. 

Adam could feel the heat coming off the forges within the next area, the sounds of smiths striking steel, although one stood out to him particularly. The smith had already apologised that his father could not come to greet them, especially two esteemed figures, because he was in the middle of forging a blade for a relative of the Shen, and Adam knew he was in the right place. 

Dunes raised a brow towards the half elf, waiting and waiting, while the half elf remained standing still, doing his absolute best. 

“I… wasn’t cringe at all for the past couple of days, so at least let me buy you a nice sword, today of all days,” Adam said, his face twitching slightly as he forced himself not to make a stupid joke, and to keep himself as serious as death. 

“Very well,” Dunes said, flashing a small smile, noting the half elf’s fists were clenched tight, his entire body brimming with tension. 

“Naqokan, would you like one too?” Adam asked.

“No,” Naqokan replied, though her eyes were upon a large number of blades to one side, however it was best for the half elf to focus on the pair that day, of all days. 

Taygak narrowed her eyes towards a particular sword, a blade made of bloodsteel, the red glimmering with an unseen grudge. She reached out for it. “Taygak, hold?”

“You may,” Rabin replied, swallowing lightly.

Taygak held the blade, feeling its weight within her hand. The blade’s hilt was silver, the hand wrapped in a leather over wood, the pommel round and smooth, but it was not the appearance of the blade which enticed her, but something within the blade itself. The smith’s mark, the Aswadic word for sword over the smith’s name, was etched at where the hilt almost melted into the blade itself. 

“Are you sure you don’t want another sword?” Adam asked, noting the girl’s eyes were completely fixated on this particular sword. “If you buy only a bloodsteel sword, Mo Dunes will feel too guilty to buy himself one made of quicksilver.”

Dunes blinked, though smiled slightly, since the half elf was right. The Priest shook his head lightly, returning back to the various swords. 

“It is not a simple bloodsteel sword,” Rabin called out, motioning his head to the wall Taygak was standing in front of. “All these fine blades are those considered to be Masterworks.”

“Ah!” Adam raised his brows, nodding his head. “That’s good. I wouldn’t want to be considered cheap in spoiling my cousin.”

“Sword, good,” Taygak stated, the young woman holding it up towards the half elf, who leaned his head back slightly. 

“Alright, alright, jeez,” Adam joked, flashing a smile towards the young woman, glad he was able to spoil her today, of all days. 

Dunes picked a blade too made of truesilver, but as he noted the raised brow of the half elf, he sighed, picking one made of quicksilver, the blade longer and slightly curved, with an inscription along the blade’s edge. 

‘I pray for your soul.’

‘Damn,’ Adam thought, eyeing up the blade. ‘That’s hardcore.’

The half elf half wondered if he should buy a few more swords, glancing aside to Naqokan, his thoughts upon the younger children, but he decided against it this time, since they had spent so much gold on so many other gifts already, including sets of clothing for all the children. 

‘I can’t wait to dress you all up!’ 

Meanwhile, as the noonval sun beat upon the lands, the rays fell across the rolling hills, the large and atop a particular hill, beyond the Valley of Death, trouble bloomed brightly under such a heavy light. 

“Hello,” the little girl said to the older man, who blinked down towards her. “Do you remember who I am?”

“Yes,” Rick replied. “Little Boss, Jirot.”

“I am not little, I am Jirot, and I will be the Demon Lord,” the girl huffed back at the older man, reaching up to her head. “If you do not do good work I will tell daddy.”

“I am working well,” Rick replied, blinking down at the girl awkwardly, since though she was just a little girl, she was still far more powerful than him, if not from the Rot, and if not from her mother, her father was the one who paid him. However, he was fairly certain Adam wouldn’t be…

…

Would he allow his daughter to define the business? Would he lose his position as Lead if his daughter asked?

“You are working hard?” Jirot asked.

“We are doing our best, since we are in the Iyr now,” Rick replied. 

“Hmm,” Jirot replied, for the logic was sound enough. “Are you still practising your letters?”

“Yes.”

“You must read to me and I will read to you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jirot let out a small huff, but smirked, sauntering off with her arms tied behind her back. Little Jarot glanced up at Rick, nodding his head, the Lead returning a nod of his own head, and Jarot followed after his sister. The boy also waved towards Remy and Jeremy, who each wave back towards the little green skinned boy with innocent amber eyes.

“Okay?” Konarot asked, her silver eyes beaming up towards the Lead.

“I’m okay,” Fred replied, who felt an awkwardness as the girl stared up at him so innocently. 

“You are practising with sword?”

“I am.”

“Ah,” Konarot replied, nodding her head. “I am Rot. I use axe and shield.”

That’s right.”

Konarot nodded and with that she shuffled away, going off to speak with another. Kirot stared up towards the muscular Haytam, who stared down at the girl, before ruffling her silver hair. The girl smiled and quickly fled away to her elder sister. 

“Hello,” Karot called, causing his elder sisters to rush up towards him as they stared up towards the old man.

“Hello!” Gimon called out, the older man’s face wrinkled by time, his entire body lean, the old man tearing bits of bread as he ate during his break. “How are you, Little Boss?”

“Good…” Karot blinked and looked around to the side, towards the open garden with its upturned soil. “Are you farming?”

“I’m gardening,” Gimon replied. “I water the plants and make sure they all look so pretty.” 

“Oh…” Karot eyed up various flowers, each which had been so neatly organised. “I can help?”

“Oh, I would love some help,” Gimon said. “Would you like to water the plants?”

“I want to plant the seeds,” Karot said. 

“Then let’s plant the seeds together,” Gimon said, offering a piece of bread for the boy, who shook his head. 

Eventually all the children converged upon Gimon to help him garden, from Jirot and Jarot, to the triplets. Larot watched from the side, feeling the gazes of the twinly cousins, who kept an eye upon the boy. He inhaled deeply, smelling the nearby flowers which entered not just his lungs, but his heart. 

“I will not eat the dirt,” Jirot said to her mother, staring up a steadfastness within her eyes. 

Vonda raised her brow, already noting the dirt around the girl’s face. “Jirot…”

“I did not eat it! I fell down, mummy! Look!” Jirot opened her mouth to reveal her mouth was free of dirt.

“Even if it tastes good, you should not eat dirt, since you are an Iyrman, not a goblin…” 

“I know, mummy, I know!” Jirot glanced aside to her brother, whose face was also dirty. “Jarot did not eat the dirt, he fell down too, mummy.”

“Jarot, did you eat the dirt?” Vonda asked.

Jarot shook his head. Vonda smiled, though it was tinged with sadness, for she was uncertain if it would be bad if he did. She reached down to pet his head gently, brushing his tender cheek. 

“Mummy! I am planting all the seeds now and I am working hard so you can rest today, okay?” Jirot said, her ears drooping slightly. 

“I know, my dear,” Vonda replied with a small smile. “I will cook some food for you later so make sure you do not eat the dirt.”

“I will not!” Jirot huffed, storming away to garden and not eat the dirt. 

“What am I to do?” Lanarot said, her arms crossed behind her back as she stood beside little Larot, who did the same. “Dirt is not for eating.”

Ranya lay upon her back against the wolf, which pushed her up and down as he breathed, Cloud nuzzling up against her neck, before the girl squirmed and fled to Lamir, the young woman assigned to watch over the little girl. She glanced aside towards Enisa, who was up against her mother, the devilkin woman whispering out a song to soothe her into slumber. Since they were the grandchildren of Ashmir, they of the Mir would need to watch over the children well. 

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I need to flash towards the children more often. I miss them so much.