I pushed wet hair out of my eyes and looked up at the new sun. Only three moons had passed since the last laundry day but because the Village had our big Stink Fest Of Horrible Smells last night most of the Villagers decided today would be another laundry day. Despite the reasons, I think this is probably the only day of the whole Cycle that the Villagers can be called relatively clean.

The stream burbled a bit as I wrung out Stiffbristle The Bearded’s brown tunic and tossed it on top of the mountain of clothes. “Yes, I’m done now, don’t worry your soap soaked currents about it.” I brushed more water off of my sodden pants and grabbed the basket’s handle to start dragging it back up the hill to the house.The stream gushed and bubbled out of its hole in its ice. “What is it?” I didn’t mean to be cross, but the stream had been extra mischievous today and I was in no mood at all for more ice down my shirt and another surprise cleaning. The stream spit a bit of water towards me. I sighed. “No, I have to leave. Besides you’ve been really annoying today. If I could I would-” Where was that shadow coming from?

“Whelp.”

I gasped and looked up. My father loomed over me, a thundercloud of a face and arms crossed in a very disapproving fashion.

“F-Father!” I squeaked, curling in on myself a little. Oh dear every god that wouldn’t rat me out to my Father please don’t let him have heard me speaking to the stream. I don’t want to hang from my toes again.

He looked down his beard at me. He never stands that close when he talks me. Actually, none of the Villagers do. I’m too small for them to see me over their bellies so they have to stand a bit away just to look at me.

“Leave the laundry here.” He gruffly ordered. “Get Villai ‘is axe from Blacksmith. ‘E’s got himself a fight in th’ afternoons.” He turned to go.

I swallowed my fear along with the lump in my throat, both of which were blackening the edges of my vision.

“F-Father!” I squacked. Father turned back toward me, doing an excellent imitation of a stone pillar grinding around on an axis. “Ye?”

Curt, my father is. Straight to the point.

“Wh-wh-ahm, what should I-ah, do with the, uhm, laundry?” I stammered.

“Leave i’. I’ll take it to th’ house an’ ye can hang it later.” He replied. “Oh, uhm, okay.” I mumbled under my breath and scurried to and down the path to the Village. I kept up a light jog, mostly to warm myself up and to make any distance because the wind was doing everything it could to keep me home.

A branch shot by, snagging into my new-but-not-really-I’m-wearing-it-now tunic and tearing a thread.

“Stop it! Father told me to leave it there and to get Villai’s axe!” I shouted into the wind’s roar. Sometimes I think the wind is alive, like the stream. The wind lessened a bit and I felt like it wandered off to find other Villagers to pester. Either way, now I was only almost being blown away as opposed to starting a one way trip to the grey clouds.

I made it to the Village smithery and peeked around the empty doorframe. A low fire burned in the stone smelting pit, the metal strewn across the workshop. I stepped onto the rough granite floor.

“BLARG!” The miniature lava dragon roared.

“AAAHHGG!” I replied.

I sidestepped the molten spray. “Would you please stop doing that?” I begged. Sverrir lapped up some lava and scratched his plump stomach. “Naw, ‘taint no fun t’ nawt do nuthin’ t’ ye.” He belched. Water underneath toenails it was always a riddle to understand him. I reached up and grasped the cold amulet around my neck, the one Father had rejected. “Where’s Blacksmith?” Please, please, please just tell me. Sverrir picked his teeth with a sharp little claw, wallowing in the smeltery. “Auwt.”

“Where out?” I asked.

“Auwt summawhere.” He sneezed. I took a calming breath. “Where somewhere?” I said through gritted teeth. “Summawhere he b’out.” Sverrir flicked a bit of charchol onto a nearby anvil. Grrgg, that little-! “Do you know when he’ll be back?” Hold your temper, hold it, hooollllddd iiiittt!

Sverrir burped. “Suumatime.”

I stomped my feet in pure, ferociously petty annoyance. “Sverrir! When will Blacksmith be back!” Sverrir grinned. “Sommatime.” He snickered. “Sverrir, I’m going to take my hands and wrap them around your fat little neck and choke you so hard that Blacksmith will think you’re unrefined ore!” I shrieked. “Awl take me fire n’ put yer ta somefin’ worsn’ burnt a’ tree an’ eat yer remmunds n’ maken’ ye eat wat commin’ out da odder en’!” He screeched right back. “What are you even saying, you stupid little worm!” I squaked.

“Ahm nuh wurm! Yer’a pah-teetik lump’a me beehaind’s a’ leavins!” he squealed.

“What, don’t have any other insults? I bet the reason you’re so fat is because you’re trying to find some brains inside all your food!” I screamed.

Sverrir got so agitated he started splashing the forge’s lava onto the floor.

“ISSUNUT FAT! ISSUN BE MUSCULAR STRONGN’ STUFF! YER BE’NA WEAK BITTLE TROFFLE’N SNOOT A’ SNOT!”He howled.

“WHAT’N TH’ NAMEA MAH CHIEFN’ BLODDIN’ STEEL BE GOIN’ ON ‘ERE?” a new voice bellowed.

Sverrir and I cowered in unison.

Blacksmith shadowed the doorway.