The grass was still damp, the road was speckled with deep pockets of mud, and the sky persisted a lackluster grey, but I was thrilled to simply be outside of the cottage. The storm had passed the previous day, which meant it was time for Krig to go hunting and refill the larder, and for Gwen to visit the market square. In the sling on my mother’s back, I couldn’t help but feel like I had my very own throne to survey all the excitement. Life is full of little ironies, isn’t it?

Birds chirped and sang as they flew past vibrant, blooming flowers. Carriages clattered along the road while horses snorted or whinnied. Vendors barked at passersby who might be interested in their wares and goods. The sad and somber backdrop proved no match against the clamor of this town’s inhabitants.

As my mother and I strolled on, the good mornings offered by neighbors shifted from “Gwendalynn” to “miss,” and then we eventually found ourselves in the center of a bustling square. With all the commotion, it was difficult for me to keep focus on the tasks my mother had set to do. Carpenters repaired roofs, clerics rang bells, criers reported the latest word from the capital. There was a melodious quality to it all. It could have been my new eyes, but I couldn’t think of a single time I experienced such beauty. Not in all of Zobrus.

“Well, would ye get a gander at this little cutie,” proclaimed a shrill voice. “What’s the darlin’ called, Gwen?”

My attention snapped to the present when the door shut behind us, locking the cacophony outside. My mother was removing pouches of grain and herbs from the satchel at her side. “Krig and I have taken to calling him Crow.”

“Ah sure, I should ha’ guessed. He’s got the feathers ta match.” The woman tussled the wispy black hair on my head, or rather what little of it there was. “Just a tiny thing, sure, but I can tell he’ll grow big n’ strong like his daddy, Krig, eh.”

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t manage to move away from the woman’s hand. I’d not the slightest clue how my mother actually understood the words dropping out of this wench’s mouth. I was not even entirely sure what language she was attempting to speak!

“Thanks again, Gwen. This should be enough ta hold over. Some soup’s there already, Love.”

Gwen untied the sling and placed me on the floor. I had almost forgotten just how small I truly was, and I craned my neck to stare up at the two. “Behave good for your Auntie Bev now, Crow,” she instructed me as she tied an apron on. “Mommy won’t be gone long.” It was nearly impossible to see from my angle, but she ladled something chunky and brown from a large pot and filled some bowls before heading out another door.

I was able to catch a glimpse out the crack of the door as it was shutting. My mother greeted each of the patrons by name, but few returned so much as a look, let alone a hello or thank you. There were men, women, and children, all skinny and all dirty. Some were lying on the ground coughing, some looked injured, and others didn’t even move. The door closed. 

This place was nothing like my former empire Zobrus, and especially nothing like the capital, Ulthar. In my other life, the very idea of worrying about food was absolutely foreign. Feasts could be created by the common citizen, even with lesser artifacts. I started to wonder why these peasants weren’t taking better care of themselves, when my father’s words rang through my mind. No magic. I suddenly remembered the storm that had raged for nearly a week. 

Oh… right. It must have been difficult for them to stay dry without it.

My thoughts were interrupted by the squeaking of a mouse. It scurried across the kitchen floor, standing on its hind legs and sniffing at the air every few paces. I crawled closer to investigate. The mouse didn’t seem to mind me being near it and concerned itself only with some crumbs it had found. It seems like everyone is hungry here.

“Dah! Get outta here, ye filthy vermin!” Auntie Bev grabbed a broom and swept at the mouse.

“Folk sick enough as it were without you scurryin’ about. Out with ye!” She continued to curse as she placed the broom against the wall and set back to what she was doing. “Damned storm passin’ musta driven ‘em out the mud. Not in my kitchen.”

Her words reminded me of my past--the way my advisors and peers referred to the peasants of Zobrus. It was Yarro’s voice that entered my mind this time. “Gutter rats… filth…” The titles of filth and vermin we had so cavalierly associated with commoners were now fully applicable to myself. I still didn't know why I was here--how I was here--but, whether I liked it or not, I wasn’t going anywhere. So I decided, if I’ve been given a new start, then I will make the most out of it, position be damned.

Gwen returned to the kitchen carrying empty plates and bowls, setting them aside and untying her apron. “Bev, they’ve all had at least a bowl, so should be fine for the time being. How’s the little one doing?”

“Hardly a handful. He ja’ looked about really. Looks like he won’t be growin’ inta trouble maker. ‘Specially you there as his mum.”

I stared confoundedly as my mother secured me into the sling. What. Are. You. Saying. Woman?!

Bev handed the tip of a bread loaf to me. “Big n’ strong, eh.”

The women said their farewells, and with my throne secured, Mother started down the road. I watched the distance grow between myself and the market square as I chewed a corner of the loaf of bread. Considerably more difficult to do without teeth, but it was actually quite tasty. That’s when I spotted the mouse that had been tossed from the kitchen earlier, noticing it following behind us before performing its familiar ‘halt, stand and sniff.’ I broke off some crumbs from the bread loaf, tossed them to the mouse and waved farewell. May as well befriend my fellow vermin. 

The song of the bustling square drifted further with a final scene: a mob of villagers shouting at the crier as the bell rang overhead.

Hm. Wonder what that’s about. I took another bite of bread.