I could barely sleep that night. I was resentful not only of Grynoth, but of my weakness as well. As easy as it was to blame him for everything, deep down I know it was wrong and untrue.

I found that I woke up early... well, “just in time” by Grynoth’s standards I suppose.

And I was in a terrible mood.

Unable to sleep again, I decided to rummage through my belongings…

...…when a sharp sound of blade through flesh cut the air.

A shiver ran down my spine.

“Is something wrong? Are we under attack?!”

I quickly walked to the window as a sudden bright light hit my eyes.

As they adjusted, I noticed Grynoth waving his scythe.

At first, The terrifying image of him flashed before my eyes, and my heartbeat quickened with terror again.

...But when I came to my senses, relief flooded through me as I realized he was just working on his farm.

His face was tense and centered, his strokes sprawling but precise, and the rhythmic movement of his scythe seemed almost meditative. His green scales glistened in the sun, reflecting off his bare torso, making him even more powerful and majestic.

Something inexplicably enchanting shimmered through the image, as if it had descended from a painting...

For some reason, a flush of shame rose in me.. At first I didn't know it, but, eventually, I realized: how many times had I slept peacefully or sat with my books while he literally plowed on?

I stood there, transfixed by the sight of Grynoth working the fields. The longer I watched, the more my anger and resentment began to ebb away, replaced by a growing sense of guilt. Here I was, wallowing in self-pity, while Grynoth toiled away to provide for us both. He had taken me in, trained me, and put up with my childish outbursts, all while shouldering the burden of running the farm alone. 

I thought back to our argument the previous day, and my cheeks flushed with shame. I had accused him of so many things… But now, a slow, sad realization started sinking in: the one who had failed to understand him might be me.

With a heavy sigh, I turned away from the window.

For a while, I was contemplating.

Finally, not sure yet where I was going with it, I quickly dressed and made my way outside, the crisp morning air filling my lungs as I strode across the dew-laden grass.

Grynoth looked up as I approached, his brow furrowed in surprise. "Gran? What are you… doing up so early?"

“Uh… Wasn’t it *you* the one who taught me to get up so early?” I asked the accusatory, and immediately regretted it. This is *NOT* how I wanted it to start.

“Oh… right, my bad…” Grynoth replied, somberly.

An awkward silence hung between us, broken only by the rustle of the crops in the gentle breeze. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to find the right words.

"Listen, Grynoth..." I began, my voice faltering slightly. "About yesterday... I'm sorry. I was out of line. I let my frustration get the better of me, and I said things I didn't mean."

“It’s alright, don’t worry about” he replied, clearly trying to be reassuring — “you said a lot of things that were necessary for me to hear, and, all things considered, it was a necessary wake-up call for me”.

“Well…”

I noticed all of my dialogue options at that moment as if by themselves started with “I mean, yeah, it kinda was”, and there is no way I saw to phrase things nicer.

“Regardless… I wanted to talk to you about... well, everything, but I am a bit busy right now. Can you wait an hour?”

“Yeah, sure…”

After this rather cold exchange I was about to return home, when something made me stay.

“Actually…”

“Yes?”

“Let me help you,” I blurted out, almost surprising myself..

I saw Grynoth’s muzzle widened in surprise.

“Help me? You mean with the job, you mean?”

“Yes,” I said, awkwardly, “with what else, duh”.

Grynoth hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching mine as if trying to gauge my sincerity.

“Before I will say anything”, — he started, — “if this task turns out to be too hard for you — it will not diminish your inherent value as a human being in any way. Is that clear?”

"Quite…" I replied, looking sideways slightly.

“Good. Now then”.

Grynoth was about to give me a scythe, but realised it was a little too big for me.

He scratched his head for a moment, and then handed me a small sickle instead.

“Try this.”

I took the sickle, feeling its unfamiliar weight in my hand.

"Start with the oats over there," he said, pointing to a patch at the edge of the field. "Long, even strokes. Don't rush."

I nodded and moved to where he'd indicated.

“Calloused blisters, here I come!…”

The first few swings were clumsy and awkward, the blade biting into the earth more than the stalks. My shoulders and back protested almost immediately, muscles waking in rebellion against this unfamiliar labor. I stole a glance at Grynoth; he had retrieved a hoe and was working on another section of the field, his movements fluid and unhurried.

As I settled into a rhythm, my mind began to wanderm how physical work could really be so calming. Watching the neat rows of cut stalks form behind me felt oddly satisfying, the sound of the blade swishing through the crop. In the human realm there was always a hustle and bustle and, despite using tools of modern invention, it didn’t feel nearly as… meaningful? It's so odd — I thought all of the village folk talking about appreciation of old-style labour were nothing more than whispers of the past…

“You are doing good for a beginner”, said Grynoth, “However, some things may need a bit of correction. Try to keep your back straight and place your feet a comfortable distance apart. Just as wide you should grip the scythe. Yes, like this.”

I followed instructions for a while, trying to get better.

“That reminds me — is manual labour still present in your realm?”

“Well… kinda” I replied, “Though even the most ancient villages are using something modern — like tractors or electric harvesters. So… eh?”

Grynoth chuckled, the sound low and rumbly. "I can imagine."

We worked in relative silence for a while, the gap between us full of thoughts rather than words. I surprised myself by sticking with it, my initial enthusiasm not burning out as quickly as expected.

Over time, however, the silence became quite awkward, so I decided to strike up a conversation myself.

“Why don’t you guys use magic yourself, by the way? For manual labour, I mean.”

“As we discussed before, magic isn't an omnipotent power, requiring discipline and training. And with that — it still has a lot of limitations.”

Out of the blue, I noticed a swarm of strange bugs buried in the grass.

Grynoth gently raised his hand, muttered a couple of weird words and I saw a slightly green-esque cloud appearing.  Watching them twitch and fall one by one… something in me recoiled. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the ease of it. Or maybe because, just yesterday, I had felt just as small. Just as helpless.

“…it *can* provide assistance, however", he finished.

I laughed, albeit sadly, the sound edged with a hint of exasperation. "You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Trying to make me feel all inadequate and such."

"Not intentionally," he said, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps teaching me to think more efficiently was also another of your unintentional contributions."

I shook my head, resisting the urge to chuck the sickle at him. Instead, I kept cutting, each swing feeling less awkward as I adapted.

“Well since I am so gifted in that regard here is another revolutionary idea of mine: have you ever tried to create some, you know, devices like catapults or rams but for harvesting and, you know, animate them?”

“Animation magic is an extremely difficult discipline to master,” objected Grynoth, “Mages like these are immediately placed into the military and the battlefield of war. Using such abilities for domestic objectives such as these will be considered a criminal waste of their power.”

“Criminal?…”

Something cracked open inside me. Blind rage surged up before I even knew it. 

The words triggered something buried. My fingers tightened on the handle. I wasn’t angry at Grynoth — not really.  But at every official, every parade, every headline that made war sound noble while people bled in silence.

Images flashed through my mind: the military parades my father had taken me to, the endless war coverage in history books, the glorification of our latest technological weapons in the newspapers. War… a sleeping beast that was threatened to awaken and bare its fangs once again.

“*Criminal*!?”

I immediately threw the scythe away and looked Grynoth directly in the eye.

“I will tell what is *criminal*: using these powers to oppress innocent people and call it a law!!!”

Grynoth froze mid-swing, his scythe hovering in the air as he turned to face me. His expression shifted from surprise to something deeper—a flash of pain, quickly masked by his usual stoicism. His eyes looked back at me with a gentle condescension.

“I think,” he said, “you’re using a strawman argument.”

The world tilted.

“What?”

“You’re lifting the word ‘criminal’ from my mouth, removing its context, and reapplying it where it’s easiest to defeat,” he continued, tone steady, entirely without malice. “That’s a rhetorical sleight of hand. Common among trained debaters.”

He tilted his head slightly, watching me—not as a judge, but as someone reading a page aloud.

“Something, perhaps, your father or your teachers passed down. No?”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Because in that moment, I saw it. Not just what he’d said, but how effortlessly true it was. Not as an insult. Not as a weapon. Just as an observation, dropped into the space between us with the quiet weight of fact.

He had hit the center of the wound with surgical ease—and he hadn’t even raised his voice.

The absurdity of it struck me first. Not the content—though that landed hard enough—but the way he’d peeled me open without cruelty. Like he wasn’t even aiming for damage. Like he was simply… naming what was there.

I stared at the ground, then at the sickle, lying where I’d dropped it.

“I… didn’t mean it like that,” I said quietly. “I wasn’t trying to twist anything.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I pointed it out. So that next time, you’ll recognize when it happens.”

I have lifted the scythe again, wiping it off from grass and dirt.

"The world you came from — free from war and resourceful in ways we cannot imagine—is not the same as here..." He began before I cut him off.

“Can we not talk about it… right now?”  I asked,  “I’m not that dumb… but I’m afraid I might fly off the handle again. I came here specifically to try and… find a common ground with you — and now we are back to square one, forcing you to bicker again with me. I do not want this... anymore”

Grynoth's expression softened slightly. 

"Fair enough," he conceded, returning to his rhythmic swinging.

I got back to the task as well

“Sorry for… this,”  I finally said,  “I didn’t want to damage your inventory… well, I suppose this goes for most other things at this point.”

“You are learning, and this is enough for me” Grynoth smiled, “I hope that will not inflate your ego but… you are on your way to earn the honorable title of being ‘the least worst’ of my guests.”

I couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Oh? Mind sharing, how come?”

“You didn’t try to steal my crops when you came here, and you didn’t hurt me out of malicious desire”  he said,  “you will be surprised how many dragonkin adventurers like to do even that much.”

“That’s… definitely not a good state of affairs…” I said vaguely.

“Well, on a more positive side — it makes me appreciate good guests more”, said Grynoth.

“And, uh, what do you do with people who mess with your stuff?”

“You know… the usuals. Scolding with the most serious tone of mine, explaining why its wrong as if they were hatchlings… a bit of whipping on the arse also helps in *particular* special cases.”

“Well, I suppose I am not the worst guest indeed then,” I laughed. “So who is the one of those holding the title of ‘least worst?’”.

Grynoth’s face lit up, radiant like the sun — sudden, vivid.

“A traveler once stayed with me...” he said. “Well, a deserter, actually—a soldier turned wanderer. His kingdom was forcing him to participate in an unjust war, so he lived with me for a while.”

“What happened to him? Did you kick him out?

“Nay, nothing like that”, Grynoth said, smiling, ”he's fine… and more, even. He just emigrated to the nearest village. He's guarding it now.”

He stopped mid-sentence and rubbed his chin in thought.

“Since I brought it up... how would you feel about getting to know other dragonkin?”

“That’s like, the entire reason I came here!”  I said, smiling — but then scratched my head,  “though, now that I have met you, I’m starting having a… second thoughts.”

“Oh? Am I that scary?” Grynoth smirked.

“That’s only the smallest part of the problem. Living with you, I came to realize — everything here has a second, opposite side.”

“That is correct”, Grynoth nodded, “So? Does it mean you will stop still?”

I paused my work, wiping sweat from my brow as I considered Grynoth's question. The morning sun had risen higher now, and the air was warming around us.

"No," I finally said, "I didn't come all this way just to turn back at the first sign of danger. Besides, I..." I hesitated, embarrassed by what I was about to admit. "I think I've been living in a bubble my whole life. Everything neatly packaged, sanitized…"

“That is not the only bubble you will have to pop”,  Grynoth said, but added “but I am glad you keep moving.”

I nodded, returning to my task with renewed determination. The work was grueling, but watching the neat rows of cut stalks forming behind me felt oddly… satisfying.