The tradition had started centuries ago as a romantic gesture, inspired by a noblewoman who had fallen for a common guard. To prove his worth, the guard had to ignite a drifting vessel guided by the very delphinians who had championed the couple’s forbidden love. Today, it remained a beloved game that brought the people of Valmare and the delphinians they had so befriended together. When the game was over, the delphinians would emerge with the stones that fell into the water, and they would be matched with their pair that lay in the hands of the men who awaited the results. A successful strike often led to a proposal of marriage.

When Gale had first arrived in Valmare, he tried the challenge once for fun, invited to join in the festivities by the innkeeper’s daughter. Whether by his arrow or someone else’s, her coracle had been set ablaze and the inn had been particularly lively that night. It also brought a moment of unexpected, festive mischief. Laughing, the girl had stepped in close to plant a quick, chaste kiss on his cheek. At the time, it hadn’t meant anything to either of them.

He had recently visited that inn once again and in her excitement to see him, she had greeted him in the same way. The sudden warmth of her lips against his skin had hit Gale like a physical blow. His muscles locked instantly. His throat tightened, cutting off his breath as a cold, suffocating weight dropped into his stomach. A dangerous, familiar shadow threatened to rise in his mind, carrying a face and a voice he could not afford to picture. The crushing weight of a past he desperately kept locked away began to claw outward. If he let those memories in, if he allowed himself to feel the depth of that lingering guilt, it threatened to shatter the resolve he needed to find his sisters. With a desperate, silent effort, Gale slammed the mental door shut, burying the rising panic deep down where it belonged. He managed to step back, his polite smile remaining plastered on his face like a wooden mask, though his fingers had begun to tremble. He had gently, quietly excused himself. The sudden, haunted distance in his eyes made it clear to the girl that a boundary had been crossed, and though he felt bad for leaving without explanation, he decided to never return to that inn. Even now, the memory of that harmless touch made a cold sweat break out on his neck.

His time in Yvaine had proven invaluable in many ways, helping him develop a curiosity and from there, some practical skills in artisan crafts. The people of Valmare were a generous sort, carrying a deep respect for anyone who possessed an arsenal of practical talents. Gale remembered the warm welcome he had received when he first rode into the capital. Vendors and fellow hunters had accepted him with open arms, helping him establish a quiet trade in carving and music.

A sudden clatter from the nearby forest road broke his reverie. Gale silenced his gittern, slipping it onto its hook on his cart and retrieved his sword. From the steady clop of hooves and the occasional rickety squeak of wood, he deduced that a single wagon was now passing his camp. There were two voices, a man and a woman, conversing in muted tones.

“No, no, something light blue or green would suit her best,” the woman said. “Her favorite color’s teal, after all.”

“Which is why, as her best friends, it is our humble duty to finally convince her to like something else,” the man retorted.

Gale snorted quietly to himself. Any man who tried to get a woman to do anything she didn’t intend to was either the bravest man alive, or someone who didn’t know her. Then again, he amended, it often depended on the woman.

“Yes, because changing the shade of blue that she likes is going to make such a difference,” the woman replied with a great deal of sarcasm. “Now, would you rather spend our money on something she likes, or something that she’s going to gracefully accept and then stow away in a drawer somewhere to collect dust?”

The two were bickering like an old married couple, something Gale had yet to experience himself, but had heard much of during his days in Yvaine. He kept low in the brush, expecting the rickety wagon to roll right past. But the squeak of the axle suddenly ceased. The horse gave a soft whinny, cut short by a firm, quiet command from the driver.

Gale froze, his hand instinctively resting near his bow.

On the road, the large man, Lyon, didn’t look directly into the brush where Gale was hidden. Instead, he simply adjusted his grip on the wagon’s reins, his massive shoulders shifting in a way that Gale recognized instantly. It was the subtle, relaxed readiness of a veteran swordsman about to draw.

Beside him, the woman, Fira, calmly scanned the tree line. Her eyes swept past Gale’s hiding spot, paused for a fraction of a second, and then moved on. It was a practiced, deceptive glance. She hadn’t just looked; she had locked onto him.

They’re good, Gale thought, a cold prickle of caution running down his spine. These weren’t simple merchants. They had spotted his horse, or perhaps the slight disturbance in the leaves, and they were flanking him without moving a step.

Realizing the game was up and wanting to avoid a lethal misunderstanding, Gale decided to take the initiative. He slowly stood up from the brush, keeping his hands empty and visible.

“You have sharp eyes, madam,” Gale said, keeping his voice light and conversational as he stepped into the dappled sunlight.

Fira didn’t flinch. She simply turned her head toward him, a faint flicker of surprise crossing her face that he had been quite so close, but no more.

“And you have a very quiet stride,” she replied, her gaze drifting down to the hunting bow near his feet, then back to his eyes. “Why were you eavesdropping?”

Gale looked up calmly and smiled, keeping his posture relaxed but ready. “I’m a simple man looking to make an honest profit, madam. And given what I overheard, it sounds like you are in the market for a gift in a very specific shade of blue or green.”

Lyon grunted from the wagon seat, his massive shoulders relaxing slightly, though his eyes remained wary. “A thief, then, looking for an easy mark.”

Gale noted with some disappointment that his charm didn’t have quite the effect he was hoping for. The man’s expression remained as stoic as the flat boulder nearby.

“No, a traveling artisan and an occasional merchant is my occupation,” Gale corrected gently.

“A traveling artisan doesn’t need a sword as large as yours, in addition to a hunting bow,” Fira pointed out skeptically, staring at his weapons.

“A traveling swordsman who has picked up various skills over the years, and who doesn’t want to wind up dead the minute a passing highwayman decides he’s easy pickings, does.”

Lyon grunted in a tone that suggested that though he didn’t necessarily like the answer, he agreed with the logic. “So what is this you say about blue and green? You actually have stones on you?”

Gale gestured toward his campsite, where a large, flat boulder sat in the center of the clearing. He reached into his pack and retrieved a small silver pouch, delicately emptying its contents onto the stone with a quiet, musical clink. He proceeded to show them all the jewels and precious stones he had in varying shades of emerald, forest green, and deep sky blue. Some of these were met with brief shakes of the head from Fira, others with pensive nods to be set to one side for further consideration. There was, however, a growing curiosity on Lyon's face that Gale found reassuring.

Inevitably, Lyon began asking more professional questions regarding the stones, where Gale had found them, what tools he used to properly harvest them from the rock, and so on. He also posed a careful question regarding their exact source, but Gale replied with a sly grin and a quick wink, receiving a slow, understanding grin in reply. No self-serving artisan would ever give up his harvesting grounds, and that was clearly the last thing Lyon wanted to confirm before taking Gale seriously. As it turned out, the big man was a craftsman himself, dabbling in all sorts of trades, particularly blacksmithing. He had some skill with jewelry making, but given the size of his hands, he often had to ask his companion to aid in handling the smaller, delicate wirework. Gale nodded in understanding, nevertheless impressed that a man of Lyon's size could work with jewelry at all.

Gale retrieved a brown leather pouch from his pack and displayed several precious stones and jewels that had yet to be set in wire or a silver mount. They eventually settled on an oval, smoothly rounded teal river stone that Gale had retrieved from a nearby lake, making full use of his connections within the delphinian community to go diving for them. The big man picked it up and turned it over in his hands, nodding appreciatively at what Gale had already done to polish it and bring out its true potential.

“We’ll take it,” Fira said, her fingers already diving into a leather purse. “How much do we owe you?”

Gale offered her his most disarming, cooperative smile. “From one artist to another, let us call it a single gold crown.”

Fira paused, her hand still inside her purse. She slowly raised an eyebrow, her expression dry enough to parch salt. “A gold crown? Tell me, Master Gale, does that price include a horse to help me escape the highway robbery you are committing, or do I have to provide my own?”

“I believe in asking for a fair price, madam,” Gale countered smoothly. “I would hardly be a professional if I undervalued my own work.”

She picked up the teal river stone, turning it over with an expert, unimpressed eye. “It is a nice stone, but in your own words, it is unfinished. I am not in the habit of paying people for work that I have to finish myself. Eight silver shillings.”

Gale clutched his chest as if struck by a stray missile. “Eight silvers? My dear lady, the diving alone nearly cost me my lungs. My ribs are still aching from the cold currents of that lake. Unfinished it may be, but it has been smoothed and well taken care of.”

Fira shook her head. “I do not disagree on the quality, but at the end of the day, this is a raw, unset piece.”

“In fairness to the man,” Lyon cut in, “he does have finished pieces, we just liked this one the best.”

Fira shot a frosty look at her companion. “Must you?”

“I’m just saying.”

She sighed and checked her purse once more. “For your good company, I will move my offer up to twelve silvers.”

Gale resisted the urge to look skyward at the extremely gracious tone that always marked experienced hagglers. It was time to bring out the card he had reserved for last.

“It is from Lake Avenire,” Gale said quietly.

Lyon's eyes widened considerably at his words, a reaction Gale had fully expected. Artisans all over the world prayed for an opportunity to harvest the precious stones and gems found in Lake Avenire, but the delphinians were well aware of their value and guarded them jealously. As such, it was a rare thing for an outsider to visit their communities, and even more surprising to be allowed to take the stones that served as the delphinians' main trade product. Lyon's expression turned questioning, as if waiting for Gale to explain how he had gained such a privilege, but Gale had no intention of volunteering that information. A silent look passed between them, and Lyon nodded slightly, knowing there was no point in pressing.

Fira's expression remained cool and unimpressed, but Lyon leaned down and murmured something in her ear. Her expression didn’t change, but Gale turned to one side and began to whistle a casual tune, a tactic designed to either annoy her into speaking her verdict to save them both time, or distract her enough to cause a hasty decision.

Gale waited.

“Oh, very well,” she relented.

Gale suppressed a triumphant grin. The look Lyon directed at him was appraising and filled with questions as the big man took the coins from Fira and retrieved three more from his own belt pouch. Gale grinned slyly, and was pleased when the big man grinned back. Takes one to know one, Gale thought.

“Fifteen silver shillings,” Lyon's tone was final.

Gale, thoroughly satisfied with the negotiations, accepted. The silver coins clinked as they changed hands, and the stone, after being carefully wrapped in a velvet cloth and secured with a bit of ribbon, was handed over. Gale bowed slightly as he passed it to Fira, who brought it close to her eyes for a detailed inspection. A genuine smile finally broke through her guarded expression.

“Nysora will love this, Lyon,” she said, happily slipping it into her purse.

“You would know better than I, Fira,” Lyon answered easily, giving Gale a quick nod of thanks. “We had best be going. You carry some good products with you,” he continued. “Perhaps I will come again at some later date.”

“As I said, I am a traveling artisan. Ask around when you decide to purchase from me again. There is usually someone in a town who can at least tell you which country I am in, though I cannot guarantee you will find me all that quickly. Gale is the name.” He extended his hand. “I thank you for your purchase. Whatever you use the stone for, it should last a long while. The stones of the delphinians just aren't made like the rest.”

His last remark brought a knowing chuckle from Lyon. After bidding Gale farewell, the pair returned to their wagon and rattled back onto the road.

Left alone once more, Gale counted his earnings, thoughtfully rubbing a speck of dirt from one of the silver coins until it gleamed. Fifteen silver shillings was a fantastic profit, far better spent in a warm town than tucked away in a damp forest.

He quickly worked out a budget in his head. Two silver shillings would buy him a private room with clean sheets and two hot meals at a respectable inn. A handful of copper bits paid to the stableboy would ensure his pack-cart was safely stored and his horse was well-fed with fresh oats.

Then, there was the lyricist. A skilled wordsmith in a town of this size would usually demand three silver shillings for a solid afternoon of collaboration. It was a steep price, equivalent to three days of hard labor for a carpenter, but Gale knew a brilliant set of verses was worth every single bit.

With five silver shillings and a few coppers covering his lodging, food, and his music, he would still have ten silver shillings left over. That was a small fortune for trail supplies, new arrowheads, and leather grease. And that was before he even visited the butcher to sell the fresh venison.

All in all, it was a good day. He loaded his gear and the fresh venison back into his cart, hitched up his gelding, and set off toward the town.

With any luck, he might even get there in time for lunch.

---

What are your thoughts on our new protagonist? Also, I'm hoping that the time-skip and aging up of characters is something everyone enjoys! Would love to hear your thoughts! :D

xoxo,

tsiagisel