Of Caverns and Casters ✓ [TLRQ #1]

Chapter 17 - Leavi

My frozen fingers struggle to tie tent poles together. I've put tents up before, but those were more sophisticated, with premade loops that stretched over pegs and metal poles that unbent and snapped together. Instead, unwieldy wooden rods and bulky strips of hide compose the building materials for the Traders' tents. As the sun drops behind the mountains and campfires wink to life around us—the Traders having long finished setting up their tents—I begin to wonder if I should have gotten my degree in architecture rather than vitaliti.

Eventually, a little boy no older than eight takes pity on us. His tiny hands whiz over knots before driving the stakes into the ground by stomping on them. Brushing his shock of blond hair out of his eyes, he turns and asks Sean something.

Sean frowns, but before he can respond, a woman's voice calls out. The boy's head snaps behind him. A woman with white-blonde hair and a baby on her hip waves the little boy over. His shoulders sag, but he glances back at Sean.

Sean rolls his eyes and flips him a one-cent stone-mark. The boy runs off, brandishing his mark to the blonde woman like he found a hidden treasure chest.

Sean ducks into the tent, and I follow him into its warmth. After digging for the blanket in my satchel, I sit, soft fabric wrapped around my arms. "What was that about?" I ask Sean.

"With the kid?"

I nod.

He strips his wet coat off in favor of the dry blanket in his leather bag. "Told me he'd set our tent up for us every night if we paid him a cent each time."

I eye him, a confused smile making my words light. "Then why did you act upset?"

He scowls as he pulls his shoes off. "Because we just got shown up by a child."

I laugh, leaning back onto the ground. Despite my exhaustion—or maybe because of it—I'm strangely giddy.

Sean watches me, eyebrows drawn together as though trying to decide if I've lost it. His mild befuddlement just makes me laugh harder, but it's cut short by someone calling Sean's name outside the tent. The giggles fade into hiccups of breath as Sean opens the tent flap.

A man with curly brown hair, ruddy cheeks, and a snowfox pelt hanging around his shoulders shifts nervously in the opening. His eyes flick to me, and the already red tone of his face deepens.

Oddly embarrassed, I sit, combing my fingers through my hair, and the man's gaze hurriedly moves away. He clasps a fist to his chest, dipping his head in some sort of greeting to Sean. Head still down, he extends his other hand, proffering a string of stone beads coiled in his palm.

An exchange passes between them, and Sean takes the string. The man makes the strange gesture again and starts to leave. He pauses before Sean closes the tent flap, though, and hesitantly says something else. They talk a second longer, the man's feet shifting more as they speak, his fingers playing nervously with the fox's fur. Eventually, Sean raises a hand in parting, and the man, looking relieved, walks off.