The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

One Week - Day 7

On the seventh day, after falling asleep despite his best efforts, Able woke with an excitement he couldn't contain. He tried, of course, to not get his hopes worked up, as he could not know where the day would lead. At the same time, he felt he had made it, he had survived his trial, and help would finally be here. Lark would finally be here.

His excitement proved justified in the late morning when an enforcer dropped by the records room to inform him he had a visitor at the gate. He still had to keep it under wraps, of course, just in case he was wrong, but it slipped right out of the bag when he saw the figure in the dress and wide floral hat. Fortunately, he had a good hundred yards of walking to get his stupid smile under control.

A pony—Able thought he recognized it for one of Laughter's—was tied beside the wagon shed, and Lark stood not far from it. His skirt was the sort that flared out when the wearer twirled; Able could tell this because Lark kept twisting his hips to make it do just that. Able recognized his suitcase, open with the contents spread around, sitting on the backboard of one of the wagons, and all of this was attended by a broad-chested but balding enforcer. It was unclear whether he was more perturbed with Lark's appearance or the fact that Lark had thoroughly charmed his guard dog, which sat attentively every time Lark reminded it he didn't want its muddy paws on his ensemble and received a scratch behind the ears in reward.

"Houser," he snapped to attention, "this-this...person says that you...sent this letter? And these are your clothes?"

"Yes, and thank you," Able accepted his letter back from the lawman's hand. "I presume everything's in order?"

"If he was supposed to unpack your luggage, yes," Lark put in mildly.

"It's security protocol, sir, I can't—"

"I understand," Able gestured to his bedraggled appearance, "and is it clear? As I'd really like to change."

"Yes," he said after a quick pause. "Yes, very good. Come." This was to the dog, who readily followed the enforcer back to the guard house.

"Bye, Brute," Lark said airily as he fluffed the shimmery scarf draped around his shoulders. He saw Able's look and clarified, "What? The dog's name."

"Oh," Able went to the backboard and began fitting his clothes back into his bag. "Thank you so much for bringing these."

"But of course," Lark sidled over to lean against the wagon. Able thought he seemed a little anxious just before he noticed a dark green bundle he did not recognize. He unfolded it to discover it was an overcoat.

"What is this?"

"You said you were cold," he said softly, averting his gaze to his fidgeting fingers.

"Lark, I can't pay you for this," Able wasn't protesting, exactly. He simply didn't know how to accept a gift of this magnitude.

"You can pay me by not losing your nose and fingers to the frost. Go on—let's see! I was guessing at your measurements."

Able removed his jacket and considered the stains and smell of his shirt before removing that as well. He noticed Lark had averted his gaze to the grounds and didn't know how worrying he should find that as he quickly pulled the fresh shirt on before he took a chill. The coat easily slid up his arms and perched on his shoulders like it belonged there, which was not something he would have thought of any of the clothes he'd ever worn before.

"Looks like I got it pretty close," Lark rubbed his chin and walked about Able with a frown. "Might be on the small side. Cross your arms?"

Able did, "Feels fine." He also worked his arms in a circle.