The Slime Farmer

Defi entered the smith's shop, once more greeted by the full suit of armor.

Turq was in his arms, because he needed to be cheered up by that inexplicably comforting squishy firmness of the slime.

Digging holes by himself yesterday had fully brought to light how poor the tools in the old warehouse were. Even after he got one of the builders to fix the old tools to serviceable quality, they were still old.

It would be better to just sell all the old things for scrap metal.

Now that the builders were finishing up, he couldn't keep relying on them to fix up the old tools from the Garge homestead.

Really, how had Kern and Leraine coped all these years with worn-down tools? Wasn't farming their main source of income?

He flexed his fingers, grimacing slightly at their still faintly numb state. The haphazardly repaired spade had caused slight blisters to form on his palms.

It was clearly time for new spades and hoes. Also, a new axe, since Karles had offhandedly mentioned that the scrap wood had been placed in a shed for firewood. Clearly the man had seen that there was no firewood in his central hall, nearing winter as it was.

Since Defi had been relying on Emblems to warm up, he'd neglected the hearth in the large hall. It was too large to simply light up every day on a whim, and he was away from the house most of the day.

If he kept embers burning in the fireplace, what if some spark got out of the hearth and burned the central hall down.

That would certainly have Aire be decidedly more despairing at the kind of 'hospitality' implied by burning down his own receiving hall, wouldn't it?

His lips curled up slightly.

Thinking about what winter would be like in these chilly mountains, Defi lost his amusement. Had he been too busy feeling sorry for himself and lamenting all he lost that he neglected such an important consideration?

This empire beyond the Gate functioned on Emblems. If he really wanted to light the hearth, then there should be Emblems to keep embers burning so that it would be easy to make a fire at any time, Emblems to keep the fire from leaping out the grate, Emblems for safety and convenience.

He had not thought of it.

Even if winter in Ontrea was so short that the water in the irrigation ditches barely iced over, even if he was not used to making such preparations for a snowy winter, it was too large an oversight for him.

His fingers clenched into fists.

He finally admitted to himself that even with his firm resolution to live in this world, he had been avoiding thinking too much about the future.

It was the end of the month of Rainfall, and there were three months of Autumn in the Ascharonian calendar before the month of Snowfall dawned.

The reminder from Karles, a whole three months before snow actually fell, meant that the Lowpool winters must be difficult. From the names of the months, he could tentatively confirm such a supposition.

After Snowfall, there was the month of Icewerth, then the month of Snowmelt before the first of the three months of Spring. The month of Snowmelt was the first of the thirteen months of the Ascharonian calendar and according to Farbar was when people started to ready the fields for the next planting season.

The year would only grow colder from the present, which Defi was not looking forward to. He could feel his limbs almost shrivel at the thought of the impending icy future.

He squeezed Turq tightly to himself.

He shook his head. He had one or two months to get ready for the winter yet. That was enough time, wasn't it?

Defi had entered the smith's shop for tools, not to worry himself thinking of his very first winter.

He should be excited for the experience, yes? He was in a wondrous new world! A snowy winter was something he had never seen before. 

Surely come spring, he would be all the better for having experienced it! 

Come spring, he would be all the happier for the warming weather, and he definitely would not be a frozen corpse in the corner of his cold central hall because he ran out of firewood…

"Young sir, are you well?"

Defi jolted out of his thoughts at the question.

There was a middle-aged man looking at him in concern, with black hair curling around his shoulders and a small neatly-kept moustache. It was not Charol, who had been minding the shop the last time Defi came.

He looked somewhat familiar, but Defi could not remember where he saw the man.

"Certainly," Defi said calmly, his tight hug on Turq not loosening. "Why should I not be?"

The man hesitated, then smiled in the way that shopkeepers smiled when they were forcibly ignoring a customer's eccentricities. "Of course there would be no reason. May I help you? Are you interested in…builder's nails?"

Defi glanced in the direction the man had looked. Defi had indeed stopped to brood beside a barrel of wrought iron nails.

Beside the barrel of nails were several boxes of various types of small metallic hook-and-eye sets. Weren't those the sort used in delicate clothing?

How strange that they were sold next to builder's equipment.

A hand patted his shoulder, and Defi looked up to see a rather intense gaze set on him. "Fasteners, young one, just one crescent a kilogar. I guarantee they will keep for years without rusting, and if you buy multiple types, you can match them with any sort of…project."

"Ah." Defi moved out from under the man's hand, slightly bewildered. Then he put the pieces together, and nearly hit the man.

Did this shopkeep just imply that Defi was the sort to wear women's undergarments?

Men's undergarments used the fasteners too!

The inane thought, of how many men came to a blacksmith shop to buy fasteners so they can make 'alternate' underclothing, crossed Defi's mind.

He pushed it away and made a note to take care where he brooded in the future. "I'd like to buy four spades, two shovels, and a good axe."

The man nodded knowingly at the words. "Of course, of course, young sir. Our spades are merely two klaud and forty each, our shovels the same. Our wood-axes cost four klauds. I assure you, you'll find no better price anywhere within a hundred kilomar!"

The man was oozing pride at the words. Defi nodded, ignoring the sly looks.

"I am Fraise, young sir," continued the man. "With your large purchase, I can ask one of my many nephews to send them to your residence. If I may?"

Defi nodded. "Garge homestead."

The man froze. He looked at Turq, who was in Defi's arms, then narrowed his eyes on Defi's face.

"You…" His face contorted. "You're the whelp of a farmboy that is the reason little Agreine left town in tears!"

Oh. Now he remembered. This was one of the people standing with Calor Ducan the first time Defi met Agreine in the town hall.

"She left because of me?" Defi put on a surprised face. "How strange. We had little to do with each other, after all."

Fraise's moustache quivered in outrage, and he leaned threateningly close. "You little mutt—"

Turq chose that moment to interrupt with an explosion, unable to endure Defi's tight hug anymore.

A drop of liquid slid off the rather sharp point of a now drooping moustache.

"Ah." Defi commented faintly. He loosened his arms from around Turq.

Fraise's eyes were blankly bulging.

Needless to say, Defi did not manage to acquire tools from the blacksmith shop that day.

*

When he got back to the house, he sighed.

None of his endeavors in the afternoon bore fruit.

The savras sellers were not present, and he found himself at loggerheads with the blacksmith shopkeep.

He slumped into a chair in the central hall and picked up a sheet of paper, in an attempt to distract himself from depressing thoughts.

It was the notes on yesterday's training.

All of the thirteen people had attended the second session.

He had felt their determination and was a little ashamed.

On the sheet of paper was a list of pole-arm styles that would do well with a halberd. There was a slash across the list, negating all of them.

After he'd made the list and was debating which to teach, he questioned why he needed to teach them a style at all.

He was not obligated to them, nor were any of them of Ontrea or aware of the Teachings.

Why was he worrying so much about what to teach them?

The line of thought was so inescapable that he could not focus. This was the reason the notes were slightly crumpled; he'd nearly tossed them away in frustration.

Even now, he didn't know what to teach.

The Thundersnake Spear, which Natan already knew?

No, he was a little wary of how Natan wanted him to hide it.

He should come up with some rules. 

For instance, people shouldn't train while injured. He wrote Boone's name on the sheet of paper and encircled it.

He could give the other boy a bottle of savras extract, but he was certain it would be rejected.

He shook his head. 

He'd only picked up on the strain in Boone's body once they started digging, and then he couldn't draw attention to it. His friend Vesen had made a nuisance of himself subtly attempting to prevent the larger boy from doing too much in any case.

The Guiding Forms, he wanted to say he hadn't been surprised when the vitality of a bunch of Ascharonian kids had reacted to the exercise but he was.

He already knew that the energies between the worlds were similar in many aspects. He shouldn't be surprised.

Should he add a few of the philosophies? They, who were not warrior born, would not know the traditions and mindset that would make it easier to enter a battlefield. How many of them wanted to join the Ascharon army again?

He once more went through the list of styles he could teach, with the thirteen people in mind.

Nothing stood out.

He tapped the pen on the list.

He should ask how Natan's training went.

Was it possible that Natan's teacher did not introduce the Guiding Forms to his students before teaching the Thundersnake Art?

His brow furrowed.

The people of Ascharon did not have the Current, and their Shades might hinder the full utility of the Forms. Even then, with Defi's understanding, wouldn't the Shades of the students only strengthen with a proper foundation?

It would be easier to teach an Art if the Shades could mimic the Current, yes?

Or were the internal energies too different after all?

His mind wandered.

Defi had little to do with the Gates, only a small interest in them, despite the wealth of Rimet connected to it. His understanding of the relationship between the two worlds was that both had only signed agreements of neutral trade and little else.

From rumors of the 'Ontrean princess' that reached the Lowpool, Ymirin was being treated well.

He was probably thinking too much.

Defi had promised to teach the sword, and to teach the only sword art he was qualified to teach he needed his students to at least reach the meditation stage of the Guiding Forms. 

He circled two of the Arts on the crossed out list, remembering the lecture series on evolving Arts and combining styles.

Humming Snake Spear.

Interceptor Spear.

They were not the strongest Arts but Defi had worked on a combination of them for the lecture project. It had been an interesting puzzle.

The spear-master had laughed at his initial results, then proceeded to skin the style down to the very basics while insulting all the notes Defi had added to the forms. Why put on too many individualistic elements when a warrior only needed the Current?

Defi had not the chance to implement the spear-master's pointers, but he was informed that he had the beginnings of a promising Art. The unfinished nameless style could work.

In fact, thinking about it again, it was perfect.

The Shades of Ascharon would not mesh well with an Ontrean Art meant to work with the Current. But a style that had the chance to adapt to a Shade?

Defi stood to retrieve the glaive that had been sitting too long in his bedroom.

He had work to do.

**

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