How to be the one to Leave

--- Kuttle, Herbal Greenhouses

Kuttle was aglow that sunny afternoon. The town was still quiet and filled with farmers too busy to talk, but still livelier than the past few weeks. The sun had popped out from the winter clouds and rained down some much-needed sunlight.

In the greenhouses, this meant the warmer air was heated more so than usual. Jill wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, still smudging dirt on it despite her efforts. The past few days had been harder than expected thanks to the sudden loss of her crops, but a few extra hours of work and a little more risk in trimming down the herbs was enough to keep them afloat. It seemed to be getting nothing but harder to earn so much as a few pentos, these days. She frowned for a brief moment, the image of her boy collapsed on the ground and scrambling to hide the mess. Perhaps the way she scolded him was out of place. Once he was done avoiding him, perhaps, she'd have to revisit the topic with a bit more understanding.

Still, she couldn't help but feel a small wave of calm. It was past midday, by then, and there was no talk of her son's whereabouts or schemes. The past few days had been quiet, come to think of it. What, no ruckus around town, no neighbors popping in to ask her to fetch the wild thing? Jill smiled and gently tapped the soil around a few saplings.

Perhaps the day would stay calm.

"Ma! Ma!"

"Of course," Jill muttered. The unmistakable slap of boots on damp dirt that could only come from a boy with her son's attitude came rushing toward the greenhouses. His shadow danced on the coated tarps as he made his way around, then the flaps whirled once he burst in through the entrance.

"Ma," he choked, wheezing and sweaty. Jill stared him down. She had hardly seen him; what little she had, he'd been moody and dismissive. Seeing him now, panicked and breathless, was a little odd.

"Oh my. What? What?"

He reached up to grab her hand and tugged. "You have to come with."

"What's wrong?"

"The forest! The trees! There's something out there!"

Jill resisted, casually slipping her hand out of the grasp. "What are you talking about, Thistle?"

"The adventurers--" Riddle whipped his hand around to point to the east, nearly knocking down a basket of cuttings to be planted. Jill lunged for them, catching before they fell. Riddle coiled inward and stepped away. "There were three adventurers that came here looking for a monster. I told them I heard it in the woods and then-- and then--"

"Woah, hold on," Jill shushed her boy and knelt down. Riddle sniffed and wiped his face, either from the fear or the exhaustion. "Goodness, what on Leuther are you talking about? Is this another one of your little pretend fights?"

"Pretend? No! The adventurers, Ma," he pleaded. "They were here, in Kuttle. I heard something in the woods and told them it was the monster they were looking for. They were screaming, Ma! Something's wrong and it's all my fault!"

"Baby, there's no monster in the woods. You probably just heard a fox."

"It wasn't a fox!"

"Hey, could you please stop yelling? Take a breath, you're acting a little wild right now."

He halted at her response, though his voice and body still quaked from the panic.

"You think I'm lying?"

Jill thought on her words. "I think you're taking your playing a little far like you did the other day."

Riddle waved his arms out and his voice, though less shrill, grew louder. "I tripped over a bucket."

"You were chasing a monster you thought was real."

Riddle threw his hands up and turned as if to leave. "I never thought he was real!" Jill managed to grab him before he could move farther, turning and holding him still by the sleeves of his shirt. His face formed a scowl and he avoided looking at his mother. "I just wish it was."

"Are you maybe trying to tell me that there's something in the woods because you want to explore?"

"What?"

"You know it's dangerous, Thistle. You could get lost or get caught by predators--"

"That's what I'm saying. Why aren't you listening? The adventurers are out there getting attacked. I thought you'd at least know who could help."

"Thistle, I'm sorry, but you need to take a deep breath and calm down. Remember what I said about counting to ten?"

"Counting to ten? Myths, Ma, I'm not a baby--"

"Thistle!" Jill grabbed her son by the arms, this time. They locked eyes and the boy stilled.

"Why don't you believe me?"

Jill slowly shook her head. "It's not that. Say you're telling the truth, then, and those folks from Horrus got caught in the path of a few wolves. What do you expect me to do, then? Go after them? I'm no adventurer, Thistle. Neither are you. So let's just sit you down over here, where we're all safe, and I promise you everything will be okay--"

Riddle yanked himself out of his mother's grip. "You don't think I can be an adventurer?" They stared at one another for a desperately long moment, one waiting for a response, the other rushing for words.

"Thistle, I know it's fun to pretend, but it's really time that you start looking for better things to work toward. Your neighbors are getting just a little annoyed at you running around and I really don't want to have to coop you up here with me. I know it's not fun."

Riddle was at a loss for words. He couldn't tell if his mother was trying to distract him by changing the subject, discourage him from his dreams, or both. For a moment he simply stood there, feeling like a fool, mouth agape in hope that something clever would come out.

"You're not a boy anymore, Thistle. It's time to start acting more your age." Jill whispered, brushing her son's white bangs out of his face. Without thinking, Riddle slapped her hand. She retreated with widened eyes.

"I'm not acting like a little boy. You're not going to make me think I am, either. I am an adventurer and I am going to help people. Help me or don't, but I will prove you wrong. All of you!"

That time, Jill was at a loss for words. Her brows creased. "What's that supp--"

Yet again, Riddle cut his mother short and, taking her shock as his means of escape, lunged out of reach and bolted.

Out of the greenhouses he flew, out into the streets of Kuttle. Of course, how could he trust his mother, of all people, to help him? She was right, after all; she was no adventurer. Just a feeble gardener who does feeble gardener things.

He skidded around the corner to the right and ran down the street, where the busier part of town lay in wait. Once he reached it, he came to an abrupt halt. The town center. He turned and turned in search of a worthy aid, but none seemed up to the task. Priests, farmers, ranchers. Then, just ahead, he caught sight of the familiar butchery.

"Rotter is a strong man," the goat beast said, fizzling into existence in immediate understanding of the situation. From his tone came a sense of urgency. "He would be a worthy ally."

"He'll know what to do," Riddle agreed. There wasn't time to waste. He charged straight to the butchery and in through the doorway.

"Mr. Rotter," Riddle huffed, slapping his hands on the counter ahead to stop himself. The large butcher twirled at the panic with a massive knife in hand. He glanced at it before putting it down and facing Riddle.

"Afternoon, Thistle. What can I help you with tod--"

"You have to come with me, right now. Someone's in danger. In the woods."

Rotter stared him down, first with shock, next with apathy, finally with amusement. He let out a low chuckle. Riddle, however, was less than happy. He groaned and patted the table frantically.

"I'm not joking! I tried asking Ma and she doesn't care!"

Rotter sighed with a giddy grin on his face and reached for a cloth to clean his hands with. "I'm sure your Ma knows best. You should listen to her, don't you think?"

"No!" Riddle dug his nails into the table and pulled, as if to crawl towad the large man, or maybe pull him close by some invisible force. It of course didn't work, so he released the table and ripped to the side, where he slipped under the rope marking off the entrance to the butcher's work station. Rotter's amusement vanished.

"Careful, boy."

"I need help," Riddle pleaded. "Right now, before it's too late."

"Alright, alright, slow down." He slapped the cloth on the table and pinned his hands to his sides. He faced Riddle, looking down at him like a mountain. "Explain it to me from the top."

Riddle shrank and gave the man a pained stare. From the top? He'dlose precious time, that way, and for what! For the man to corner him into the shop 'for his own good'? Assuming he'd even believe him, that is. With a fast pace, Riddle reached for his sweaty hair, balled a few chunks in his fists, and whisked them away. "I hate all of you! You're never any help!"

He abandoned the attempt to gain Rotter's help. The butcher flinched as he hurried off out of the shop.

"Young man, come here, now."

The stern tone convinced Riddle to do the opposite, in fact.

---

"You're immature, Thistle," Riddle mocked with a frustrated tone. He kicked at a few rocks on his street. "You'll never be an adventurer, Thistle. Because your just-- a useless-- brat! Nobody cares about me. No strangers, no teachers, no friends, not even my own parents. At least if I went with Pa I'd be allowed to run around and have fun. It's not my fault I don't have anything else to do." Mrs. Popper, secretly titled the town cheater by Riddle, passed with her husband. Riddle lunged a finger at them and shouted when they passed. "YOU don't care about me, do you?" They flinched and hurried their pace. "That's what I thought!"

Around the corner he went, to where his hut came into view. He stormed along the street, yanked open the door, then slammed it shut behind him. There wasn't much for warmth inside, but he paid no attention to the stove, nor did he bother to shake out the rugs or sweep as he was supposed to. He went straight for his room, crawled through his trap door, and searched around for his shoulder bag in a flurry of sheets and feathers.

"Not an adventurer," he muttered. Once his hand gripped the shabby fabric of his bag, he yanked it wide open and tossed in his two books. Draped over a pinned wallobi stag rack, he whipped off his fur vest, linen coat, and purple scarf, fitting them all on one by one with harsh movements and little care to the order of his buttons. Deeming himself prepared with all he needed in his room, he crawled out to the living room. Four sweet potatoes wrapped and bagged in sack fabric, one small leather pouch for water, empty, and his life savings of five pentos. Truly a rich young man. "I'll show them one day. I'll show her. Once I come back with enough earnings to put any man into a state of misery. Just you wait."

He yanked a dull kitchen knife from its place hanging on the wall, shoved everything in his bag, and whirled the strap over his shoulder.

"How can she not care at all about them?" He maintained a heightened tone and shrug as he left the house, shutting the door and steeping to the side. His hand swept instinctively to grab his stick. "It's like she thinks it's okay for them to just walk off and die."

He turned left at the dirt road, which would lead him directly to the fence guarding Old Harbur's ranch. For a brief moment, he exaggerated his march to have wide-swinging limbs and a chaoticly unstable head. He mouthed foul words as he did so. If she wouldn't help someone who had walked into danger, then he'd mock her for not stopping him from doing the same. Well, even if she didn't see. After the mockery, though, his steps calmed to a heavy drag.

He kept hands in his pockets and didn't pause, not until he ducked under the fence to the east pastures, not until he brushed past the familiar grazers, not even until he reached the woods... Well, almost.

Riddle's steaming face calmed at the approach of the forest. His feet stopped before he realized it happen. It was maybe a half mile from where he was, but even at that far a distance he could feel the push. He grit his teeth and took a step closer. There was someone in danger because of him, right? He had to go in there.

Right?

Riddle bit his lip. He was the closest to the treeline than he'd ever been. Before, it didn't seem so daunting. One step farther... He peeked behind him, searching for a speck of movement to indicate someone was looking for him. Nothing. One step again.

Adventurers always help those in need, adventurer.