Chapter 1

Muck huddled next to his barely lit oil lamp; sleep had been fitful for him, and the gentle flicker of the yellow flame kept him calm. He wasn't supposed to use the lamp this way, but he had snuck enough oil to occasionally light it when the darkness and pain were too much.

He shifted on his sleeping mat, wincing as the wound on his left arm rubbed against it. No matter how much he went to the local herbalist for treatment, it never really went away. It would heal, but after a few days working in the cesspit it would return. He moved his left arm into the light; the scab on his forearm had fallen off and it oozed a sour smelling liquid.

Muck sighed. As a cesspit mucker his daily goods allotment wasn't high, and the herbs necessary to treat him cost enough that he wouldn't be eating tomorrow.

He rolled over and watched the light flicker on the wall until he fell back asleep.

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"Muck! Get your gods-cursed body out here!"

Muck shot up, slamming his head against the low stick roof. Cursing and clutching his head, he crawled across the dirt floor and out of his hovel. Two large hands grabbed him and hauled him up. Squinting against the morning light, Muck looked at the barrel-chested man who was holding him in the air and gave him his best smile.

"Steward, what brings you here this morning?"

"You know gods-cursed why I'm here!"

The smile faded from his face. How did Steward know he took extra oil last night? He was certain no one saw him slip in and refill his oil pot. He dropped his head and quietly said "I'm sorry, Steward. You know I can't sleep in the dark."

Steward shook him hard and threw him to the ground. "I don't give a soul's weight that you can't sleep at night! Now I've gotta beg Master for more oil to placate Miss Herblu and he won't like that."

He sighed and squatted down next to Muck.

"Apparently being driven out of your parent's home and becoming a mucker wasn't enough to stop you. So from now on you need to return your lamp to me after you are done for the night, and your goods allotment will be cut in half for a few days."

"What?!"

Muck sat there in shock. Cutting his allotment meant that he couldn't get treated by the herbalist, Miss Herblu.

As Steward stood up, Muck latched onto his legs.

"No! You can't do this to me! Without my allotment I can't get medicine for my arm!" He stared up at Steward pleadingly, but couldn't read his expression due to the shadows cast by Steward's white hair.

"Get off of me!"

Steward shook him off and stepped back. "Maybe a few days of hunger and a festering wound will make you think twice before stealing more oil."

"You're gonna kill me!"

Steward turned around and started walking back to the village in the distance.

Muck hurridly stood up and chased after him. He grabbed Steward's arm to try and stop him, but Muck's withered strength wasn't enough.

Steward pulled him off and tossed him into a bush. Muck screamed in agony as a twig forced itself into his wound. A flash of pity crossed Steward's face before he turned around and left.

Sobbing echoed from the bush as Muck slowly extracted the twig from his left arm. He struggled out of the bush and fell onto the dusty path. Clutching his wound, he stared up at the sky while waiting for the pain to die down.

His regret swelled. He should have listened to Steward the first time when he lost the house. Now he was condemned to die, either from starvation or his gods-cursed arm.

The fluffy clouds meandered across the sky, occasionally blocking the cooling light of the sun. The wind whistled through the few trees around him, the desolate sound accenting his already poor mood.

After a while, Muck slowly stood up and shuffled back to his hovel. Standing next to the building that was barely as tall as he was, he stared blankly at the weeds that grew up the soil that made up its walls. Should he just lay down next to it and let the weeds consume him? No one would miss him, and he wouldn't have to live this cursed life anymore. Or maybe he should stagger off into the woods and die the way his parents did. He hovel was near the edge of the forest, so it wouldn't take much to go inside and lose himself.

He chuckled gloomily. To think he would die because he had too much oil and his parents died from not having enough.

Wait. Oil?

A shiver passed through his body as a spark of hope lit up his heart. He could take the oil he had to Miss Herblu! And then maybe she would be kind enough to treat him! He crawled inside and dragged the oil pot out. Barely any was missing as he burned very little at night, so this should be more than enough for her.

Looking at the pot, he realized that some of the yellow ooze and some blood from his wound was smeared on the pot; His hand was still covered in the stuff when he went inside for it. He wiped his hand and rubbed what he could off on his tunic.

His tunic was now slimy and rather smelly. He couldn't drop off the oil like this. He needed to clean off. He stashed the oil pot back inside and walked towards the river where he dumps the contents of the cesspit.

When he reached it, he stripped off his clothes and scrubbed them with rocks, far away from the night soil that still hadn't washed away from yesterday's work.

The sun was almost high in the sky by the time his clothes were clean and dry. Grabbing the pot from his hovel, he stared off at the village in the distance. Hope surged in his heart. Time to deliver the oil!