The Naive Little Boy
Everything was quiet. All he could hear was the sound of the wind blowing in his ears and the chirps of the birds overhead. It was so… serene, peaceful even, just like it was before his sister died. How many times had she told him to just close his eyes and listen? And he had never listened to her until now, when it was too late.
It was hopeless, he was told. Her disease was completely incurable, an illness that had stumped scientists for centuries. Even her maternal family, whom were filthy rich and extremely influential, could do nothing for her. She was a goner from the start, marked for death the moment she was born. But she had never let it get to her, not even once. As a matter of fact, she was the one that had smiled brilliantly and reassured her own brother that it would be okay, that it didn't matter, that she was fine, and like a fool, he had believed her. How he regretted it now, believing her and that warm smile he would never see again. But regret wouldn't change a thing, not now and not ever.
Three years. It had been a little over three years since his only family died, and sadly enough, Wyn had not fared well without her.
Looking down with wet cheeks, Wyn patted his depressingly deflated stomach as it grumbled in discontent. "Yes, yes, I know," he mumbled to himself, brushing off the little salty droplets resting upon his face. Steeling himself, he hurriedly grabbed the mud-stained cap next to him, plopping it on his head silently, and rushed out of the damp, dark alleyway. With his dirtied rags and his stained skin, he looked exactly like one of the little money-grubbers in the streets.
He slid smoothly through the crowded marketplace, calmly murmuring his apologies to the few people he bumped into. Most were understanding and accommodating, but the peaceful atmosphere didn't last long. Wyn had just happened to bump into a particularly annoyed-looking young man when he suddenly felt the blade of a knife tapping against his neck lightly. Wyn froze, turning his gaze upon the young man holding the knife. Elegant and sophisticated-looking, the man's perfectly trimmed dark brown hair and crystal-clear green eyes seemed completely out of place when compared to the worn grey robes he was wearing. Although not burly, he was not scrawny, and although he wasn't intimidating, he had a righteous aura about him, a sure sign of a son of some wealthy lord going incognito.
"You. I'm sure you knew that I was not to be messed with, yet you ran into me nonetheless. What are you up to?" the man immediately asked, his expression stone cold. Holding back his uneasiness, Wyn shook his head innocently and raised his hands up.
"I wouldn't dare," he answered, bringing his hands back down and lowering his head slightly. "How could I even dream of offending someone so far above me in status?" he asked nonchalantly.
"Hmph," the man grumbled. "Petty words." Nonetheless, the man sheathed his knife, swifter than the wind. Suddenly, he leaned in close, almost touching Wyn's ear with his chin. "I'd be more careful when choosing who to pickpocket if I were you. Others might not be as forgiving as I am," he whispered, his warm breath brushing Wyn's ear uncomfortably, before walking away.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Wyn dropped to his knees, covering his face with his grimy hands. Truly, he didn't want to make a living this way, robbing insusceptible innocents, but he really didn't have a choice. He was too young to work, after all, and he wasn't willing to join one of the already dirt-poor orphanages in the area. All in all, his only choices were to either beg or pickpocket, and, as he had quick hands, Wyn chose the latter. The people in the area were already poor enough, and the only kind souls willing to offer money were those who were willing to go without food for a whole day. It was against his principles to trouble the already-suffering after all, and the wealthy wouldn't mind a couple missing bronze coins. At the very least, they wouldn't go hungry for the rest of the day, unlike those peasants from the slums.
Picking himself up, Wyn hurriedly scurried over to a desolate alley nearby, now smoothly weaving his way through the crowd of people without any more "mishaps". Glancing down, he pulled out a couple bronze and silver coins, before gasping sharply. Although barely visible in the dim light, the glint of a gold coin caught his eyes instantly, and he immediately thought of the short confrontation with the young man. So he really was a good man after all. With this gold coin, Wyn could feed himself for a month, maybe even two if he decided to use it frugally. Smiling softly at the thought of food, Wyn thanked the young noble profusely in his heart, promising to repay him someday.
Without further ado, Wyn rushed back into the market in excitement, his stomach rumbling gleefully at the sight of all the tempting food. He quickly strode over to his favorite bread stall, a place where the bread was always fresh and cheap, and instantaneously, a delicious scent wafted towards him, invading his nostrils immediately. Running up to the familiar-looking old man at the counter, Wyn bought a loaf of bread with incredible haste. The old man grinned at the little boy's naive, yet always adorable antics and snuck a slice of cheesy bread into the paper bag, the way he always did.
"Thank you, mister!" Wyn called enthusiastically as he grabbed his bag and handed the elderly man a few coins. Unable to bear the temptation any longer, he pulled out a slice and started munching on it. The delicious taste invaded his taste buds, and he couldn't help but close his eyes blissfully as he took the first bite.
"No problem." The old man laughed merrily, his mood uplifted by the little boy's happiness. He waved goodbye to Wyn, smiling warmly, and turned to his next customer. Meanwhile, Wyn leisurely made his way back to the empty alley from earlier, crunching happily on his lunch, and, after making sure no one was around, a desolate, almost dead, expression covered his face entirely. All his earlier naivety and innocence had disappeared in an instant. Gone was the happy boy trying his best to survive after the death of his beloved half-sister; all that was left was a cold, unfeeling child with ambitions beyond the heights of mountains.
At the edge of the crowd, a young man watched it all happen, the corner of his lips raising approvingly. "A good seed indeed," he murmured thoughtfully.