1 Sunny Days are the Worst

Mornings are the absolute worst. It's when the sun rises into the sky and its obnoxious head yells: "Humans, wake up! It's time to put your butts to the test!" Ugh.

"Why does it have to be morning?" Rikkard sighed as his gaze averted downward in disgust.

The locals were all out in the fields working. As the sun shone down unfiltered on them, sweat streamed down their faces and into their shirts. He grinned warmly to himself. Seeing folk suffer in the sweltering heat had made his decision to perch in a tree all the more worthwhile.

He closed his eyes and imagined the approaching winter season. Oh, how he craved the cold! The frigid air in his lungs, the white snow between his toes, the thick storm clouds dropping snowflakes upon the ground-

"RIKKARD! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!" A voice cried, yanking him out of his slumber. He followed the speaker and came face to face with Old Man Graves standing right below him. Veins popped out of his bulging muscles as he glared at Rikkard.

"What are you looking for, Graves?" Rikkard sluggishly asked as his eyes closed.

"What I want is for you to start working and quit sitting on your arse all day!" Graves screamed in a bearish tone.

"Thanks, but no thanks. It's far too hot to be working so hard right now. Get in touch with me in a few hours, when there's a breeze or something." Rikkard answered by waving him away with a flick of his wrist. Graves snarled before storming out, leaving Rikkard alone with nature.

Finally, some tranquility, What was he thinking about at this point? Ah, yes! Beautiful blizzards picking up snow and dancing in the wind. The frozen lakes, which appear to be fuzzy windows looking in at you-

Suddenly, the tree shook violently, trembling in a chaotic rhythm. His eyes snapped open and he tightened his grip on the branch as he scanned the bottom of the tree.

To his horror, Graves had returned with a giant ax and started hacking at the tree! Crazy old bastard! Graves grunted with each blow, jolting the whole tree as they connected. Before Rikkard could stop him, Graves tool one last jab into the trunk. The tree creaked and slowly crashed to the ground. Rikkard lost his grip, disappearing beneath the branches as he plummeted to the ground.

Darkness enveloped his vision.

Was he dead?

Just as his vision cleared, a firm grip grasped his arm and yanked him free of the toppled branches. At first, he was almost relieved. But then he realized that Graves tossed him on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and had no intention of releasing him.

"You could have killed me!" Rikkard yelled as Graves stood from the debris.

"Come on, brat. We got work to do!" Graves roared, ignoring the accusation as they walked back to the fields.

==

Rikkard rested his head on the table, completely exhausted. All around him, people drank, ate, and yelled throughout the tavern. Serving girls struggled to grab orders while villagers leaped from their seats, spilling whatever was in their hands.

He snuggled into his arms as he tried to block the noise. He just wanted to eat and get to sleep. How can people have this much energy? Maybe I should just take it to go, he decided as he started to rise. However, someone pulled him back to the chair.

"And where do you think you're going?" Graves asked, plopping a seat next to Rikkard. He placed a mountain of food on the table that ranged from roasted beef to sweet buns and everything in between. Rikkard's mouth watered as his stomach growled.

"Nowhere," Rikkard muttered before stuffing his mouth. He almost melted in his seat. This food was surprisingly good! Who knew a fulfilling meal after a hard day's work could be so good? As he was devouring the food, Graves watched and laughed in delight.

"BWAHAHA! I'm glad you have an appetite, brat!" Graves managed out in between his laughs, "I was worried you would fall asleep again."

"Ghab do ywab mhan?" Rikkard garbled with a mouth full of food, which only made Graves laugh more.

"How is it that someone as lazy as you can work that hard?" Graves wondered aloud.

Rikkard swallowed his food before retorting. "Maybe because some senile, old monster forces me to? And if I refuse, it drags me to work anyway?"

"That sounds scary, brat. I hope you can defeat this terrifying monster someday, but if you can't, you can always call me. I'll help, for a price at least," Graves said with a knowing grin.

"Whatever," Rikkard grumbled as he continued eating. People were beginning to gather outside to go watch the pigs race each other, so the noise in the tavern had quieted. With the raucous of drunken villagers, his meal was all the more satisfying.

But for some reason, Graves had gone silent, his focus drawn toward the drink. Only when Rikkard was down eating did he finally speak up.

"Hey, brat. How old are you now?" Graves asked quietly.

Rikkard raised an eyebrow. "16, I think?"

"16 already, huh?" Graves murmured to himself before taking another swish of his drink. His eyes stared off into the distance, at something only he could see. Rikkard watched Graves closely as he slowly finished his drink.

"What the hell are you planning to do? With your life, I mean?" Graves asked ominously. Rikkard leaned back in his seat and stared at the tavern ceiling.

"I don't know," he admitted, "Figured I'd just stay here or something. You and Arthur might have joined the army out of a sense of duty, but me? I probably wouldn't make it."

"Is that right?" Graves replied. There was something in his tone as he said this. Like a mix of relief and regret.

One of the serving girls came over to collect their plates. Swallowing the last of his drink, Graves slammed it on the table, starting both Rikkard and the girl.

"How about you settle down then?" Graves yelled, smiling again from ear to ear. He pointed to the serving girl. "What about this missy here? She's pretty, right? Bet she'd make a wonderful wife!"

Rikkard looked at the serving girl. She had short brown hair, some of which fell down her warm, beige face. As their eyes met, both of their faces warmed and they quickly broke eye contact. Damn it old man. What is he supposed to do? She was cute, but should he say that? Or should he disagree?

Luckily, the girl saved them both the trouble of replying by quickly grabbing the plates and hurrying away from their table as quickly as possible. Graves pouted as he watched the girl leave.

"Oh come on! Why'd you go and do that? All you had to do was talk to her! Where's your desire, boy?" He mirthfully roared. Rikkard narrowed his eyes. Maybe it'd still be here if you didn't scare all the girls away, he thought as he got up.

"I'm calling it a night," Rikkard declared in frustration. "See you later, Graves."

Graves frowned. "Turning in already? Fine, see you at home!"

Rikkard left the tavern. The sky was a dark orange color as the cold moon took its brother's place in the sky. The villagers had placed the torches on their posts and soon, the whole place glowed.

He trudged along the dirt road until he came upon the small hut that Graves called his home. As soon as he entered his cluttered room, his exhaustion overtook him and he collapsed into his bed. Wrapping himself in warm blankets, he let his mind drift and tried not to think about the cursed dawn and another day of agonizing work.

==

Somewhere in a dark forest, a black-cloaked figure wandered amongst gnarled trees. A white ghostly mist blanketed the forest floor and obscured mud caked the ground. Nearby, a river roared, concealing the person's footsteps.

The figure's head swiveled as they searched the area before spotting a peculiar indention on the ground amidst the mist. The person got closer and dropped to one knee to get a better look. It appeared to be a footprint of a colossal creature; In fact, the creature must have been so big it could crush a full-grown man to nothing. The edges of the footprint were still visible in the dim light of the setting sun indicating they barely missed it. They need to hurry and catch it.

Standing up, the figure began to move in the same direction as the remaining footprints. A curved sword swung from the flaps of their cloak as they faded away.