Distortion (4)

She was alone, inside a hut. I hadn't noticed her until now using my keen senses. It seemed like I overlooked her. A lone little beastkin girl.

Zeal was her name from what I could remember. She lost her father to the goblins and her mother to…

Zipping over the roofs unseen by the rest of the villagers, I arrived at the lone hut standing at edge of the village. I landed silently by the doorsteps, climbing slowly as I noted the lack of a torch. It was dark, yet the young beastkin was there.

She was rolled inside a dirty blanket, clutching at something I could not see. With a snap of my fingers, I summoned a small orb of fire. It floated near my face, illuminating the rest of the hut's interior. The little girl noticed me. With wide, frightened eyes, she screamed.

I quickly cast a spell over the hut, preventing any sound from escaping. She unrolled from her blanket and ran against the wall, tears streaming down her face.

Okay, I should have planned this better.

"It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you." I said, unconvincingly. Not that it was my intention to be unconvincing, but appearing out of nowhere inside her home wasn't exactly a good first impression in hindsight.

The little girl had her back against the wall. Now that I had a better look of her, I couldn't help but feel pity. Her eyes were sore and sunken. Dark circles had formed around them. Her mouth quivered and her body trembled. Her fur was dirty and a mess.

I spotted a small brush as I scanned the room. It was barely used from the looks of it. There were also other things. Three mattresses made from hay laid together on the dusty floor, pairs of ragged clothing too big for her size lying about, and a table for three.

"I'm sorry," I apologized. This little girl had been spending all her time alone. Judging from her appearance, and the fact I saw no bowls of food nor cups of water, it was apparent she was all but abandoned. Nobody had even attempted to tend to her.

Valiant told me the truth. Though our conversation regarding this matter was interrupted by the undead, I still couldn't wrap my head around how a village this seemingly close-knit could just abandon one of their own. Sure she was still too young to contribute anything meaningful, but that didn't mean she was completely useless. And even if she was, wasn't her life still worth something? Anything?

What an ironic thing for me to think about.

I was terrible with kids, but I wasn't about to give up. Retreating into my memories, I searched for an idea, a lesson even, from an old friend about how children were to be soothed.

It had been a long, long time since he told me what it was, hence it was all just a blur in my mind. Why I couldn't remember something useful escaped me, owing to the fact that I could remember everything else clearly. Things I would rather forget.

My friend said something about asserting oneself as an equal, not as a superior. Something about children wanting to be understood, to have a shoulder to lean on.

The little girl stared at me in fear as I slowly walked away with my palms raised in apparent surrender. I sat in a corner a few feet away, giving her a somewhat comfortable distance between myself. Though it didn't seem to assure her much. However, it looked like slow, cautious movement was the right way to go.

As I made myself comfortable in my little corner, the sound of a starving belly filled my ears. She needed to eat.

I summoned a small portal in front of me, sinking my hand through the golden light and pulling out a bundle of sausages. Usually I didn't open portals directly into my pantries but tonight was an exception.

The little girl, or rather, Zeal, watched with morbid curiosity as I proceeded to pull out a metal pan, a silver plate, and lastly, a fork and spoon from the portal. I placed a few of the sausages on the pan and laid it out on the floor. With a snap of my fingers, the pan began to float. A smokeless fireball appeared below it, floating between the floor and the pan.

Cooking was not my forte, but it was something I knew how to do. It was something only my children could do better. I would never ever match up to the skill of Wheatley and Barleyon, or any of my helpers for that matter. When they cooked, it was perfection. But what I knew would have to do.

The portal I summoned had enlarged itself to accommodate all the things I was pulling out. A large cabbage, some tomatoes, potatoes, and a few herbs and spices to name a few. Not to mention the bottle of meat oil, the pitchers of water, and a sizeable pot.

I poured in the pitchers of water into the now floating pot. It hovered beside the pan with a larger, brighter fireball floating underneath it. The pan simmered with the meat and oil. An enticing aroma arose, filling the room with a delicious scent. My eyes gazed at the watching beastkin. Her eyes hungrily stared at the dishes being prepared before her.

A few minutes later, the pot began to boil. I poured in the potatoes and the other ingredients, careful not to be too quick lest I mess up the balance I sought. The simmering sausages were ready by the time the stew was beginning to take shape.

I placed the cooked sausages on the silver plate alongside the spoon and fork. Slowly, I reached out to the little girl sat against the wall. She cried no more, though apprehension still reflected from her eyes. She remained still, frozen either by fear or mistrust or both.

There was no use forcing her. I placed the plate on the table and poured her a cup of water. Not before cleaning the cup, of course.

We spent the next few minutes in silence as I stirred the pot with a ladle. The silence was broken only by the sound of simmering fireballs and boiling water. I kept my eyes on the pot, waiting patiently for the little girl to at least make a move.

Soon enough she did, crawling towards the table when she thought I wasn't paying attention. Though I didn't look at her, my senses kept track. She crawled all the way to one of the chairs before struggling to climb it. I was tempted to help her up, but doing so might scare away.

With much effort, and struggle, she climbed up the chair and beheld the meal I had prepared. Her mouth watered at the sight. She gulped as she looked at me, as if waiting for my approval. I looked at her and nodded.

She clumsily took the spoon and fork and dug in. Though the stew would need an hour more before it was ready, at least the little girl had something to look forward to.

Midnight passed. I removed the silencing spell, allowing the chorus of nature to stream in. The village was still a bit rowdy, but most had gone back to their huts. It was a cheerful yet solemn night. The villagers would mourn soon, maybe after we had left. But one little girl would mourn and die alone.

Unless I had something to say about it.