Plague
yksi
“Woodbine, ari... Agiaveet, ari... Nisnitiscus... Where are the roots of nisnitiscus?”
“Nisnitiscus? Menir, there was none of that on the list–”
Ruehar Anore, a short elven man no taller than a human child, snatched the piece of paper containing that morning's supply run from young Elnaril's hand and squinted, skimming the list before matter-of-factly jabbing his fat index finger towards the bottom of it. “Here it is. Bright as day. Exactly twenty-seven nisnitiscus roots.”
Ruehar's arm jutted to Elnaril, who took the list and glanced at it incredulously.
“I... I hadn't seen it on the list during my run, menir...”
Takari decided to intervene between the two aforementioned parties before her father scared the new shopkeeper assistant off – which would have been, after all, the third time this month he had done that. “An'da, ile il torna ta se. You will frighten him. Besides, the nisnitiscus roots can wait. The next bow shipment isn't due for exportation until next month.”
Ruehar looked up at his only daughter sternly but couldn't help the hint of amusement that danced around in his eyes. Takari was carefree, much like her Min'da once was, but she knew little to nothing about her father's trade.
“Unless the two of you would like to put in the overtime necessary to get the shipment done in time,” Ruehar paused momentarily, glancing between his new assistant and his daughter, “I suggest you make haste on gathering the remaining supplies. Takari, my dear lapsi, would you be so kind as to show young Elnaril here the precise whereabouts of the nisnitiscus? Seeing as he couldn't find it himself the first time around.”
Takari inwardly groaned but knew better than to protest. “May I bring my bow?”
“You shan't need your bow in the nisnitiscus fields.”
“No,” Takari agreed, “But there are plenty of trees along the way. For practice.”
“The last time you said that you shot Daratrine Faehorn's cat.”
“Accidentally!” Takari cried, remembering the time she mistook her neighbor's black tabby cat for a skunk. She hadn't killed it, only maimed its back left foot. Still, Mrs. Faehorn felt the need to boycott Takari's father's shop for a good month – until she desperately needed some of the supplies that only he carried. “It wasn't my fault. Who lets their cats roam freely in these woods? Besides, it wasn't like she didn't have ten other cats waiting for her at home–”
“You may take your bow. Get going.”
Takari grabbed her bow from behind the counter with a triumphant smile before leading her father's new assistant out of the shop. The nisnitiscus field was only a hop, skip and a jump away from the village of Alda Harad. Through the short veil of wooded area directly across from the shop, across the brook, and passed the engraved rock. Takari was sure her father had taught her these directions before she was even capable of walking. Nisnitiscus was his lifeline after all, his means of living – it was what he crafted the cores of his lovely bows with.
Elnaril stayed quiet for most of the journey. Takari found it deafening.
“I speak Soheren and common tongue.” She informed him after a few minutes.
“Huh?” Elnaril stuttered out.
“You haven't spoken a word to me since we left my father's shop,” Takari reminded him, jumping rock to rock to avoid getting wet while crossing the brook, “I'm just letting you know that I'm fluent in both languages – in case you were afraid of miscommunication.”
Elnaril said nothing in response and Takari pursed her lips. At least she could sleep well at night knowing that she had put the effort in to make pleasantries. She exhaled and stopped in her place on a rock. Elnaril continued on walking, presumably not realizing that she had stopped, and for a moment Takari wondered if he had any thoughts going through his head at all before she pulled an arrow from the quiver over her shoulder. She nocked the arrow onto her bow before raising and drawing it, aiming for the tree Elnaril was walking by.
Takari was pleased when the arrow hit the precise piece of green moss she had aimed at – and when a string of obscenities fell from Elnaril's mouth. He turned to look at Takari, all color drained from his face as he exclaimed, “Are you crazy?”
“So you can speak. Colorfully, might I add.”
“I did not sign up for this,” Elnaril mumbled as Takari wiggled her arrow out from the trunk of the tree. “Your father is crazy. You are crazy. I can only imagine what your mother is like.” Takari sniffed at the assistant's words and felt her hands clam up.
“My Min'da is dead.”
The color drained from Elnaril's face once more.
“I'm sorry,” he said, clearing his throat, “How did she – how did it happen?”
“I don't remember,” Takari said.
“I didn't mean to – it was only a joke.”
“There is the field. We should hurry if we want to get back before sundown.”
“Nisnitiscus? Menir, there was none of that on the list–”
Ruehar Anore, a short elven man no taller than a human child, snatched the piece of paper containing that morning's supply run from young Elnaril's hand and squinted, skimming the list before matter-of-factly jabbing his fat index finger towards the bottom of it. “Here it is. Bright as day. Exactly twenty-seven nisnitiscus roots.”
Ruehar's arm jutted to Elnaril, who took the list and glanced at it incredulously.
“I... I hadn't seen it on the list during my run, menir...”
Takari decided to intervene between the two aforementioned parties before her father scared the new shopkeeper assistant off – which would have been, after all, the third time this month he had done that. “An'da, ile il torna ta se. You will frighten him. Besides, the nisnitiscus roots can wait. The next bow shipment isn't due for exportation until next month.”
Ruehar looked up at his only daughter sternly but couldn't help the hint of amusement that danced around in his eyes. Takari was carefree, much like her Min'da once was, but she knew little to nothing about her father's trade.
“Unless the two of you would like to put in the overtime necessary to get the shipment done in time,” Ruehar paused momentarily, glancing between his new assistant and his daughter, “I suggest you make haste on gathering the remaining supplies. Takari, my dear lapsi, would you be so kind as to show young Elnaril here the precise whereabouts of the nisnitiscus? Seeing as he couldn't find it himself the first time around.”
Takari inwardly groaned but knew better than to protest. “May I bring my bow?”
“You shan't need your bow in the nisnitiscus fields.”
“No,” Takari agreed, “But there are plenty of trees along the way. For practice.”
“The last time you said that you shot Daratrine Faehorn's cat.”
“Accidentally!” Takari cried, remembering the time she mistook her neighbor's black tabby cat for a skunk. She hadn't killed it, only maimed its back left foot. Still, Mrs. Faehorn felt the need to boycott Takari's father's shop for a good month – until she desperately needed some of the supplies that only he carried. “It wasn't my fault. Who lets their cats roam freely in these woods? Besides, it wasn't like she didn't have ten other cats waiting for her at home–”
“You may take your bow. Get going.”
Takari grabbed her bow from behind the counter with a triumphant smile before leading her father's new assistant out of the shop. The nisnitiscus field was only a hop, skip and a jump away from the village of Alda Harad. Through the short veil of wooded area directly across from the shop, across the brook, and passed the engraved rock. Takari was sure her father had taught her these directions before she was even capable of walking. Nisnitiscus was his lifeline after all, his means of living – it was what he crafted the cores of his lovely bows with.
Elnaril stayed quiet for most of the journey. Takari found it deafening.
“I speak Soheren and common tongue.” She informed him after a few minutes.
“Huh?” Elnaril stuttered out.
“You haven't spoken a word to me since we left my father's shop,” Takari reminded him, jumping rock to rock to avoid getting wet while crossing the brook, “I'm just letting you know that I'm fluent in both languages – in case you were afraid of miscommunication.”
Elnaril said nothing in response and Takari pursed her lips. At least she could sleep well at night knowing that she had put the effort in to make pleasantries. She exhaled and stopped in her place on a rock. Elnaril continued on walking, presumably not realizing that she had stopped, and for a moment Takari wondered if he had any thoughts going through his head at all before she pulled an arrow from the quiver over her shoulder. She nocked the arrow onto her bow before raising and drawing it, aiming for the tree Elnaril was walking by.
Takari was pleased when the arrow hit the precise piece of green moss she had aimed at – and when a string of obscenities fell from Elnaril's mouth. He turned to look at Takari, all color drained from his face as he exclaimed, “Are you crazy?”
“So you can speak. Colorfully, might I add.”
“I did not sign up for this,” Elnaril mumbled as Takari wiggled her arrow out from the trunk of the tree. “Your father is crazy. You are crazy. I can only imagine what your mother is like.” Takari sniffed at the assistant's words and felt her hands clam up.
“My Min'da is dead.”
The color drained from Elnaril's face once more.
“I'm sorry,” he said, clearing his throat, “How did she – how did it happen?”
“I don't remember,” Takari said.
“I didn't mean to – it was only a joke.”
“There is the field. We should hurry if we want to get back before sundown.”