Whimsical Tales of Woe

The Wanderers

Part three: The Wanderers

(Mild adult themes)

Prompt: A bard tells a story.

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The fire crackled in mirth and the children leaned in to hear what the bard would speak of tonight.

It was a cool night, with a frosty wind that swept across the lowlands and reminded him of a tale he had not heard since he was a lad. The man, just entering his middle years, had spent the last two months travelling with this particular caravan and had gathered quite a reputation amongst the youngest caravaners.

They pulled at his sleeves when he walked past, and called out to him at meal times. Often he would look at them and they would run away in a fit of giggles, but for those who were persistent, he would lean down to them and watch their eyes grow wide in awe and excitement. A performer through and through, his time was never wasted if he could make a child laugh. For the twins he would sprinkle them in dust that reflected the light and watch them try to catch the spinning flecks before they disappeared. For the older ones, he would challenge them to think of a number, a place or an object, setting himself the challenge of discovering their thoughts in fewer than ten questions. And for sweet Claudia, the youngest and barely taller than his knees, he would produce a flower from thin air before her eyes and grin when she gasped in delight.

This evening, there were fourteen of them. He had been watching the children slowly creeping up throughout the meal and now he found himself surrounded by little humans waiting expectantly. In his short time with these people, they had taught him much and he was thankful for their openness. Such a willingness to share precious knowledge was dwindling and that made it hard for a bard who had devoted himself to learning all he could about the lands he called home.

Their apothecary had given him instruction on herbal remedies and some basic medical knowledge. The smith had shown him the best way to care for a blade and told him 'a knife is a knife,' whether it is use for cutting up vegetables or bitting into an unwelcomed stranger. He'd said you could tell a lot from a man by how he treats his knife. He had even somehow fallen into the role of cook on occasion and had learnt very quickly the difficulties of cooking for a large family with varying levels of taste.

The meal tonight was not his creation, for which he was glad, and he took his time finishing it before setting his bowl down beside him. The children fidgeted for a moment.

"Please Master Nit-wix," Claudia said in a small voice, her inability to articulate Nith's name bringing a small smile to his face.

"Hmm?" He hummed, teaching them patience and earning a groan from the other children.

"The night is too cold to sit and shiver. Will you tell us a story, Nithrix?" One of the older boys spoke for his fellow peers.

Nith looked at him and raised a copper brow. "Is it?" He asked referring to the weather; it was uncharacteristically chilly for this time of year. "A person can endure temperatures much lower than this." He told them and flicked a playful hand, as if dismissing them. "Besides which, I see none of you shivering."

Their faces fell, believing they had asked the bard too much and assuming him to be in one of his more reclusive moods.

"Although," He mused, scratching at the light stubble on his face, "Such a lovely fire should be accompanied by something more than idle conversations." Nith could not help his grin as their faces lit like tiny candles.

"Tell me," He slipped from the stool he was on and sat crossed-legged on the ground. "Have you ever been to the far west?"

Three of the older children nodded. "The people there are odd," One of the twins said and his pair nodded eagerly before saying, "'Stripped of character and colour.'"