Minstrel

Chapter #7 ~ Stans

Stans had left the barn and his sister at sunrise and after a few hours of walking through the wilderness he came upon BristleRidge. The village, located at the bottom of Carson's Cliff, wasn't any bigger than Riverfall in size and the number of buildings. But, despite being small it was always alive and full of people from all over Florencia. The village was a prime trading post for caravans and trappers, with its large population and open market.

BristleRidge was warmer than Riverfall, the cold frost of winter hadn't yet reached the bottom of the cliff. Walking through the main street, Stans marveled at the number of fruit, meat, and trinket stands that surrounded both sides of the street. Any buildings were covered up and closed. No one sold their wares inside when the day was so warm and the promise of travelers whispered through the air.

The sky was clear above the village and the sun's warmth reached the ground. The wind was a pleasant breeze, unlike the strong blasts that blew through Riverfall.

Stans had often thought about moving to live in BristleRidge, but he worried that Creak would play her baritone and in a far more populated place she was more likely to get caught. So, they had lived in Riverfall all their lives.

Ignoring the street vendors calls of cheap goods, Stans pushed through the crowd trying to make it to the center of the village. The blacksmith of BristleRidge was a popular man, having made many of the king's weapons in his younger days when he had lived in the capital. Stans figured a man of such stature would most likely be working in the village's main square.

The glint of sunlight shining off of polished metal caught his eye and Stans turned to the stand on his lift. It was the most magnificent booth, with swords and maces hanging from a wooden board across the top and knifes and axes aligned in neat rows on the table. A strong, barrel chested man stood behind the weapons eyeing Stans warily.

"What do you want, street rat?" The man's voice shook the air in front of Stans. Sifting his thick, hairy arms the man looked down on Stans, which frightened him. It had been a while since someone was tall enough to look down on him. Other than the baker, Valen, no one in Riverfall had been taller than Stans. No had ever looked down on him the way this man was looking down at him.

Clearing the nerves from his voice, Stans met the blacksmith's look. "Umm... I was told that I might be able to find some work at the forge here."

The man sniffed down at him and grimaced. "I only hire good working men, not street urchins like yourself. Now be off with you."

Stans could feel his face redden. "Just because I live on the street doesn't mean I can't work! If you'll just give me a chance-"

"No," the blacksmith cut him off. "I will have nothing to do with you! Now leave me be or I'll be forced to call the guards!"

The man's voice boomed down on him as loud as thunder, making him cower back a step. Looking back at the man and his fierce expression, Stans knew there was no hope. Shaking his head in defeat, he turned on his heel and began to walk through the people, his head down in shame.
Outside of Riverfall no one ever considered hiring him. They didn't understand. It wasn't that he was a poor worker, it was that no one gave him a chance. If someone would just give him a chance, give him a real job, then he wouldn't be a street rat. His sister could have a real place to call home.

"You're looking for work?" A soft voice whispered in his ear. He turned and stumbled back from the young lady that hovered only a few inches in front of him. She was pretty, with sparkling, blue eyes and long, dark brown hair. She was dressed in a worn woolen dress, but still seemed better off than him. He looked down at their feet. His bare and dirty, her's protected in soft, leather shoes. Yep, definitely better off than him.
"Yes?" He answered, looking back up into her blue eyes.