“-and the three biggest idiots in the guard came in holding what I thought was a two-armed paw-ko just covered in filth, but I took mercy on the little thing, taught it to speak, and gave a desperately needed bath as it was yowling and thrashing the whole time-”

I rolled my eyes as matron Brunhilde narrated the same story to the littlest children as I wiped down the table. I mouthed along to some of the words as her pitch raised in fervor,

“-my greatest success in taming was when she first started cleaning herself without my having to summon Patricia to hold her down-” 

I lift my hand off from the table I was scrubbing and begin pinching and opening my hand as I exaggeratedly mouth ‘blah blah blah’. One of the kids inevitably notices my mocking movements and muffles his giggles as the others begin to notice as well. Soon the gaggle of giggling goofballs and hucksters draw the focus and ire of Brunhilde my way.

“Sybil!” She ground out, “Are you training to be a clown? Going to join the mirthful mother? Go on and do your town chores and be useful for once!” I nodded cheekily and jaunted out the door of the orphanage. 

It’s been a few years since I was picked up and placed in her care, and I’ve been improving, though it’s mostly due to the various chores and jobs I’ve been assigned. Learning to actually know and speak the language wasn’t as hard as I thought, a few weeks of intense focus and I’m able to mouth along to the words said to me. A few days later I sound like I was trained for years; it’s pretty handy.

“>Brun is rather strict in front of the newbies.<” I remarked blandly once I’m out of view. I wait for the usual rise of goop, then spat it to the side. I found out that if I don’t cube every now and then, it accumulates; which was an issue when my mouth and fingers started secreting small amounts of goop either in actual spit or possible sweat. Hands sweat right? So that it makes sense that even fingertips sweat. But yeah, goop coming from places I didn’t expect, not fun. So I try to speak properly at least once a week, as longer than that, I start getting nervous about the color of my saliva.

My chores are mostly lifting or carrying this-and-that; I’m very strong for my age and relative size, though thanks to trapping and fishing (without Brun’s knowledge or permission), I’m starting to fill out some. If I’m lucky, I’ll get husky enough so I won’t have to stick next to the other children next winter; the other orphans and I didn’t get on well. I’m not sure why.

The other children say I smell strange, but I bathe more often than most of them.

They keep trying to look at my eyes or touch me and get mad if I tell them to stop; why should they get mad when I’m the one feeling uncomfortable? They don’t try to fight me, not after I accidentally broke a table my first week in the orphanage, but instead, they try to leave thorns on my bed or hide my shoes- petty and mean-spiteful. I thought they wanted me to leave so I tried retracing my steps from when I arrived there but after I stopped in front of a branching fork in the road I was soon caught by a guard. After getting back to the orphanage everything just...intensified. 

I don’t know why they keep acting mean, why they keep going out of their way to be mean. I ask Brunhilde what to do, and she gets mad at them, but sooner or later the older kids lead the charge in a different manner. I’m considering a lot of violence in order for them to stop but Brun asked me to be a ‘good role model’ which are supposed to be kind or whatever. It’s not fair, but other people seem to be unfair by default.

With following after the road a bust, I asked after Mom, and I learned that wasn’t her name. I tried to describe her, but…yeah. Apparently, there are a lot of dark-haired women, and I don’t remember her eyes.

I wish I paid better attention during those few days.

I wish for a lot of things sometimes.

Moving on! I have my basic needs met, learned the language, and I still have that stash of coins. Turns out those knights were really something; Phoenix knights of some big-shot earl. Worst comes, maybe I can call up a favor or two with that guy with the feather. If he even knows I saved him; he probably forgot. I would’ve forgotten if I was the one bleeding out, as I would be busy dying or something.

Plus I've grown taller, completely unrecognizable now. I'm still short for my age, and now a lot rounder, but it's only a matter of time before I am the titan I feel I should be. Then nobody would be able to hide things from me on the top shelf: it's getting a little unreasonable nowadays if the older kids find my stuff.

Most of it (or at least the stuff worth money) is hidden in my little cave; I've got decoys and always make a meandering path so I don't think it's been discovered yet. 

Back to chores; it’s a self-explanatory I-scratch-your-back-you-scratch mine deal between the orphanage and the town, set up by some rich dude twenty years ago…it gets me free treats and an excuse to get out of the house. I do have a favorite chore, which is helping on old man Raun’s farm. He’s not particularly popular, people say he’s crazy but really, he’s harmless.

I walk up to the door of the orange farmhouse, knock, and step aside as a wasp’s nest flies from the door springing open.

“BEES!” The man shouts gleefully from inside the house.

“Oh hey Raun” I reply cheerfully.

HelloHound

bees!