I stand calmly as a swarm of wasps angrily buzz around me before disgruntledly returning to fix up their partially smashed hive. I wait a few more moments until the stragglers leave the loose pockets of my shirt and then step my way into the orange house.

There inside, hunched with age and with a frenetic light in his eyes, was Raun.

“Sybil, my child! Did you fetch the troll’s fat?” He cheerfully inquired, as though he didn’t just launch a wasps nest at my head while shouting ‘bees’. As is easily observed, Raun is not a popular man, despite his many revolutionary farming techniques. A smart man is rarely a liked man, as he was prone to shouting during one of his many experiments involving what he called a ‘cat-a-pult’ which was most likely the reason why there was an airborne wasp nest when I first knocked on the door.

After all, this isn’t the first thing launched at my head unexpectedly.

“I wasn’t able to find troll’s fat, but there was a fat goblin killed the other day so I scrapped what I could.”

“Bah! Goblin fat is too slimy and not very flammable, but no matter- cold food is better than going hungry. Now, what was I talking about yesterday before you left?”

“About very small bugs that live everywhere and make people sick. You said that they’re the reason why that lamb hock almost killed me last summer.” I replied, placing the jar of fat on a bright orange table.

“It was sitting there for days! Any old fool would know that you don’t touch stagnant water and you don’t eat old meat!” He sputtered before taking his funny-looking goggles off his face and setting them on his shock of white-haired bangs that poked from his red-orange mess of a hairstyle. He then wiped the side of his cheek absent-mindedly, an old habit, and grabbed the jar to sniff the contents.

“I’m not an old fool, I’m a young fool, and the old fools are waiting to laugh at me.” 

As if to punctuate my sentence, Raun threw his head back and laughed at me. Then clapped his gnarled hands and straightened his back. With a nod and a hand gesture to follow him, he began what he called his ‘crazy sermon’,

“Yes, now, there are bugs,” I nod in understanding “Those bugs, while not evil, often cause evil. The same bugs that cause cheese and yogurt to form are also the kind that makes you evacuate your intestines out the wrong end! Fascinating isn’t it?”

“How do you know of this bug issue? Can we kill them?”

“Through glass and not really? You boil water to make them leave but all that’s because the bugs don’t like it when it’s too hot or cold. That’s also why people leave their meat out during the winter, as the bugs outside are sleepier than the ones inside, with the fire heating the air.” I hum in acknowledgment, then shrug. It’s not like preventing the bugs harms me, it’s just boiling water and sticking things in it. 

Raun sniffed the goblin fat again, then wrinkled his nose.

“This fat wouldn’t do” He declared, then looked at me curiously “Do you know how to make soap?” I shook my head, and he nodded.

“Alright, clean out the goat pens and I’ll show you one of the best ways to kill those bugs.”

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One cleaner goat pen later, I got to learn about the wonders of wood ash and something called ‘lye’; Raun told me to check on the candle shed and see if they were set properly. That is the exact reason why Raun was not only rich enough to have his large orange house but rich enough to keep his large orange house, his candle-making business was his pride and joy. As a man who’s been a master of his craft for decades, naturally, the candles were perfect.

I don’t know the exact mixture of his best candles aside from being mostly beeswax, but I am allowed to dip the wick for the animal and goblin mix candles and Raun says that once he’s certified by the viscount to adopt he’ll take me in as an apprentice and possible heir, though that’s only if his grand-nephew decides to become a bard rather than join the family business.

I’m fine with not inheriting a big orange house with goat pens and beehives (and many, many wasp nests), I just want to learn what’s stored up in that big crazy brain of Raun’s. 

He, whenever he isn’t using some contraption that is better described as a weapon, is always yammering on about some obscure fact or some interesting skill. I’ve already learned sewing and some crude woodworking after helping him carve one of his strange devices, and that’s only after a few months of knowing him. For some reason Brunhilde never wanted me to meet him.

“BEES!” He gleefully shouts, firing off another increasingly angry wasps nest into an unoccupied field.

Sure, he’s a little weird, but otherwise harmless.

HelloHound

wasp nests just look very aerodynamic, don't they?