Nanowrimo add on bc i need to catch up 8((((

[little_words]

It was around midday by the time the sun had ascended enough to filter blinding beams of light through the holes in the barn roof overhead; a well enough way to start the day, but one which the boy beneath found himself grumbling over all the same as he rolled over and buried his face in the bundled hay serving as his bedding. The slanting light cut warm beacons across his sprawled form, illuminating tawny, rust-colored locks woven with bits of hay and pale skin married with the occasional scratch or scar brought about by boisterous adventuring as a child. He had a worker's body, one which was not heavily muscled but not overly scrawny, either.

The seams of his ragged, worn trousers tugged dangerously against each other as he rolled, again, and prepared to drift back into sleep - but a shrill voice cutting through the air had him jerking into wakefulness, and one deep green eye swiftly cracking open.

"SUNRIL!!!!!!!" The voice bellowed, and the beams overhead shook. The youth in question groaned and sat up while rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes, and looked mournfully towards the single entry point of his makeshift chambers. He began to absently pick at the hay nestled in his hair as a heavyset, sturdy woman appeared in the entrance to the barn, her hands set on her hips and an unforgiving scowl on her lips.

"Sunril, you lazybones!! You were expected at the shop by dawn!"

The tawny-haired boy - Sunril - paused in the middle of pulling out a particularly stubborn clump of hair woven between his locks of hair and gave the barn a once-over. The animals that had served as his sleeping companions had long since departed, probably to indulge in the grassy fields he could glimpse just beyond the door. They had left their mark, however, and as Sunril slowly became more and more conscious he wrinkled his nose as the stench of droppings and gods knew what else hit his nose. It was not made so severe thanks in part to how small the barn was, overall; however, the cramped pens that had housed his family's livestock were situated far below his sleeping loft, meaning that any scent of animals and their business would be gradually lofting up to him throughout the night.

"SUNRIL, ARE YOU LISTENING? GET YOUR BUM ASS UP RIGHT NOW!"

Sunril arrived at the curio shop with more than enough time to spare, however that did not keep the decrepit owner from peering at him scrupulously over the heavy, leather-bound tome he was currently dusting. Sunril caught a glimpse of a few shapes and some foreign symbols, but before he could get a second look the old man had shoved it within a dark, musty drawer and slammed it shut, scowling at him all the while. Sunril put on his best endearing smile and crept closer anyway, pushing away a few locks of tawny hair that had fallen into his eyes.

"Have there been many sales today, Severan?"

The old man gave a 'hmph' and folded his arms over his chest. The glare he fixed Sunril with seemed to double in intensity, and Sunril had to fight hard with himself not to fold underneath it. Clearing his throat, he tried again, and smiled his sweetest smile.

"Is there... is there anything I can do?"

"You can start with organizing the shipment we got from across the sea." Severan paused for emphasis, and his great, bushy white brows went up in exaggeration. "Like you were meant to do at dawn. Or have you slept so long your head has begun to rot, boy?"

Sunril's smile became strained, but he began to move towards the back of the shop where a tower of formidable crates loomed like some giant tower of terror. "Not at all, Ser. I'll just get right to it, and be done quick as I can."

"It's not about your speed, fool," Severan snapped without turning his head. Perhaps that was a good thing, because once Sunril found himself at the old man's back he dropped his pleasantries and an exasperated look stole over his youthful features. "It's about getting these things -right-; the festival is coming up and I'm sure you know the foreigners we get here don't know their witches from their warlocks. You can bet your arse they'll know shit about what we sell here, so we might as well take advantage of it while we can."

Of course, Severan was talking about turning a profit at the expense of hapless greenhorns to the history of the Warlock's War. It was something he'd been raving about for months now, and with the preparations for the festival already well underway, his eyes had begun to gleam excitedly at the prospect of pocketing some extra coin. It was the same every year, for as long as Sunril had worked for him, and he had to admit he admired the old man's dedication to the cause.

As Severan continued to ramble, Sunril ducked his head into the musty backroom, pulling his tunic over his nose as the dust motes assaulted his nostrils. Despite Severan's penchant for timeliness and his ability to spot a decent sale, he was clearly lacking on the aspect of cleanliness. One would think that, with as many books as he dealt with, that he would take better care of the store and the rooms housing his wares... however such was not the case, and the man seemed to take far greater pleasure in making the help see to it instead. Help in this instance being Sunril, of course.

As the youth began to move heavy crates and boxes housing the cheaply-made tomes detailing the Warlock's War and all the supposed "lore" surrounding it, he couldn't help but to grumble over how his situation had ended up like this. Unlike some of his other peers that had fallen into apprenticeship, it had simply been that; an apprenticeship. For others, it was to pay off debts owed to a store, or it was the basis of a sort of "credit" system. Their families would request items from the merchants, who would then request to have it paid for with manual labor. This was a system that worked well in some cases, and was actually rather popular in the village of Veluet.

Sunril's situation, however, was none of those. No, rather, it was a result of a very obnoxious, nagging mother and the sheer fact that none of the other merchants had had need for a laborer - though he imagined the state of his appearance had something to do with it, along with his sharp tongue. Old man Severan had only taken him in because it had been the same for him; the few hands he'd managed to acquire wouldn't be able to put up with his sharp tongue or the way he smelled (which to Sunril was a rather interesting mix of something dying and wet hay), but his pride hadn't allowed him to admit that he was hurting for help. Sunril's mother had had her eye on a particular tome about a handsome prince and a dumpy housewife, and after a lengthy conversation had more or less ended up trading her son for a book.

The job wasn't all that bad, really. Mostly Severan required some cleaning and an ear to listen to him prattle on about the prettiest girl in the village, or how he'd been ignored by his brother, or how he swore up and down that a surviving witch had cast a hex on him because he had refused to give her a discount on her book or compliment her shoes. It required little to no effort, and at the end of a week's work Sunril received a decent handful of coins and a promise of more work, and more coin... so really, it was a stable, if not boring means to get by.

Sunril set one of the heaviest crates off to the side before prying it open to peer at the contents within, taking stock of the inventory that Severan had purchased from the nearby kingdom of Lunos. The covers were intricate, but still very obviously cheap and poorly-made to a trained eye. Perhaps it was lucky for them that only the poor and the untrained came to Veluet, even for a celebration as lofty as the Warlock's festival. Most made their way to the kingdom, where the carts lined the streets far as the eye could see, and sweetmeats and curious artifacts from all over the kingdom tempted visitors on all sides to part with their coin. Sunril had never been outside Veluet; but he'd heard stories from the knights that passed through the village, and every so often he found himself dreaming about making the trek there to see the festival for himself.

He was brought abruptly out of his thoughts when he heard a tinkling noise of the door over Severan's prattling, and he quickly began to lift the books out so he could begin taking them out to the front and display them at the old man's request. Ducking his head to blink his eyes free of the dust, he emerged - only to find Severan still going on and on, and the end of a cloak disappearing into the back of the building.

Sunril was taken aback. It wasn't like the old man to ignore a potential customer. Perhaps he hadn't heard him? Not seeing him would be impossible, since Severan had situated himself in such a way that he could watch over who entered and left the store like some kind of scowling vulture. But there was no other explanation that made any sense, and even as he carried the tomes over to Severan's side Sunril felt his meager excuse fall apart in his head.

He set the tomes down with a heavy thud at the old man's side and straightened, his head turning as though he were trying to follow the cloak with his eyes through the dusty shelves surrounding them. The shop was small, and the books were crammed closely together into shoddily built shelving that had somehow, through the grace of the gods, withstood time itself. To put it simply - the layout was much like a maze. Severan and his counter stood at the center of it, and the bookshelves and cases were angled in such a way that it would be easy for someone to hide, if they really wanted to - at the risk of choking on all the dust in the cramped corners that always managed to gravitate there no matter how hard Sunril cleaned.

"Were they here earlier?" Severan stopped in his rambling and fixed Sunril with a scowl.

"What are you going on about, boy? Are you slacking?"

"No, that--" Sunril struggled, pointing in the direction he had seen the cloaked figure go. "-- the person that just came in. They went over there?"

Slowly, Severan turned to peer in the direction Sunril was pointing. The boy could almost see the gears working in the old man's head, but eventually Severan turned back and if anything his scowl had deepened.

"The ocean maps? Boy... if you're trying to slack off on me, you need a better excuse than phantom customers. Now get to work! We don't have all day!!"

Phantom customers... But the door had very obviously opened, Sunril had heard the chime himself. It was impossible for anyone not to hear it; it was a contraption of bells and glass trinkets the old man had put up ages ago, trying to ward off cursed cats or something or other, he couldn't remember. Sunril had witnessed its effectiveness practically every day, making especially busy days a nightmare and a headache when customers were frequently coming and going and the chime wouldn't let up.

Again, he turned his head to peer at the back of the building. Ocean maps? He thought hard, trying to piece together what else was back there. Ocean maps. Topography maps. A listing of all the stores in the kingdom---

--- a sharp blow on the back of his head made him yelp, and he turned to see Severan clutching one of the books Sunril'd brought out, an angry sneer twisting the old man's features.

"GET TO WORK!"

Sunril did everything the old man wanted him to do and then some, taking every possible opportunity to try and creep to the back and see if there wasn't maybe a cloaked thief skulking about there. Every time he did he was met with rows and rows of dusty old tomes, and the distinct feeling of being watched... though that was more than likely the old man making sure he wasn't slacking off, because shortly after he'd hear Severan's bark from across the room. He dusted the shelves, prepped a few more for display, and at the end of it had arranged the new books they had received into an artful display that was more or less in the center of the room beside Severan's little perch.

At the end of all his tasks, the sun had nestled low against the horizon and brought with it myriad streaks of purple and red across the cloudy sky. They had not gotten many stragglers; a few of the village children coming round to seek an apprenticeship, only to be turned away by the smell of old man Severan, some lonely housewives looking for their next guilty pleasure, and a few of Sunril's own peers running some errand or other for their masters in the kingdom. The conversations he held with them were short and sweet - before he could glean any news or gossip about the kingdom, Severan would turn and shout at him to empty out the dustpan or else go and make sure the store looked presentable.

By this time, he had completely forgotten all about the chiming door or the tail-end of the cloak he'd seen earlier, his thoughts turning quickly to resentment over the old man's dictating and the doubtless sore muscles he'd suffer later. When at last the sky had darkened enough that they had to start lighting the lanterns all about the shop, only then did Severan dismiss his apprentice with a rather violent gesture with his hands and a muttered "bah!". Sunril had worked for the old man enough to know that that was a as good a farewell as he would get, and began to make his way to the front as Severan disappeared into the depths of the back rooms. Idly, Sunril wondered if the rumors about the old man sleeping in his store room to surprise burglars were true.

He carried a lantern with him to illuminate his way and as such, was able to navigate without much hindrance. He made his way past the display of books he'd arranged that day, through the back aisles and past the shelf of topography maps and the figure hunched in front of it.

Sunril froze. Slowly, he backtracked and held the lantern higher.

The figure was there, just within reach. Clad in a heavy, black cloak wth strange silver runes embroidered into the bottom hem, it was impossible to tell if it were a man or a woman he was looking at.

Sunril squared his shoulders and set his jaw. No matter. A thief was a thief. He cleared his throat, announcing his presence, and the hooded intruder paused in their perusal of the maps.

From the back of the shop a great, rattling snore drifted out, and Sunril would have found the idea that there was truth in the rumors amusing if not for the fact that the figure before the shelves was turning to face him. His lantern's light fell on an equally clothed torso, baggy in the chest - a woman? Maybe? - and astonishingly deep, blue eyes as vast and enchanting as precious jewels. He found himself staring into them as though mesmerized, but quickly lifted his lantern higher to try and make out who it was before him. The rest of the features were covered with a scarf, and didn't help at all to dispel the mystery of gender.

"May I help you?" Sunril asked, voice flat. The figure dipped its head, and Sunril thought he saw a flicker of silver in his lantern's light. Setting his mouth in a firm line, he attempted to put on his best scolding voice and drew himself up tall.

"If you're a thief, you've been caught out so you might as well leave empty handed. I've told the master of this shop, and he'll be back any moment--" Another rattling snore drifted out, louder than the last. Sunril spoke louder to try and talk over it. "-- with his sword, so I'd advise against any funny business."

The intruder seemed to contemplate this for a long while. Sunril took note of their height - a tall girl, but that explained the endowment - and the build of their body. He didn't make and certainties, however, given the cloak, but he was confident that if it came down to it he'd be able to best them in wrestling.

Finally, at length, the cloaked person extended a gloved hand, palm up. Sunril stared and lifted the lantern over it to see if there were perhaps some hidden treasure, but there was none. He raised questioning eyes to bright, twinkling blue ones - and saw a flash of something reflected in them. A lash of heat whipped against his palm and, with a shout, he dropped the lantern as the candle within flared up in a burst of power and light. The glass containing it shattered and the flames within leapt out hungrily to consume.

When Sunril would recall the events that had happened immediately after, several days later, it would always be in a blur. He remembered racing to Severan's back room after the fire had spread to the surrounding bookshelves - glancing back, briefly, in time to see the hooded intruder gather an armful of maps and swallow them inside their cloak - and shaking the old man violently awake. They had managed to stumble their way out of the shop which, by that point, had all but burned to the ground. The surrounding villagers murmured it was because the books were so dusty and so old, but Sunril remembered well how the flame in his lantern had leapt as though fed with a far greater power.

Severan was without words, and the sense of guilt Sunril felt for his loss was so great, he kept to himself and his nagging mother over the course of the week. She had enough of a heart not to nag at him while he moped, and in return Sunril lent his help to whatever needed doing around the farm. Even the tasks he had complained about the most he did without being bade, and so the weeks passed by in relative peace.

It was perhaps a month into the autumn season, and Sunril could no longer afford to sleep in the barn like he used to without feeling the chill on his skin in the morning. He made his bed thick with stacks of hay and began to wake up daily to the animals chewing on his tawny hair as though it would help them get to their breakfast underneath.

"Out! Away with you!" He shouted, and flapped his arms at the determined goat who had graduated from chewing on his hair to chewing on his ratty old tunic instead. The goat bleated at him, offended, but skipped away and to the barn entrance, leaving Sunril alone to sit up and pick hay out of his hair. It was only after he'd fully cleaned himself and his clothes that he noticed the barn becoming dim, and glanced towards the entrance to see a familiar, hunched over figure in the entryway: Severan.

Immediately Sunril rose to his feet and made his way over, and the old man met him halfway. Without the shop to look after, he'd heard that Severan had moved to stay with a relative in town. The days spent without work showed clearly, as the old man had lost many of the bags under his eyes and his entire posture overall was a relaxed, comfortable one. The perpetual furrowing of his brow had diminished into something contemplative and calm, but still tinged with sorrow and regret all the same. Sunril felt the wave of guilt wash over him anew, and for a few moments he was without words.

Thankfully, it was Severan who spoke first, and the old man thrust out a rolled up piece of parchment in one gnarled hand. Perhaps a bill? A notice of inventory, so Sunril had something to work towards to replace?

"I've an errand for you, boy." Severan spoke in a voice that was low, but dictating all the same. Sunril paused, but he took the parchment and unrolled it. It was fairly new, and stamped with a merchant's seal, covered in handwriting that he recognized as Severan's own. It detailed an entirely new shipment of books, and the conditions for upholding a market stall during the Warlock's Festival.

Sunril swallowed and glanced to the old man. Severan only nodded in acknowledgement.

"I want you to go on a journey for me. Journey to the kingsland, and earn me my revenue back. We're going to rebuild."

****

The journey to the kingsland, or Lumos, took little more than a few days. Sunril arrived well before the start of the Warlock's Festival, which meant that he had ample time to do some sightseeing and meet up with the bookkeeper before he'd had to open up the stall, in the crowded streets leading up to the castle.

The kingdom of Lumos was by all accounts, something you'd expect to find in a children's fable than in the countryside. The kingdom was surrounded by pristine, white walls which houses dozens upon dozens of finely-garbed archers in their towers, bows at the ready. It had been some time since the wars, so there was no reason for them to be armed so; it was more out of habit and duty than anything else. The city it housed was proper and paved with cobblestones underfoot, characterized by large, sweeping entryways and bridges spanning the stairs and walkways high overhead. The people here were not like the poor of Veluet; they were much, much more, and were Sunril not certain that he had passed through the gates into the king's castle itself, he would think he had long since entered noble territory. The children here did not dress in ratty, dust-covered clothes, but in fine velvets and silks that ruffled handsomely as they ran shrieking through the streets.

It did not take much effort to find his way to the bookkeeper's store, as Severan had drawn him a crude but effective enough map before he'd set out on his travels. What did take effort, however, was ignoring the stares and the low mutters from the people that watched him dismount. Out of habit, he ran his hand through his hair to check for hay, and straightened his tunic as best he could in a way that would hide the holes lingering in the material. A few giggles sprang up from a small gaggle of girls that hovered nearby; Sunril felt his neck warm, but strode into the bookkeeper's shop without a second glance, though the shame of embarrassment burned bright on his face.

The aging bookkeeper glanced up when he entered, her eyes magnified by the thick spectacles perched on her nose. Sunril was taken aback for a moment at the sheer size; she was a tiny, mouse like woman, but her eyes were enormous. But if the woman took offense to this, she didn't show it, and her mouth broke out into a wide, toothy grin.

"Severan's boy, I take it? You've made the journey in one piece, good, good." A gesture of her arm to the right. "You'll find the merchandise there. Along with the wood and cloth you'll need to get the stand set up. Inspection is in a few hours; the prince wants to make sure everything's ready for the Festival beforehand, as you well know."

Sunril blanched. A royal inspection beforehand? Severan had neglected to tell him that. He was quick, but he didn't think he was that quick...

"The inspection is today?" He inquired, hoping he'd maybe heard wrong. The old woman scoffed, which was more like a tiny sneeze than anything, and returned to her work.

"Of course, boy. Stop dawdling, or you're going to be late!"

Sunril burst out of the shop like a madman, moments later, and was racing to the kingdom square to the tune of bubbling, jeering laughter.

****

Getting the stand set up proved to be more of an endeavour than he'd thought.

He'd managed to find himself a nice spot in the small circle of stalls dominating the kingdom square, out of the way of many of the horses and carts making their way to the castle. He could only imagine the feast that the king would serve, come Festival day. Sweetmeats and roasted duck, venison and lamb, and an endless supply of ale and mead up and down the tables. The thought alone made his mouth water, and not for the first time did he regret not asking for an allowance from Severan, to maybe do a little shopping of his own during the Festival.

Well, perhaps the old man wouldn't mind a few coins taken from the profit he'd make... and if Sunril managed to hawk the books for more than they were worth, he'd have even more money to do what he liked. Just a bit, though; he still felt guilty over the debacle with Severan's shop. He would hate to rob the old man of income towards rebuilding.

Sunril was struggling out his last bit of cloth over the stall when it suddenly rolled up and smacked him in the face, and he hunched over to the tune of loud, boisterous laughter. Not really too keen on facing another gaggle of observers laughing over his misfortune, he ignored it and went back to his work. The cloth held steady for a moment before snapping up again - but before it could catch him in the face there was a strong, firm grip suddenly holding it down, and he glanced over in surprise.

"Need some help?" It was a boy about his own age, slender in places Sunril was firm. He would have easily mistaken him for a woman if not for the voice - had he been laughing before? - and the sharp, handsome blue eyes peering out at him from under silver hair.

Silver hair... that wasn't a color that was seen often around these parts. Maybe an aftereffect of the sun? But his skin was pale, so pale... which made sense, when Sunril dropped his gaze and took in the manner in which the other was dressed. The high cheekbones and tilt of his chin bespoke of a noble nature, and the clothes only emphasized this fact; they were sweeping, silky blue robes, embroidered with gold thread in intricate designs all along the hem that shone only when they caught the light. An expensive enough trick for a tailor, nevermind the fact Sunril was certain the thread was pure gold. The boy was nearly swimming in his robes, but they were fitted enough he could move well in them, fastened at the waist with, again, a pure gold rope.

"Uhm." Sunril began, but the boy was already moving and securing the cloth in place with expert, dexterous hands. Sunril could only stare, dumbfounded, as the other dusted off his hands and stepped back to admire his handiwork. After a moment, the boy noticed the staring and extended a hand. A thin gold chain was looped around his middle finger and disappeared under the sleeve of his robe, presumably to a gold bracelet.

"Lumen."

".... Sunril." Sunril said after a time, and took his hand in a firm shake. Lumen smiled kindly at him before his gaze fell to the crates beside the stall, and his eyes turned curious. He stepped around to get a better look; Sunril saw that his hair extended past his shoulders, tied off loosely at his shoulderblades and interwoven with strange black stones in odd places.

"You're selling books? Books at the Warlock's Festival?" Lumen questioned. He turned, and Sunril saw he already had one of Severan's books in his grip. The silver-haired boy began to thumb through it, and he mouthed at the words as he read them.

"Yeah. We had a shop, but... it burned down." That got a sympathetic look from the boy.