"... Trinkets! Trinkets for sale! Come look at my trinkets!"
A creature so lost, so worthless and mediocre shouted on the border of the main road, as it waved its hand high in the air, trying to attract any attention to the junks laid in front of her.
Old, rusted, broken and unrepairable tools; Pieces of metals that looked nothing like jewels – her own nails soiled with rust and dirt would've worth more than what it was selling.
An ubor; A creature akin to mankind, yet so bastardized by the characteristics of beasts:
Tail, eyes, ears and at times, even fur, paws, canines so sharp or claws so lethal – all, resembling those of small woodland animals.
It stood on the tip of its toes, trying to push itself high and make itself visible amongst the sea of people, but its shouting was loud and almost screeching, prompting the merchants nearby to shoo it away.
"Get out of here! Damn slaves!"
They raised their brooms and shovels and any tool they could grab, beating it as it desperately tried to gather all its belongings as quickly as it could.
"I-I'm sorry- Please- I-I'll leave-!"
It stuttered underneath the blows, as it held the tears inside, running away into an alley where no eyes could see it.
There was no hatred, resentment, or even the slightest hint of frustration in the ubor. Sure, it was sad, though that hint of melancholy came from nostalgia.
A nostalgia brought by the memories of a time it had a place to call home.
"... Only five bronze..."
It sat on the ground, in the shades, in the alley, counting the few coins it made that morning.
It was barely enough to buy itself a loaf of bread.
It sighed, before dropping its head in between its knees, allowing itself a moment of rest, as it contemplated where else it could go.
To sell at the market, it needed a permit. To get a permit, it needed coins. Coins of which it did not possess.
And so far, none of the shop owners seem to enjoy having an ubor like itself, selling junk in front of their door.
Where else could it go? It didn't want to move to the next town again.
"... So what are we buying now~?"
A voice so tender seeped into the ubor's ear amongst the constant chattering and clattering of the main road.
"... I was thinking of buying more smoke-leaves. Maybe a horse too, or an ox. It's getting a bit heavy to carry everything in the bag."
Another more detached, matured, and almost freezing voice answered – the ubor raised its eyes and looked for the owners of those voices:
A void so imposing, standing like a pillar, and a wad of soft snow, just next to him.
The ubor observed them, almost enviously – it immediately presumed they were related. A parent with its child perhaps, just like it used to have, more than a decade ago.
"... Ehe~ So you're finally ready to admit you can get tired, too?"
That small bundle of white teased the black pillar, and the man just grinned, before he placed a hand over that fluff.
"... More than anything, I just want to hold you a bit more... But I don't know. I don't want to fight with a stubborn ox or worry about a horse that won't run when in danger..."
The man admitted, and the ubor, hearing those words, felt a hint of opportunity for itself.
It used to be a Helper; It used to carry the bags of countless masters before, and the bag on the man's shoulder didn't even seem that massive – it was sure it could, with all hopes, land a little job with them.
It didn't want to wander the land all alone again.
It stood up, pulling up the broken burlock sack filled with junks, and quickly, without thinking twice, it jumped in front of the two—
YOU ARE READING
Howlless
Ficción General... World, a simple word. One that contains so much: So much diversity, thoughts, ideals, dreams, stories - each needing books after books, just to touch its bare surface. And yet, there is no protagonist of this single world. Everyone's the protago...
