Chrysalis

Chapter Two - Blue Eyes Mesmerize

Ollet was already gone when I came to. The food on his plate is picked a part as usual, bony kid. He hardly ever eats and I often wonder how he doesn't wither away into nothing.

My mother scoops up his plate and sighs dejectedly. "Why does that boy insist on wasting so much food?" She shakes her head and makes her way to the window, throwing the remnants of Ollet's breakfast out back to the hounds.

"Because he knows there are beggars outside the window that will finish it for him." I say, half sarcastically. We both laugh. She must know that I just came out of a daydream, but being her usual docile self, she refuses to say anything to me about it.

My father keeps his own hunting hounds to aid him when he leaves the village, mostly to hunt but he also takes them along for protection when he travels from Aansodir to Licitrus and back. My father traded fine furs for them a few years back and he insists that he keep them outside our hut within the Tanner's Market instead of at the Hunter's Quarter across the village. As usual, we didn't press him on his reasonings, but I suspect that he doesn't want his precious hounds mixed in with the other hunter's companions. They are dirty, smelly beasts but they are loyal, friendly enough to passerby and fairly cheap to feed... as long as Ollet keeps starving himself.

Shortly after getting up from the table, I begin to notice my mind starting to race tirelessly. Sometimes it grasps onto certain thoughts or subjects after a daydream, as if it were desperately trying to bring itself back to a sense of normalcy. This time it focuses on Aansodir.

This vast village has always been my home. It lies in the eastern part of The Valley of Eyes, which is also known as Meddler territory. Aansodir is made up of thousands of permanent residents, most of who are non-natured, which often makes me feel singled-out and the center of unwanted attention. It is also the top trading village in the Valley, riddled with brothels, hostels and taverns that are strung throughout the markets and made for temporary homes to travelers and traders alike.

Erected around Aansodir, stands the infamous, hulking stone wall that aids in protecting the village from any outside threats, be it wild animals or people. Hundreds of years ago, Leader Stefal of Kindred Satore ordered the construction of the wall after the village was unexpectedly attacked by Siphons. The wall was not completed until one of his successors, Leader Faustin of the House Lunther, was well into his Leadership eighteen years later.

The village is unequally and randomly segmented, separating diverse areas from one another. The large Keep that sits in the very center of the inner walls, houses the Leader and his House or Kindred. I have never personally been inside the Keep, that is no place for a person of my standing, but I have heard from others who have had the pleasure of stepping foot inside the royal fortress, that it's beauty and riches are indescribable and unmatched by any other. Maybe it's true, or maybe it's just arrogant boasting.

I start my daily morning chores while my mind, eager to calm itself of my unending erratic thoughts, begins to settle. I steer my thoughts toward my family.

My mother, Ellis, stays at home looking after the hut, myself and Ollet. She also tends to the few crops that she is able to grow inside the small fenced-in area that surrounds our small home. She prepares the meals, though my father, Davin, shares that responsibility when he's home as he enjoys the thrill of cooking what he catches or hunts down. When my father isn't roaming the village bartering, he is gone hunting often for days at a time. I'm not particularly close with him, so the frequent distance is often welcomed.

The village hunters always get first picks of the game that is brought back within the walls. Once they pick their fill, merchants swoop in like vultures waving around their fancy trades in front of the Game Warden and quickly claim the rest of the hunt. Scraps and other unwanted parts along with guts and small fish are thrown to the hounds, then after that, to the bottom feeders that are mostly made up of elderly and poor tradeless wretches who are allowed to scavenge what's left. Some may call that harsh, to feed hounds before men, but in the eyes of many, at least the hounds bring back their own supper. The bottom feeders are forced to wait patiently to grovel for their next meal.