NaNoWriMo 2016— Day 1 — The Peddler Sage
Chapter 1
She was the first human who I had ever seen.
And I don’t think I would be too ashamed to admit that as I was then, a small child of some eight years, that I didn’t know quite what to make of her.
She emerged from the distance, on the old worn dirt path, surrounded on both sides by the rolling fields of wheat. The winds blew across the horizon, and the stalks almost seem to dance in their places, thrilled to have been graced by her presence. With golden colored thatches against the late day sun, the colors sung as if announcing her arrival.
I was mesmerized, my breath caught in my throat.
In time, as her steady and even pace came closer to where I stood near where my mother worked, my mind finally began to function again.
What is this?
Here was this strange creature, upright and clothed, so she couldn’t have been animal like those beasts of burden that worked the fields or pulled the carts. But her clothing was so odd, plain browns and whites in tones and more fitting and detailed than the more simple loose-fitting designs of the skirts and cloths that I had always known. It wasn’t, what I would later be able to describe as courtly wear, but instead was a more utilitarian garb one who had long walked the pathways of the world at large. Finally, on her back I had glimpses of what appeared to be a pack, with a small assortments of bottles and ornaments. On her head sat a wide brimmed hat, which seemed almost out of place on her person.
She was not one of us — not one of the ra’th. Her skin was so barren and pale, all but lacking the peach fuzz fur that covered my own form. But what hair she had was such a fiery red that even now I still think it would have not been beyond reason if it had reached out to burn me in its waves. Her frame was perhaps medium in hight. Taller than my own mother, but smaller than some of the males who lived in our village.
As she finally drew within mere feet of me, I realized that her smile, which had been on her face the whole time was directed at me.
“Hello there!” she said, almost musical in tone.
“Ah!” To my side, my mother, who had until that moment been slowing cutting and thrashing the wheat in harvest, gave a start and focused on the woman before us.
“Oh, good day to you!” The woman said, not even missing a beat even with the odd reaction to her presence.
My mother’s eyes narrowed a bit as she looked a little closer, suspicion playing across face. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t notice you as you approached.”
Comparing my mother’s reaction to my own, it was my own chance to be a little shocked. How had she not seen this woman approach when I had been all but lost to it in those same moments?
“That’s okay. I’m sure you were just invested in your work.” The woman, who smile had not wavered in the least, stuck out her hand in greeting.
My mother looked at it, first in confusion and then in suspicion, perhaps in fear that she was being mocked. We were Marbans, the lowest of the people. One simply did not offer your hand to someone who was by their very nature, filthy. For a moment I lowered my opinion of this woman. The idea that anyone could not know this was as strange a concept as the creature before me.
After long moments awkward moments, in which the hand remained offered and without any obvious awareness of how my mother felt was missed, my mother shook the hand of the woman before us.
“I’m Lynn!” the woman said, taking a firm grip and shaking hands.
“I’m Anzil” my mother noted cautiously, and then turning her head to me. “And this is my son, Meztli.”
