Day Sixteen - Morning

     “Hey, Balor? I don’t suppose you’d happen to have something you need run down to Smith, would you?” More gold? Another secret message perhaps?

     “If I had, I would have told you the first of the three times you have asked me this morning!”

     “But it’s Sunday!” Casper sulks.

     “So it is.” Balor straightens from the plant bed he was tending to and turns his attentions to whatever quandary’s eating away at Casper this time. “What of it Casper?”

     It’s no big deal really. It’s merely the one day of the week he can go pester Smith without getting brushed off. “Well… What if Smith needs something and we don’t know it yet?” Casper tries. What if something’s come up that’ll jeopardize his ticket out of here? The date’s not yet fixed in stone and Smith’s the only one who knows for sure when and how he’ll make his escape. He’s been chomping at the bit all day for an opportunity to split for town. He’s going stir crazy from being cooped up on the hill for the better part of the week.

Day Fourteen

     It’s been relatively quiet these past few days. The last of the post-move bustle has finally died down as Casper finishes settling into his new daily routine. Mornings are, from now until always, reserved for breakfasts in the greenhouse with Balor. Balor brings him up to speed on everything he feels Casper needs to know, whether it be chores or Myr’s latest mood. On this latter subject, they grumble extensively, and if Casper ends up doing most of the grouching, that’s because he has more to complain about.

     In truth, aside from the usual shoving on the rare occasion Myr gets the drop on him, it’s been almost tranquil. No more repeats of Myr calling up a manhunt for him in the middle of the night, but Casper sleeps lightly anyways.

Day Twelve

     Imagine Casper’s surprise when, as he’s hitting up the glass house for his usual breakfast fare and meet and greet with the old man, he finds the little patch of earth they’ve been clearing two days prior completely free of the brush they’d been hauling.  ‘Continued assistance’ his ass, Balor didn’t need any of it. He’s been tricked! He gives Balor an accordingly frosty reception that morning for the perceived slight. Balor isn’t regretful in the slightest, the traitor. Something about not wishing to waste the day while Casper was away. Casper grudgingly forgives him after the old man points out that this project of theirs is ultimately to his benefit. Forgives him for tricking him into helping sow the seeds this morning too.

Day Eleven - Evening and Night

     Curfew looms nigh. Casper can’t play hooky forever, can’t put off the inevitable. He’ll have to face the consequences of his actions- have to face Balor eventually. He has to go back. He dreads it. It’s not something he’d choose to do, not on his life.

     He goes back. The manor is as welcoming a sight as always, which is to say not in the slightest. Casper stands there, gaping up at it like an imbecile over whether he should use the front door or the back. The window perhaps? Or he could forgo the main building entirely and hole up in the glasshouse like he’s done for the past few days.

     Oh, what does it matter? Balor’s going to chew him out regardless of where he goes or what entrance he uses to get there. Isn’t that the reason for his coming here? Better he comes himself than get dragged to heel by force; he’s learned his lesson well. There’s no escape. Two more weeks- two more weeks and he can leave, but, until then, he’s staying where he is. He has to go back. He’ll always go back.

Day Eleven - Afternoon

     The Glenholm Boys are loitering about the road again. Not as many this time as there were last, but no matter. Casper sneaks his way around them, pondering whether it’s worth the hassle of approaching them. He’s already suffered his share of unpleasant encounters this morning and the other boys tend to be a bit… much.

     No, they aren’t worth the trouble. Casper isn’t feeling up to the task. Some other time perhaps, but not now. Not today. He just…

     He turns his back on the other boys. He’s not sure what he wants right now, uncertain as to what made him come to town in the first place, but it’s not to play until his worries go away. This isn’t the kind of thing that he can ignore and wish away until the storm blows over. He really screwed up this time, went and blew his top and spouted off to Glenholm’s very own infamous witch-man, of all people.

Day Eleven - Morning and Midday

     Balor doesn’t come into the greenhouse that morning. He’s taking the whole ‘giving Casper his space’ thing more seriously than Casper had given him credit for. At any rate, the lack of disturbances lets him rest easy this morning and through the night. He appreciates the space. He feels more centered for it and, after the day he had yesterday, he needs it.

     But that’s enough ruminating. Today’s a brand-new day. Best he get his morning affairs in order.

Day Ten - Midday to Night

     One is not exempt from working simply because someone else is doing the hardest part of the job; here’s a lesson Casper learns the hard way. Apparently, when Balor said they’d be doing this ‘together’, he meant together ‘together’, as in “While I do not expect you to perform the burden of ridding the brush I do think you are capable of more than idling to the side and giving advise on where to set the latest uprooted piece of the thicket.” That said, Balor tosses aside the sapling in his hands onto the neat pile that’s since amassed to the side of their ever-growing clearing.

     Casper watches the tree go flying with as much ease as one might throw a matchstick. “I dunno ‘bout that. You look to be handlin’ it pretty damn well by yerself.” Any and all contributions on his part will look like nothing in comparison to what Balor can do. Casper adds superhuman strength onto his ever-growing list of what amazing and terrible things a witch man is capable of; he puts it right between magics and talking with more big words than he’s heard in his life.

Announcement #5

     I've come across another writing site called Royal Road and I'm considering moving publication over there too. Mind, I've already got this story up on other sites as well, such as Booksie and Wattpad (though I've canceled publication on the latter since sometime last year), but Royal Road seems a nice site and the navigation is a great deal less clunky than Booksie's; as much as I like Booksie, not to mention my favourite fan is over there, it's a pain trying to browse their selection.

     Should the Royal Road move take place, posting will continue in conjunction with this site; I repeat, simply because I am moving to another site does not mean I won't be canceling publication over here. The story still goes on. (Goodness knows why I bother; it's not like anyone comes here, but such as it is.)

     Expect the move to begin sometime this November, or December at the very latest.

     That is all for today's announcements. Thank you for your time.

      - Regards, the author.

      P.S. Here's the Booksie link in case anyone from my imaginary audience is curious.
            ==> Booksie ho!

Day Ten - Morning

     Casper stares up at the scores in wood on the underside of the table. One. Two. Three… Seven. He’s three short. He fishes a knife out from under his pillow and gets carving. There’s dried gore where the blade meets the handle, left over from butchering that rabbit last night. Must’ve missed it when he was wiping the blade clean before he pocketed it. If Balor noticed him making off with it, he didn’t say anything. He probably knows; he knew with the silverware. It’s probably fine.

Day Nine - Afternoon to Night

     Alicia seems to get the hint to stop prying after several aborted attempts in asking how Casper’s day went. She drops the subject and abandons conversation altogether, funnily enough, to attend to her duties in the kitchen. Now that she’s no longer bothering him, daddy dearest has been looming over his shoulder, silently pressuring him to scram already. Casper takes his sweet time chewing on the leftover heel of bread Alicia gave him, just to spite him.

     Alright, he’s had his fun. Pa looks like he’s going to have a fit if he pushes him any further. Casper just knows his bit of bread is going to be coming out of his tab, but he couldn’t care less. He tucks the remaining half of his lunch in his pocket to save for dinner and leaves with a cheery goodbye. Alicia waves him off from the kitchen. Pa watches him go without acknowledging him.

     That went well.

Day Nine - Midday

     Casper makes good on the shortcut into the churchyard he found yesterday, ducking around a thick tree to check for onlookers and comically tiptoeing to hide behind the fence. He peers over. He must look awful suspicious, if there were anyone to see him sneaking about, poking his nose around corners. He feels plenty suspicious, what with his secret note that he has to deliver secretly to ‘Mr. Smith’ for Balor’s secret plans to get him the hell outta here. Not that he’s supposed to know what any of this nonsense means, oh no, he’s just the messenger. Heaven forbid someone shoots him for something he doesn’t know about; all the whispering in town behind the scenes is making him twitchy as is.

Day Nine - Morning

     Casper’s up and broken his fast on whatever weird herbs Balor’s growing well before the man of the hour himself gets around to doing his gardening. This leaves Casper waiting and by his own devices longer than recommended if you don’t want things to start mysteriously disappearing. Not that he’d steal from Balor; the costs outweigh the benefits and he’d rather stay in the big guy’s good graces as much as possible. After rummaging through the third shelf of the seed cabinet, it becomes clear there’s nothing of use (or value) to steal. Several draw string pouches like the one used to hold those golden eggs he brought to town, but these are filled with seeds.

     The larger cupboard in the corner is scarce more exciting than a bag of dirt, of which there are few inside. Why anyone would keep dirt around is beyond anyone’s guess, but Balor must have some use for it, otherwise it wouldn’t be here. There’s something about it that makes his nose burn, so Casper gladly lets it be.

     By the time of Balor’s arrival, Casper has resorted to playing noughts and crosses on the top of the seed cabinet with different coloured beans while every twitch and fidget jostles the beans out of place from the crosses scratched into the wood. “Keeping entertained, I see.”

Announcement #4

     Hello all you lovely people, I've but a brief announcement for you today. As of this Friday, that is, September the 13th, the hiatus for The Demon Boy is ending. It will signal the end of Day Eight and I can't say much more than that without handing out spoilers. My apologies, but you'll just have to read it yourselves when it comes out.

     - Regards, The Author.

Day Eight - Evening and Night

            Casper swats a stick at the weeds along the manor road. It’s not his stick, the one he abandoned when he jumped the fence to get away from that damned priest. He wishes he hadn’t left it behind. The new one is okay, but it’s not the same; there’s something about it that doesn’t fit in his hand the way it should. There’s no reason for this small discrepancy to bother him to such a degree, yet bother him it does.

            He breaks the stick over his knee and throws the pieces as far as he can into the bush. They land with an empty thud on the unseen forest floor. It doesn’t solve his problem, but it makes him feel better. (Sort of.)

Announcement #3

     As of now, I shall be going on hiatus during the summer for vacationing purposes. This means that I won't be posting any new parts until I return in September. That said, I will be checking in every now and then to respond to comments, questions, etc. I am not planning to stop writing the story any time soon; I am merely taking a break from posting and whatnot during these upcoming months. I do so love building up a nice backlog to fall back onto, should the need arise.

     At any rate, I hope the summer finds you well, dear readers and I wish you all the best. See you in September.

     - Sincerely, The Author.

Day Eight - Afternoon

     Captain Casper traverses the dense forest wilderness, wary of wild beasts and savages hiding in the undergrowth. He’ll need all his wits about him if he wishes to survive the voyage, but now is not the time for a return voyage. The day is young, his belly full, and his hopes high. He has greater ambitions in mind, ambitions like conquering tribes and claiming their treasures as their own. He’ll need to find said tribes first before he does any conquering though… Perhaps he’d have better luck looking for buried treasure. Who’s to say he can’t do both?

     The trees thin out ahead. He’s reached the forest’s edge. Beyond it is a bare wasteland, all brown, tilled earth with coarse, green stubble. Dwellings built from earth bricks and wood intersperse the fields few and far in between without a scrap of cover to be seen. The natives will see him coming from the first step he takes out of the tree line. He can’t see anyone out there, but they’re there. They’re waiting. They’re watching. Better keep to the trees until he has a reason to leave.

Day Eight - Morning and Midday

     Casper slept lightly last night, always with an ear open for more disturbances, always prepared to retreat back to the glasshouse, should the need arise. He was sadly disappointed. It was quiet all through the dark hours and even early the next morning, making the tiring vigil entirely unnecessary. During that entire time, Myr did not return to the house. His conspicuous absence through the night made Casper uneasy. His continued absence this morning fills him with growing dread. The fact of the matter is, so long as Myr’s whereabouts remain unknown, Casper has no means of avoiding him. Myr could be anywhere and Casper’s just as liable to get jumped by him as not no matter where he goes.

     Today isn’t going to be a good day. Casper can feel it. He’ll have to grit his teeth and bear it, come what may. He’s a sitting duck in his nest beneath the tables. The best course of action right now is to keep moving. As for the best way to start off what is doomed to be a most dreadful day, why not start with breakfast? Naturally, that means he’s off to the glasshouse as soon as he’s dressed and ready for the day. No leaving behind his shoes this time; he’ll be needing them if he’s going to be running amok.

Day Seven - Afternoon and Evening

     Casper has to stop moping at some point. The dirt on his clothes and skin give him incentives to act by making him itch. Serves him right for sleeping on the ground. He tuts, shakes a billowing dirt cloud out of his blanket, and adds laundry and a bath to his list of things to do. He’ll pop inside the house to grab fresh set of whatever looks like it fits to change into after he’s cleaned up. Walking around, sopping wet all day wasn't fun. The prospect of stumbling headlong into Myr isn’t appealing either, but he should be fine so long as he’s quiet. He can do quiet. It won’t be any different than any other house job he’s done. He’ll get in, he’ll grab stuff, he’ll get out. Easy.

     He psyches himself up the whole way to the back door and still he hesitates on the threshold. Does he need that change of clothes that bad? What if Myr’s stirring inside? He’s up at this time of day, isn’t he? Casper swallows around the tight lump in his throat. Deep breaths. He can do this.

Day Seven - Midday

     Balor quietly tends to his glasshouse garden, checking on Casper from time to time as he steps around him. Casper, for his part, is dozing fast with the blanket pulled over his head to keep the light of day at bay. Every now and again, he’ll twitch and stir, seeking a more comfortable position before nodding off again. The sun climbs to its zenith, the glasshouse is nice and warm, and Casper shows no signs of getting up anytime soon. Balor has finished for the day and is hovering over him.

     “Casper.”

     Casper mumbles and rolls over.

     “Casper.”

     “‘M up, ‘m up. Quit your hollerin’…”

     “Are you quite sure you are awake at this time, Casper?” Balor asks loudly.

Day Seven - Midnight

     “‘Eeeeere kiddie, kiddie, kiddie.”

     Casper startles out of his slumber. Myr’s back from wherever he’s been all night. Surprisingly, the monster (if there is one) didn’t eat him; although, given the way Myr smells, maybe it’s not so surprising after all. Guess there’s things even the boogie man won’t touch.

     “Come out, come out wherever you are…” Myr lumbers down the main hall with all the subtlety of an elephant. The racket is unignorable in the dead silence that reigns the house at this time of night.

     Casper stays very quiet, very still. Myr can't possibly know where he is. He's safe as long as he remains hidden. Myr dithers on the spot before stumbling into the wall that separates the hall from the dining room, that separates him from Casper. Never have the walls felt so paper thin. Casper prays his blanket fortress is sufficient to protect him.

Day Six - Evening

     Casper forgoes the direct route to the manor he’s used in the past. It’s better, less conspicuous this way. It’s a small miracle that he hasn’t been exposed as is. He retraces his steps through the fresh tilled fields until he finds the river, then follows the waters upstream until he finds the spring. From there, he wanders the woods until he stumbles upon the glass house hidden among the trees. The rest is easy.

     Meanwhile, Myr’s yelling up a stink in the house. Casper can hear him, even from all the way out here. He slips into the glass house to hide while he waits out the storm. He might be here awhile. He hunkers down among the planters and snacks disinterestedly on some of the plants to pass time. Sadly, the taste hasn’t improved.

     Myr’s tantrum ends with one last shout and the slam of a door. Casper perks up. He doesn’t hear anyone coming his way. He waits a minute more. Neither hide nor hair of the drunk bearing down on him. Reassured, he leaves the glass house, gently closing the door behind him.

     Does Myr know about the glass house? About the plants? What are they for, the plants? Are they magic too? Will he turn into a frog if he eats the wrong ones? Would Balor tell him if he asks? If he asks, would Balor lie? (That’s what he’d do, but Balor isn’t him, isn’t like him. But if he is…) He doesn’t know.

Day Six - Afternoon

     The fact that Casper comes into the pub damp in spite of today’s clear skies causes more than a few puzzled expressions among the earlybirds. Let them stare. They’ll lose interest, as onlookers often do. And if they don’t, then they’re too invested to be mere passersby. Watchmen on the streets, sentries behind every door, why won’t they let him be?

     Casper checks the crowd for familiar faces. He doesn’t recognize any, but he wasn’t in any state of mind to catalogue his stalkers while he was running ragged through the streets. Could be staring them right in the face and he wouldn’t know it. Troubling.

Day Six - Midday

     Once upon a time, the manor's garden was a grown and groomed haven, an escape from the world beyond, a place to relax and partake in afternoon tea. Once upon a time was a long time ago. Neglected as the rest of the house, it has grown into a jungle. Few reminders of what once was remain. There’s the ruins of a bird bath lost in the middle of a grass snare, the bones of chairs, and a table in the course of rotting into oblivion.

     Casper steps along the edges of the weed strewn flagstones that make up the back porch. It’s still early in the spring season, but already the shoots come halfway up his shins. He parts the sea of green and treads carefully. Who can say what’s hiding in the grass? Snakes?

     His toes bump against something. Oh god, please don’t be a snake. But no, upon closer inspection, it’s a chunk of wood. Casper kicks it with prejudice. It hisses as it skims through the grass. “Balor! Where the hell are you?”

Day Six - Morning

     Mornings at the manor are always quiet. The loudest sounds are the bird calls and Myr’s occasional snores. It’s always shocking how quiet it is. Sometimes Casper wonders if all the people, not in the manor but in the world, have suddenly disappeared, leaving him completely and utterly alone on the earth. Sometimes it’s wishful thinking. Sometimes it’s a stubborn uneasiness. Then Myr snores and it all disappears, only to be replaced by the thought that it’s just him and Myr alone together. It’s at times like these that unease turns into panic.

     Balor can’t come soon enough. The moment Casper gets his chores for the day, he is out of here. Until then, he’s stuck. The possibility of leaving Balor high and dry and leaving without his say so, without his knowing so, is tempting. The possibility of Balor tracking him down and chewing him out (or worse) after? Not so much.

     ‘Violation of terms may result in revocation of boons... amongst other punishments.’

Day Five - Evening

     Casper lugs around his sack of ‘potatoes’. It’s at least twice as heavy as his little bag of gold, but he isn’t complaining. Being around this much money makes him lightheaded. He’s loaded and never has he felt so alive. Pity he has to hand it over when he gets back. Out of the small fortune he has in his hands, he’ll see only one pound of it. A pound is more money than he’s ever had, but, compared to the rest of it, it looks like a pittance. What’s worse, the sum is accounted for already, meaning if he squeaks so much as a penny-farthing more than he’s entitled to…

     Balor was intimidating as is. Add on the fact that he’s a goddamn sorcerer of all things and Casper’s damn well sure he’ll listen to whatever he says. If Balor says he gets one pound, then he gets one pound. Nevermind how badly keeping his grubby mits off is chafing him, Casper has to grin and bear it.

Day Five - Afternoon

     Casper marches straight to the pub. He doesn’t feel up to anything besides having a bite to eat and a nice nap afterwards. How he’ll fit doing errands into his busy schedule, he doesn’t know. He has time. He has until sundown, smack dab in the evening and still several hours away. He’ll make time. He’ll mix business with pleasure, asking Alicia about Messers. Smit and Smith while talking about lodgements. Lets see if he can’t confirm his suspicions that way.

     The bag’s drawstrings cut into his fingers; he’s holding them too tightly. He stops in front of pub and gives the door a thousand yard stare as he plans how to explain away the incriminating object in his possession. He raises his hand to door handle. He stops and thinks about how many questions Alicia’s going to ask. He touches the knocker instead. Maybe she won’t be there? (Bullshit. She’s always here.) He stops.

     His hand flops lamely to his side. He can’t go in there. Not after he almost got caught with the silver in his pockets. What would she say about his little bag of guilty secrets he doesn’t understand nearly as well as he’d like to (and like not to).

Announcement #2

     As of this most recent part (that is, Day Five - Midday), I estimate that The Demon Boy is roughly 50000 words. Given that I've been posting for little less than half a year, that's an impressive number. Just think about it: that's 10000 words per month or, if you prefer weekly values, 2500 words per week on average.

     That's the good news. Now for the bad news. I used to have a nice, comfortable content buffer to fall back on whensoever I fall behind in my writing. As of this most recent update, that buffer is now depleted to the point that there is no buffer. Poof! Good bye lovely cushion! You shall be sorely missed!

     So, yeah. Imma gonna get back to writing and stop being lazy, but, in the meantime, I might be a bit spotty with keeping up with updates and things might not be as polished as they've been so far. Just giving you lovely folks back home a heads up.

     Mind you, I'm not going on hiatus and I'm not changing the update schedule just yet. I may do so in the future if I find that keeping up this pace is too hectic for me to handle. If I do change my mind, you'll be the first to know.

     Well then. I think that's all I have to talk about today. I hope all of you are keeping warm in the frosty winter weather.

     Until next time,
             - The Author.

Day Five - Midday

     The bag of gold grows heavier for each step Casper takes. He suspects the eggs are multiplying when he’s not looking, but the bag’s contents remain decidedly inanimate. There’s five eggs the first time Casper counts them. There’s still five eggs on the twelfth, most recent counting. Heavens knows where the extra weight is coming from. May as well chalk it up to magics and call it a day. It’d save him a headache.

     He pauses mid-stride, rewinding his train of thought back to-

     Magic. Not coin tricks and sleight of hand that entertains and distracts small children and possible marks alike. Real, inexplicable, impossible-

     Magic. The stuff of legends. The stuff that turns eggs into gold.

     Magic. The trade of witches... Or witchmen.

     Casper has a sinking feeling all of a sudden. The bag of gold weighing on him is reduced to a small part of his apprehensions. He knows who the Glenholm witchman is. He shares a roof with him.

Day Five - Morning

    Casper wakes with the sun. A few of yesterday's pains linger on, but, otherwise, he feels like a new person. He'll need his strength. There’s a long day ahead of him and a longer to-do list. There's no time to waste. The sun’s up only for so long. He gets out of bed and puts on his shoes. He’s prepared for what today brings.

     The first item on Casper's list is breakfast. To that end, he pops into the kitchen. The pheasant leg is untouched on the table. He devours it, then tosses the bones and scraps out the side door and the plate into the wash basin on the counter. He revels in the sense of accomplishment. One item down, god knows how many to go. And that’s not counting whatever burdens Balor has in mind for him.

     Speaking of Balor, where is he? Casper expected him to have materialized by now. In spite of the long minutes spent mulling about the kitchen, the man still fails to show himself. Casper is bored of loitering. He gives up on waiting for Balor and his commands, opting instead to get a head start on his own tasks.

Day Four - Evening

     The boy spends the better part of an hour lost in thought. He gets frustrated, then bored, eventually settling in front of his favourite window. Through it, he watches the drizzle stop. He watches the clouds clear. He watches the shadows grow. He carves another notch on the sill with his silver spoon, then ponders when it became his spoon instead of just a spoon.

     The thought is immediately dismissed. He's a thief for crying out loud. If he's gotten away with stealing something for so long, it becomes his something. That means the spoon belongs to him and nobody can persuade him otherwise.

     In summary, the boy is tired of milling about his room with nothing to do. And that is why he, despite all else that’s happened, decides to go exploring.

Announcement #1

     Firstly and fore mostly, I owe you, dear readers, an apology. I once said that I would update every Friday, give or take two days. Said promise is also on record, so it's not as if I can deny liability here. Not that I intend to. The fact of the matter is that I haven't delivered on that promise of mine. For that, I am most truly and humbly sorry, mea culpa and all that.

     Now for the good news: starting this day forward, I intend to stick to the schedule I promised so long ago. More good news: I'll give some notification before hand about whether or not I'll be skipping an update day (not that I plan to, mind you, I'm just hedging my bets here). Any notifications on the story status and my concerns on this side of the fourth wall will be communicated via Announcements, like the one you are currently reading. I've organized a master post for all admin stuff so far and it will include all Announcements going forward.

     I appreciate your patience so far and, again, I'm quite sorry for not being up to standard lately.

     I hope you continue to enjoy what I've written so far and what I will post in the near future.

     Sincerely,
              - The Author.

     P.S. Shit. I can't believe I forgot to mention this the first time I posted this blasted thing. I'm going to start go give a good overhaul to all story posts so far, stylistically that is. The actual content won't deviate too much, if at all; I'm just gonna fix up some (read "A LOT") of wording and phrasing stuff that's been bothering people consistently. Plus, it'll be good practice for getting back into the swing of things.

     It's nice to be back. :)

Public Announcement Bulletin

     This is the "master post" for any and all materials on this blog, website thing that are neither story pieces nor illustrations. Basically, what ya got here is a big ol' directory for all the finicky admin bits.

     This also means that there will be admin bits to keep track of going forward. Not that you have read them if to if you don't want to; this thing is more for my own organizational habits than it is for being useful.

Day Four - Afternoon

     “I presume we shall have no need of… ‘training’, as Myr put it,” the foreigner says once they're out of earshot. His grip loosens considerably when they arrive downstairs. The hold is still there, but it’s one good yank from being broken. The boy hates the contact. He wrenches himself free the moment he has the opportunity to do so, that is, immediately.

     “No shit.” He scowls at the foreigner and rubs at the sore spot on his arm where the man held him. It's sore. Wouldn't surprise him if there's another bruise.

     The foreigner watches the boy. The pensive look is back. “I apologize for treating you roughly, but-”

     “If you're gonna apologize for somefink, then don't do it in the first place!” The boy got the advice from an older boy in the workhouse. The saying stuck and has served him well since, but it’s not meant to help as he says it now. It’s meant to mock, to hurt.

     The foreigner sighs. “As I was saying, it is in your best interest to not provoke Myr at all costs.”

     “As I was sayin’, no shit.”

     “Language. And, I assure you, Myr is no laughing matter.”

     “Do I look like I'm havin’ a giggle?” The way the foreigner's talking, you'd think he's the one who got strangled by Myr. “I think I got a handle on what Myr can do.”

     “Whatever it is you believe Myr to be capable of, you are sorely mistaken.” The foreigner's voice dips from a tired drone into a growl. The intensity matches yesterday's storm. It makes every hairs on the boy's head stand on end. “Regardless of what lows you think Myr won’t stoop to, you underestimate him by ten score and ten score again if he be in a foul temper.” The foreigner growls deeper and deeper. The words hover just within audibility. The boy feels them more than he hears them. “Do not underestimate Myr. There stands my advice to you. Follow it, and you may yet avoid the worst of fates.”