The village was small, situated at the edge of the river. The villagers depended on the river. They fished and cast nets for salmon and trout that populated its waters. One fisherman walked slowly with a frown on his face. His big, wide arms the size of logs hauled two large fish back to his hut. He wasn"t looking forward to returning. The gash on the side of his side reminded him of him of why he wasn"t looking forward to returning.This morning, a boy with a sword at his waist snagged his net, pulling him into the water with him. The sword came loose and created a big gash in his side. It wasn"t enough to perturb a strong man like him, but he didn"t appreciate the possibility of a sickness or disease occurring due to this wound. Again, the wound wasn"t enough to perturb a strong man like him, but the actions of his wife perturbed him the most... She kept the wounded man in their house! She tended to his wounds! The strong man entered the house and voiced his complaints, while another man lay in their bed.
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"What about my wounds?" he said.
"I"ll tend to yours next!" she said, "Don"t you see the bullet lodged in his arm? He must"ve been bleeding for days. It"s a miracle he"s alive."
"Well," said the husband, "It"s to be expected of Black-cloths like him. They"re st.u.r.dy... and trouble!"
"Don"t you go talking like that! Now, help me take off his clothes!"
The husband laughed and said, "Don"t you know little fool? Those clothes are a brand, created to be worn forever, a mystical cloth made to brand fallen n.o.bles forever. They can"t be taken off, especially because their powers would be unrestrained if removed."
"Black-cloths?" she said.
"Yes, Black-cloths," he said, "they"re not your usual criminals. They"re precious special ability users reduced to mere slaves... The only reason they don"t put collars around them is because they were once n.o.bles. G.o.ds... What a stupid wife I"ve bought myself..."
The pet.i.te lady, with light green skin and pale blue hair looked down into the ground.
"It"s not my fault..." she said, "I just haven"t been to the city before like you have."
"Well, you"re darn right!" he said, "A fragile la.s.s like you wouldn"t last a second! A LITERAL SECOND"
He made sure to say the last three words with emphasis.
"Go dress your own wounds then!"
"Fine! Wretched woman..."
The husband left, while the wife continued tending to the young man"s wounds.
She said in a soft voice, "Imagine what you"ve been through..."
She felt pity, but she also felt a burst of excitement upon wondering about the young man"s future.
"He could be a prince," she thought, "Or a fallen Duke"s son!"
Her imagination went wild.
She eventually moved to a little hut with a straw bed that he slept on and a flimsy roof made from bamboo. The woman struggled to make the walls with bamboo as well. She chopped the bamboo with a little axe, one light enough for her to wield, and she chopped and chopped and chopped until her hands blistered.
Finally, she made the roof and walls for the hut. She was proud of herself. The hut was situated behind her and her husband"s house, while the rest of the village lay closer to the river. The hut stood near the edge of the little village. The village had five houses made of bamboo and straw and palm leaves. The people wore fur clothes that they bought from the traveling peddlers and the occasional merchants, and the small children wore nothing but a small loin cloth until they reached the age of two. The clouds rolled above village, above the country, above the world, and the forest cliff lay outward. The cliff that the young man jumped from seemed to be a speck in the distance. It almost disappeared, but like most things in this world, it still existed. This also meant the young man"s town existed. This also meant his owners still existed. This really meant they would be looking for him. This truly meant he was on borrowed time.
But, for now, he waited in a small hut, where a pet.i.te woman with delicate features tended to his wounds and fed him.She poured part of her meal into his mouth. She crushed the fish with a mallet and ground the fish meat with her fingers. She poured water into the mix and sent the substance down his throat. She talked to him while she was doing this. She told him about her husband and his weird tendencies, how rough he was in bed, how foul his mouth was, and how much she missed home. She missed the wide open fields of the prairie. She missed the time spent with her grandmother. Most of all, she missed her best friend, Paul, who she would have rather married instead... She poured her heart out to him. And then, she left.
The young man continued to sleep: his dreams continued onward, drifting endless like the clouds...