The City

He thought of taking it from this strange-looking man. The clainsbib condoned violence against trespassing unclain, as Stee had read from his daily devotions. But something stayed his hand, curiosity perhaps. He reined in his hurga, giving the stranger a cool gaze. The man locked eyes with Stee, keeping his level gaze and offered a smile.

"Good-uh, eve... young man. A wet evening it is I must say, don't you think so?"

Stee merely quirked his head, and decided to let the man explain himself.

"Well..." continued the man awkwardly, "I see that you either do not understand the vulgar tongue, are mute, or just wise beyond your years..."

Silence answered the man.

"Whatever your condition, I am in need of aid... um... help. You see, I am quite lost... I can not seem to find my bearings anywhere I go. I came to your city for a respite from my travels, but I had only entered when this horrid acid rain began to fall upon me... and I quickly moved to seek shelter. But alas, none would open their doors to me, and now... now I am at your mercy, young sir. Could you perhaps give me some succor? Some directions to an agreeable house, with preferably a warm hearth, yes? Or could I stay at your dwelling perhaps?"

Stee had heard enough from this odd unclain, and cut through the man's ongoing speech with a single word: "Come."

At this, the man's words came to a stuttering halt.

"Ah... yes, I see. Lead on then, young sir."

"My name is Darmus Morresby, traveler and adventurer extraordinaire, and I am deeply grateful for your hospitality, my good sirs. I feel honored to share the hearth of such a respectable family as-uh... say, what was your family's name again?"

Stee's father gave Darmus a neutral expression, and spoke quietly as he busied himself with the carving of dinner, "Unclain are not privy to clain business, much less our clainsnom. Just eat your fill, guest, and be off with you after the sixth five o'clock pour from now.

Darmus gave a genuine look of surprise, "oh? You have a weather wizard about you? He must be of great skill if he can forecast down to the exact time of day."

"Day?" Stee's father frowned slightly, brows furrowed, but he shrugged it off as unclain slang. "No wizard, just common sense, guest. It always pours at five o'clock, it always rains. Now eat up, guest," said Stee's father as he laid down a plate laden with tender cuts of grilled sarmar flesh spiced with lenberry shavings, wet with a garlic-shroom sauce, and plump gangis roots.

At that, Darmus spoke no more and tasted the strange foodstuffs before him. The sudden glimmer in his eyes told all, and he set to ravenously gulping down chunks of the sarmar flesh and slices of gangis roots. Stee watched the unclain devour their food with quiet pride. His father was an excellent cook, and it always made Stee smile to see his father's work appreciated.

After a short while, the unclain had scraped his plate clean, and gave a satisfied burp, further complimenting the cook's work. Stee noticed his father' s lip thin a bit, the ghost of a smile. Stee stepped forward to take the plate from Darmus and went off to the kitchen to place the dinnerware in the rack for the wash.