My summer was quite busy.

Firstly the girls were now tagging along twice a week. Peterell deemed the river safer after the tide: the monsters killed most predators and the tridents were patrolling more often than usual according to him.

Secondly there were less dangers during summer still according to him. Monsters shouldn't be sighted anytime soon and the most dangerous predators were driven away to the underground river by the “searing light of Oreo".

Now that his arm recovered he brings us in the middle of the river. We have to maneuver between the bigger trade boats but it is worth it.

The four of us are now fishing all together aboard the small boat and our catch got uncannily abundant. Even if we now have to split in four shares, Gel and I usually could walk home with a large copper each AND food for our families.

On each seventh days Balout would join us and the four of us kids would take our afternoon to just enjoy our time: swimming in the refreshing lukewarm waters when the heat of the sun was hammering down at us, then lazily dry on a nearby stone like a knot of lizards.

Balout reminds me of Godzilla when he naps in the sun, mouth wide open toward the sky. These simple joyful moments help me forget the sight of Yoli's dead stare a bit.

The others seem to have already recovered but I know that Gel still has some nightmares, waking up the both of us with her cries in the dead of the night when she comes to sleep in my attic. I don't really know how to bring up the topic with the other two so as long as they seem to cope with it I'd rather not force them to reminisce about it.

I finally had the occasion to implement my first experiment on extraworldly knowledge transplant.

One of the fishermen got maimed during the fight, his right leg amputated and he now has a wooden peg leg. It doesn't sound that bad until you understand that it means he won't go on a boat any more. Too risky if one were to fall overboard. Not working is almost a death sentence around here.

If a worker becomes unable to earn enough to pay his blade's protection fees he usually ends up becoming a serv and no one needs a crippled serv. This in turn often means minimal care and dangerous jobs, leading to an early grave.

This explains why I've seen so few elderly or disabled around: if one doesn't have the full support of a family they are as good as dead.

The maimed fisherman is the one that gave me the liquid fire on my first day: Aroku. He is a simple and a bit rough around the edges but an honest guy. I was feeling bad seeing him desperate for odd jobs around: fixing nets, scrapping board floors, harvesting cockles in shallow water. It was a perfect occasion to try implementing the first fish farm around here.

I had set my mind on duggus.

They were low threat, caught often and producing the valuables eggs. After operating on a few specimens I found a way to cut open their cloacae and put it in communication with their egg pouch without killing them in the process. This allows a not disgusted fisherman to use a finger to go fetch an egg in the insides of the big slimy slug every other day.

Until now they just eviscerated the duggus and collect whatever eggs there were in its egg pouch.

After showing how it was possible to keep the specimen alive, I explained my idea of enclosing one of the natural basin on the shore with a fence to herd duggus for reliable long term egg production.

Most where sceptics which is only natural: who in their right mind would follow the rambling of a kid about something so whimsical?

Yet Aruko was either avant-garde enough or desperate enough to try his luck.

We used his compensation blood money to build a fence, allowing water and nutrients to freely circulate while predators couldn't pass through it.

It took us a few days of fishing to collect enough live females duggus and I had to operate on all of them but after a while the man was herding a flock of fifty or so duggus. This herd was providing him 20 something eggs a day for little maintenance.

On its own this activity wasn't enough to make a living but combined with his odd jobs it would allow him to afford the blade's taxes.

The feeding issue was solved by Balout. He thought it would be an excellent use of the stale bunta bread waste from his father's bakery. For a cheap fee Aruko was able to feed his duggus, turning any food waste from the surrounding inns and bakeries into fresh grey eggs.

This earned me the gratitude of the man and a supply of as much eggs as I could want but even more, it brought me some respect. Recognition from all the other fishermen but also from the whole dockyard: washerwomen, cooks, sailors and even the dockmaster.

Helping one of them was helping them all and they were already imagining how to expand the operation. I warned them that expanding too fast could lead to the danger of epidemics, attracting predators or feeding issues, dousing some of their greed.

The dockmaster still called for one of the temple's priest: a Charavatkeh herder with his tentacled robe. The priest gave his approval and wrote down my process, intending to make a report to his cardinal.

This was a bit flustering, that might have been a good thing for my Shinpilo's offering that got stolen right under my nose.

* * * *

Gel is still facing some troubles at her place. Her father is throwing a fit every once in a while. Her brother is now old enough to ensure their mother doesn't get hurt but the girl still comes at our home, less frightened maybe but still unsettled by the events.

After talking it through with her and since I have the attic to myself now that Barasti is in internship, we came up with an arrangement of our own.

Whenever she wants to escape her home she is to throw pebbles at our roof. I will then let down a knotted rope through the attic's small window. The girl is deft enough to climb the few meters to join my safe haven and lean enough to fit through the small entrance. I think she might be abusing our arrangement a little bit, joining me up at least once a week.

I know she is at an age where she is looking for a surrogate fatherly figure to compensate for what life has given her but I don't know if I am up to the task.

Yet I can't find the will to drive her away.

* * * * * *

Fall was like summer less the sun and fruits and with my mother's belly growing bigger.

She finally gave birth on the 8th of Piscost under Amidea's full moon, making the night's sky blue.

She gave birth at home. One of the priestess of Akolaï came when labour started. She wasn't dressed in a silky bikini thought but instead in a purple long dress. I guess midwives are also under Akolaï's domain.

My new sibling is a girl. My father considered calling her Amidea to honour her birthing moon but Mom got the final say and was the voice of reason. Thus little Ederia joined our family.

From what I can tell she took after the name of my mother's own mother.

Mom doesn't talk much about her family. I know she was born a serv in a travelling caravan, merchants going from city to city, travelling dangerous roads.

When they stopped in one of the caravanserails of our city of Nakunaui, my grand pa just bought her off from the merchant, almost like a slave. She was to become a bride for my father.

As gruesome as this might sound she was happy to become a commoner and there seems to be real affection between them. Just that when the caravan left my mother never saw her family again, not knowing what fate befell them. It's a bittersweet kind of story.

Her pregnancy lasted for almost eleven, cul in the hexadecimal system, months. Making it longer than an Earthtime pregnancy but not 45% longer. I lack precision in the exact time elapsed so I cant make any conclusion. Maybe the time flow gets slower as one grows up? I can only figure out more if I get access to some tools to measure time, and some books about both calendars and human physiology. This will have to wait for when I have access to a library or something alike.

* * * * * *

By the end of fall, as the first white days were starting, I managed to pocket up enough money for my long term project: buying an offering decent enough to attract the attention of a god.

Easier said than done. When I finally had more than 3 iron coins in my pocket I went to the southern bazaar on one of my free “sundays”. An iron is worth 16 large coppers so each iron is worth 256 small coppers.

I dragged Gel with me and the other usual duo ended up sticking with us too.

The bazaar isn't as lively as the last time we went through it. The ravaged merchant's dock is still under repair and can afford only a small amount of boats per day. Some of the flow of goods was even diverted upstream towards our fishing docks. Most of the workforce was geared towards fixing the bridge. So they only recently started to be worked on and with winter approaching it should slow down the work even more.

We got to see the boats of the southern traders: leaner and with domed hulls, clearly made for sea travels too. Most of their crew were humans but with also a lot of the dark skinned elves, with their pointy ears, silver white hair and strange angular faces. The dangers at sea must be even higher than on the river since most boats were heavily armoured, hulls reinforced with copper plates. A few of them even had a ballista at the bow, not unlike the harpoons launchers use to hunt whales.

Although the way to the trading district was long and tiresome, Melodi is leaping in excitation all around us making me almost as dizzy as the smell of various spices and foreign herbs around us is.

“Where in Dard do you find so much energy?” rumbles Balout “If you aren't able to walk back don't expect me to give you a piggy ride,” He warns her without meaning it. If he had to he would help her.

Melodi half hisses, half laughs “Like I would count on you? I know my girl will give me a ride.” She tries to jump on Gel's back but the deft girl manages to avoid her, letting Melodi crumble on the pavement “Hey! Not nice! You were my chosen one!” she complains in feigned indignation. Gelcaria just shrugs, her purple eyes can't hide a glint of amusement flashing in them.

My goal today is to find paper. A pen would also be nice but I can always make do with a piece of charcoal if needed.

I know that the amount of money I managed to save up is quite ample and substantiate, enough to feed my whole house for three months provided I don't have to pay the blade's protection fee.

According to what I heard from Ms Tarina, books are a luxury and so is paper. Parchment is even costlier so out of the question. I could carve something on a stone but it would be a bit conspicuous an offering. My last option being making something perhaps explosives or electricity, but I don't see how I would be able to demonstrate it to a god?

Paper is my go to, easy to write something worth noticing on it and books should be common alms for Shinpilo.

“Hey guys, wanna eat something? It's on me.” My offer is greeted with cheers and a heavy pat on the shoulder from Balout. They deserve it. After all most of my gains were made when Gel and Mel came fishing with me and I didn't forgot how both Melodi and Balout jumped in front of the danger for my sake.

They settle for a “honeyed fruit” something like an apricot dipped in the jam honey goo. A treat originating from the Beastkin empire on the other side of the mountains.

It drains me from 1 large copper each... but was worth it. It's been a long time since I ate so much sugar and the rush feels good, making my head slightly dizzy. I can see that the other kids are also feeling it, eyes in complete midriasis of contentment.

After indulging ourselves in the powdery white drug (sugar), I led them to a nearby “drug store”. There are exotics and unusual baubles from the southern free cities and farther away, including some books kept under a jailed showcase.

The shop owner is a black skinned old woman with golden teeth making her salesmile as bright as Oreo's. This seems to be some kind of fashion for southerners merchants. I remember Typhoon Taonga's extravagance.

I can feel her gaze following us in her shop, ready for any mischief from our side. When I stop in front of a stack of paper she comes forward, arm raised between us and the raw paper.

“What do you street urchins want here? This shop is under watch so don't try anything funny unless you're looking for a good beating.” She threatens us, her golden smile far less appealing now.

Before my comrades can complain, I pull out my iron coins: “I'm not here to play around. My master needs some good quality paper so don't waste my time with this rubbish. If you don't have better to offer, we'll just leave.” I don't even wait for her answer and pulls Gelcaria with me towards the exit, I don't want my companions to blow my bluff out.

“Wait, wait, wait, dear customer. My bad for misinterpreting, this lowly Alcuza asks for forgiveness.” She bows slightly to enforce her contrition.

As always: money talks. She is a merchant at heart and won't rebuke good coins coming her way.

“Show me your wares!” I order with as much authority an almost 5 years old can muster. So not much, but my purse makes authority enough.

The paper is disappointing. The sheets are brown and irregular reminding me more of papyrus. She does have some better goods but they are so overpriced. When I enquire about why the prices are so high for just paper she answers “JUST paper?! This is premium goods coming directly from the heart of the misty forest. Transporting paper on the river is risky and time consuming. A lot can get spoiled during transport.” She's clearly annoyed both at my obliviousness and from my demeaning of her goods.

Now I get why paper is so costly: monopoly.

Only the Beastkin empire seems to produce it. I'm curious as to why our empire doesn't? Paper making isn't that hard. Maybe one day I can make a fortune in this industry?

After some haggling, the merchant trying to scam the young kid in front of her, I manage to buy for myself 3 sheets of not too bad paper for almost my 3 iron coins, this is just ridiculous.

The pages are midway between recycled paper and newspaper and are a bit bigger than our A4 format, rolled like parchments.

I hope this will be worth it.

On our way back we make a stop by Typhoon Taongua's Villa. I'm secretly hoping for a snack and working my connection with him as a plan C in case of failure in both plan A (getting a blessing) and plan B (joining the temple by showing off my knowledge) and maybe letting Gel earn something for herself from her talent for “invigorating”.

But one of the onyx skinned guards at the entrance signifies us that the Typhoon left the city after the attack and sailed south for business. Tough luck.

I don't feel like walking back home, so I burn what change money I have left to hire a wheelbarrow pusher to drive us back. The man accepts, transporting 4 kids is an easy load for him.

I'm now in the attic with a three quarter consumed candle casting a dim light on my paper and a piece of charcoal in hand. I chipped it to a pencil like edge with my silvery knife. Gel just arrived after climbing up the rope curious about what I intend to do with my exorbitantly priced paper. Her eyes are reflecting the candle's flame with avid curiosity, shining like some distant yet bright violets quasars.