Trust.

Trust is a strange thing. The sureness of it, the absolute certainty that the thing you hold to be true is exactly that. That the faith which one holds in another person is so strong, that you’re sure that you can see into the future, that you know exactly what they’re going to do, when they’ll do it and how. When you ask something and you can be as sure that it will be done, as if you were to do it yourself, with your own two hands.

Real trust, true trust isn’t just believing in another person or a thing. It’s like having an extra limb, it’s knowing with absolutely zero doubt that the desired outcome will be achieved, as certainly as one can lift their hands and grasp their own fingers, feeling the strike of a beating heart, coming from within.

- That is how Fresh knows that breakfast is going to be good today.

Sure, that might be a rather dramatic way to look at it. But she finds that a little dramatization helps in all aspects of her life. Emotions are there to be felt, after all.

She sits up on the inner balcony, reading a book on survival stories of old adventuring parties, who both did and didn’t make it out of hairy situations, out of dark dungeons and desperate times. She learns from their mistakes and from their successes, trusting in that the depictions that the author is describing for her are accurate.

All the while, Shamrock cooks breakfast and she trusts that it will be good.

Basil and Jubilee are in the city, gathering information about the outside world and about the inside of the shield. She’s trusting that they’ll find something useful. She’s trusting that they’ll come back on time for them to open the store, as if today were a day like any other day.

Shamrock looks over his shoulder, feeling himself being watched by her. The two of them stare at each other from the distance for a moment, before both of them return to what it was that they’re doing, trusting that the other is going to be a helpful, productive member of their family.

What does the fountain know? What doesn’t it know? Is it always listening, watching, or is it simply a thing that checks in now and then? Does it know about their ‘knowing’, or does it not? Does it even care, if it does? Perhaps it simply assumes that even if they are aware, that there is nothing that they can do about it anyway, because they’re right where it needs them to be. They’re powerless against its control and whims.

Fresh’s feelings towards the fountain are a mixed bag, for sure. On one hand, it has allowed her this rich life, but on the other, it has only allowed her this existence for a price, on the basis that she acts as a tool for its terrible wish for the world. On one hand, it’s a mean-spirited, angry, bitter thing that likes to deceive her and to show her horrible things. It likes to whisper terrible words into her ears. But on the other hand, it has given her so much.

So how does this balance out?

She doesn’t know. Her obligations to the fountain have been fulfilled in her eyes and its to hers, the deal has been completed. Yet here she is, it’s all still going along.

Fresh flips the page of the book, trusting that, one way or another, things are going to work out. Because they’re all doing their best, they’re all trying their hardest.

The nature of spriggans is one of playfulness and ease.

Fresh sits behind the counter of their store, waiting for the next customers to come. To keep herself busy, she has been watching the house-spriggan and the healer-spriggan, who have been spending their morning running around the house and playing with each other. It looks to be some kind of game of tag, but with spriggan rules that she doesn’t quite understand herself just yet.

The green leaves of their heads bounce as they run between the shelves, darting around the few customers who have shown up today. Despite Jubilee yelling at them, they seem to be difficult to discipline and simply return downstairs to continue their game a few minutes later.

“Will you two get lost?!” barks an annoyed Jubilee. The two spriggans stop, turning their way and then scamper off into the basement. If Fresh didn’t know better, she’d be sure that they were holding ‘hands’ as they left.

“Cute…” she mutters beneath her breath.

“Hey Muldrich,” says Fresh, coming back from her dinner-grocery run. “How’s it going?”

“Fine, thank you,” replies Muldrich, standing where he always stands, staring out into the city that he watches with sharp eyes.

“Mm!” nods Fresh, happy to hear it. “Listen, I know you don’t ever like this stuff,” she says. “But we’d like to invite you and your family for dinner sometime, if you ever feel like it,” she offers.

“No, thank you,” replies the guard.

Fresh shrugs. “Okay, well let me know if you ever change your mind,” says Fresh, heading inside with her bags of groceries.

Muldrich sure is a tough nut to crack. Their plan had been to get on his good side, in order to get an inside-man in the city-guard. But the man is so stoic and quiet that it’s impossible to get anywhere near him emotionally without seeming suspicious.

She stands there for a while, turning her gaze to look at the other side of the wall where Muldrich is standing. He’s a simple man, a man who’s only interested in serving his city and thereby his family. She doesn’t know Muldrich, but she feels like he’s a good person.

Fresh closes the door behind herself, heading upstairs.

There are a lot of good people in this world, both inside of the central-city and outside of it. Just like there are a lot of bad people too.

She knows that if Muldrich ever really knew the true truth about them and their own goals, that he’d charge in here with his pike and kill them himself. He seems like the person who will do anything for his family, after all. To keep them safe, healthy, warm, fed.

Fresh narrows her eyes. It’s important that he never finds out then, for her family’s sake.

She goes upstairs and begins cutting the large, vibrant vegetables that she bought, thinking about what that will mean in the future as the blade of the knife sinks against the cutting board.