So many days have come to pass and not one was like any of the others. Every morning when they get up to have breakfast, like on every other day, the smell of the air, the taste of their food, the directions of their conversations and morning games are always different.

The push of the breeze, the shine of the sun, the droplets of rain, which may or may not be falling on that particular day; whether here in the center of the world, at the roots of the world-tree or in the holy, mercantilist city to the north, the stoic, spiritual city on the western mountain or the open, vibrant port of the eastern city, each day is always different than the last, despite the many things that they have in common.

It’s an odd thing, to realize and to think about as she stares at the unbroken yolk of her egg. Shamrock had cooked it for her.

Days are like repeating patterns, in a sense. She turns her head, looking at Jubilee who is grabbing the salt, like they do every morning. Her eyes turn the other way, certain that they’ll find Basil sipping her tea or making a fuss about Shamrock making a mess while he eats, sure enough, this is true.

She turns her head the other way, watching the little house-spriggan run away to hide, before the bigger, meaner healer-spriggan can find it. They don’t seem to get along anymore, ever since the healer-spriggan got to stage three. They really have to do something about that.

And, sure enough, she expects to hear one of her friends scolding her for not eating, before her eyes land back onto her own plate.

“Eat your egg, before it gets cold,” says Jubilee.

Fresh smiles and then nods, grabbing her fork and knife. “Sorry, Jubilee,” says Fresh. “I was just thinking about how life is a series of repeating cycles. But we fail to notice it because it’s actually several repeating patterns happening next to each other, instead of just one, like the four wheels of a carriage,” says Fresh in a breathless ramble. “But we only ever see one spinning wheel and we think that everything is different today. But really, it’s just the same thing that happened a week ago and we forgot because we were distracted by what life is right now.”

The three of them turn to look towards her.

“…What the fuck?” asks Jubilee, raising an eyebrow.

Basil sighs. “Maybe we should go easy on the dungeon?” suggests the priestess. “All of the leveling has made me feel a bit woozy too.”

“The quiet life suits us,” says Shamrock.

Jubilee rolls their eyes. “Yeah, if only we could fucking get a single quiet day in this nightmare world,” they argue, pointing at him with their fork. They turn to Fresh. “No philosophy at the breakfast-table,” they warn her. “Especially from you. It’s weird, hearing you say more than two whole sentences in a row.”

Fresh blinks, staring down at the table. “But Jubilee, we eat all of our meals at the table, so…”

“- Is it really a ‘breakfast-table’?” asks Basil, finishing her question for her. Fresh nods.

“A mystery of the ages,” says Shamrock, picking up his tea-cup to pour its contents into his helmet.

Fresh nods. “Maybe it’s only a ‘breakfast-table’ right now?” she suggests. “But then, after breakfast, it’ll just be a table again.”

“That makes sense to me,” nods Basil. “But then, we’re going to have lunch. So it’ll become a ‘lunch-table’ then, I suppose?” suggests the priestess.

Fresh nods, holding her hand to her chin as she thinks, a finger tapping against her lips. “Yeah, but then it’s going to be just a table again after lunch.”

Shamrock sets down his cup. “Until dinner.”

“That’s true,” agrees Basil. “Then it’ll be a ‘dinner-table’,” says the priestess.

“And then it’s going to be a table again until breakfast,” finishes Fresh.

Jubilee stares at the three of them. “What the fuck? What are you idiots talking about?” They knock on the table. “It’s just a table. Fuck off.”

Fresh leans back, staring towards the ceiling. “But is it? Is it really?”

“What? What the hell? What else is it supposed to be?” asks Jubilee, clearly confused.

Fresh continues to stare towards the ceiling, trying to look deep. “The table, just like us, has limitless potential to be whatever it needs to be at the moment.”

Jubilee’s chair scratches as they get up. Fresh turns her head, watching them walk towards her. “Give me that!” they bark. Fresh yelps as Jubilee tears away the book on her lap that she was reading before breakfast. They look at it. “A philosopher’s take,” they say, reading the title. Jubilee looks up at her, shaking the book angrily at her face. “We don’t read avant-garde philosophy in this house!” they bark at her. “We’re a functional, normal family!”

“But Jubileeee~!” protests Fresh. “I just wanted you to be impressed by how smart I’ve become!” she admits, making a sad face.

“I’m already impressed by the fact that you can read,” replies Jubilee dryly. “Philosophers are hacks. Who gives a fuck about what some dead rich-kid with an imported coat thinks about life?” they say, tossing the book over their shoulder and onto the floor. “You know who reads philosophy? Weak people with no personality of their own who want to feel superior, that’s who.”

Basil sighs. “That’s certainly a take on life, I suppose.”

“Shut up and eat your eggs, Basil,” barks Jubilee, returning to their seat. “I’ll accept your kooky religion. But nothing more than that.” Shamrock lifts a hand. “You fuck off too, Shamrock,” says Jubilee dryly, before the man can even ask his question.

“What about mine?” asks the giant man anyway.

Basil puts her hand onto his arm. “I accept your beliefs, Shamrock.”

“Thanks,” says the man, lowering his hand and cutting his egg.

Jubilee sighs and shakes their head, returning to their breakfast.

Fresh shrugs. “So, guys,” she starts. “What are we going to do about the spriggans?” she asks. “The big one is getting really mean.”

“Big-slime, little-slime,” says Jubilee dryly, abbreviating the phrase.

“You see the irony here, right?” asks Basil.

Jubilee points at her with their yolk covered butter-knife. “Basil, I swear to whatever twisted amalgamation of a drunkard’s imagination you believe in, I will cut you with this knife.”

Basil sighs. “Someone’s cranky today,” she says. “I felt you kicking last night. Bad dreams?” she asks.

Jubilee glares coldly, sighing as they lower their knife. “Yes,” they relent.

“Me too,” says Basil.

“Same,” says Shamrock.

The priestess nods. “It’s probably all of the stress. We’re in a rough spot. It’s only natural for our bodies to react to that,” explains Basil. “Anyway, as for the spriggans… should we just give the smaller one some water too?”

“So that we have a second big one running around here, eating all of our produce?” asks Jubilee. “No, thanks.” They think for a moment. “The big one is only here because of the staff. Let’s just de-summon it. Problem solved.”

“I mean… maybe…” says Basil. “But it seems kind of mean? They were such good friends.”

Fresh frowns, looking towards the house-spriggan that is hiding up on the tower, watching the spiral-staircase up to the upper floor for any movement. The big spriggan really has gotten pretty mean to it. “Poor guy…” she mutters. The house-spriggan was here first though, she feels far more protective of it than the healer-spriggan, if that makes sense. Besides, a bully is the last thing they need in their home.

“Anyways,” says Jubilee. “We should maybe put a gate up on the tower,” they say. “Last thing we need is for them to have free access to your fucky water.”

“Yeah…” says Fresh, lifting her eyes to the tower again. That’s a good point, actually. The house-spriggan is gone.

She yelps, jumping to her feet, as she sees a tuft of a green leaf sticking out over the top railing, from something that is climbing up to the bowl of sunwater. Running as fast as she can up the stairs, she only gets there just in time to watch the spriggan knock the bowl over, drenching itself in the sunwater.

“Pakew…” mutters Fresh, as the house-spriggan starts to grow. Its stubby limbs lengthen, its chubby, round body elongates and becomes taller, wispier. The green sprout on its head begins to branch out into all directions, large, vibrantly pink blossoms growing from its crown.

[Springan]{Stage 1}

Fresh blinks, looking at the creature that looks at its new body. She leans over the tower. “Guys. I think we created a new kind of monster.”

Her friends don’t seem too worried. The only movement she sees is Jubilee’s serious eyes glaring her way, as their hand points towards her still uneaten egg.

She turns towards the springan.

“You look very pretty,” says Fresh, shrugging. “I like your flowers.”

“Spakew!”