Today was a day for gathering herbs. Caaron often joked that since he lacked a wise woman, Kel would have to do. It wasn't funny, no matter how much the old man laughed.

Kel was halfway through the usual route. He had already picked wild flowers from the hill by their house, watching the sun as it rose over Fellow's Glen and cast the first shadows of the day. Then he had pulled sassifrass roots from the thick forest to the north of town. The mist from early morning had not fully dissipated, catching sunlight like dancing sprites among the trees. Now, the sun was firmly set in the middle of the sky and he was picking cattails by the river, carefully gathering them into a faded leather sack that had been in his family for generations. Scratched and venerable, it didn't look like much, but he had used it to carry tons of things over the course of his apprenticeship and it had never once popped a seam.

The river, which wound around the Fen and then down to the town, was a quiet one. He had heard about rivers that raged, bubbled, or occasionally flooded. This one didn't do any of those things. If anything, the water just sort of...slid down the way to and through Fellow's Glen. Travelers found it odd, but from what locals said, the river had never given them any reason to doubt it's intentions, nor they it. His town was very small and sometimes strange.

Some of this strangeness was directed towards Kel himself. He generally felt an invisible kind of pressure from many of the townsfolk, as if there were a secret he wasn’t privy to that everyone else knew. People would whisper or give him a sad, patronizing look when he came around. If he was spoken to, it was with a hushed tone that was reserved for funerals. They especially didn't like to talk about his mother.

Odd William was friendly with him, something that was reassuring, though the man had days where he wouldn't talk to anyone at all. His smile, when it occasionally appeared, was hollow and sad and Kel didn’t much like to see it. Other children Kel's age were fairly ambivalent to whatever rumors surrounded him. He had friendships with other children that would wax and wane, but no one was outright mean to him.

Except Derry, the Mayor’s son.

Derry was large for his age, a full six feet tall at 15, something unheard of in Fellow's Glen. His father, the Mayor, liked to exclaim that the blood of heroes from times long past flowed through their veins, resulting in such a strong, tall young man. Most townsfolk scoffed (in private, of course) and said that it was because the mayor's son had access to all of the best food in town. Indeed, despite being a healthy boy, he seemed to have grown as much as he would vertically and was beginning, just beginning, to expand horizontally.

Derry, who had been a cowardly, snivelling thing when they were younger, had begun throwing this growing weight around once his growth spurt had peaked. He primarily targeted those younger and smaller than himself. It was no surprise then, that Kel found the bully at the bottom of the hill, just before the bridge into town, doing what he did best - tormenting a little girl.

"Give her back!" A girl with short, ruddy brown hair was on the verge of tears. Ryla, the baker's daughter. She was just a few years younger than Kel. They had gone to school together before he had begun his apprenticeship with Caaron.

The older boy sneered. "I don't think I will. I like her." He held aloft a doll, roughly handsewn, with a yellow dress to match the one that Ryla currently wore. It was like-for-like, aside from the dirt that now covered Rylas from where she had clearly been thrown down just moments before.

"Give her back!" The diminutive girl rushed at him again. The big bully laughed and pushed her away, clenching the doll by the neck, just out of reach.

"You're too old to play with dolls. What are you, ten?"

“I’m eleven. Now give. Her. Back. She began to slap and kick at him. To her it was deadly serious, but Derry's imposing frame just shrugged her off and pushed her down into the dirt. .

"Give her the doll back, Derry." Kel steadied himself as he spoke up.

Derry straightened up, then turned and sneered. "It's the shitstain." He liked to call Kel that, to remind him that he had to perform manual labor and was, therefore, below Derry's station. Kel ignored it, something he had long ago learned to do. Fighting only made the townsfolk more wary of him. The less he allowed himself to be provoked, the better this would go.

Derry stepped toward him, holding the doll tight by his side. “My dad was talking about you the other night. He's looking forward to your birthday in a few years. We were deciding what we should have you do, since you're going to be our adventured servant. We were thinking you can be my valet. Or just shovel shit.”

Kel puffed himself up. It wasn’t that he felt any sort of pride, especially. He had learned with bullies, however, that strength was the only thing they would listen to. To do that, he would have to put on a show. “Indentured, Derry, the word is indentured.” Kell made sure to maintain eye contact. That would tell him where this was going. “Maybe I should be your tutor instead.”

The older boy bristled, clenching the doll and his other first. “I'll beat you for a day for that, once you're bound with us. Fire, I’ll start right now.” He took an imposing step forward.

It was true. Kel’s mother had, before she was disappeared, owed quite a bit of money to the Mayor; loans to keep their homestead running with his father gone. When she was taken, that debt transferred to Kel and, as a child with no holdings, he was unfortunate enough to be given ten years of servitude after all other property had been sold. Everything except a shabby old bag and the shard of gate glass that no one, not even Caaron, knew about. His servitude was set to begin on the day of his fifteenth year.

“I’d stay back if I were you.” Kel steeled his voice, continued to hold the other boy’s gaze with a look that he hoped was intimidating. He had been practicing in the wash-basin lately. While Derry was correct about the facts of the situation, he did not understand that the outcome was not certain. How could he, when he had been handed everything he ever wanted? There was a reason Kel was studying wise men’s learning by day and magic every night, separate from his obsession with his mother and brother and the fairy folk.

It was just then that Ryla took another swipe at Derry from behind. This time, she grabbed the doll and was almost away with it when there came an awful ripping sound. Derry had jerked the doll back, hard enough that the cloth thing, which was already basically just rags with a head, was now rags minus the head.

“Should’ve just let me have it,” the bully crowed, tossing the head over to the poor girl.

“Guin’s Word, what is wrong with you? Did you hit your head out hunting? She’s a child.”

Ryla was weeping now, clutching both ends of the doll as if she could somehow put it back together.

Derry turned back to Kel, clearly taking pleasure in the pain he had caused. “You’re a child yourself, boy. Keep talking. Every word is a lash I’ll give you once you’re of age.”

Kel was incensed. He felt his face grow hot, hearing this half-wit who was only a couple years older call him “boy.” He knew he shouldn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help it - his anger was instant and stinging. "If I can work anything more than a cantrip, I attend the Academy instead. All oaths, bonds, and holds are voided upon acceptance." Caaron's words, flowing through him. Kel had discussed this often with the wise man. It was his only hope.

The other boy’s face paled. "Goblin shite. There's no way you can do that. You can barely conjure anything. I've seen your cantrips. They barely work." His words didn't quite match the shake in his voice. Or the fear on his countenance.

"I've been practicing." Kel hardened his face and straightened up. He took a step towards the bigger boy, his fingers deftly moving in a way that looked both menacing and potent. In a flash, there was yellow fire blazing around him, brighter than the sun that shone down on them. Derry flinched and raised his hands to his face. The fire swirled for a moment, then shot across the distance between them towards the bully. Howling, Derry ran full-tilt, down the hill towards town. He stopped only once, when he stumbled over a pine root and went sprawling. Kel was surprised he could move that fast.

Kel walked back over to where Ryla was still sitting on the ground. Her face was still streaked with tears and dirt, but she wasn’t crying anymore. Seeing Derry run away like a crazed rabbit had apparently cheered her somewhat.

“That was very brave,” she said. “Thank you.”

"Of course,” Kel smiled. It had been a very minor illusion. The time of day had been good for it, was all. If he had tried that at night it would have been a like a group of fireflies at best. He motioned towards the now-headless doll. “Mind if I see her?”

“Are you going to magic it back together?” She looked at him expectantly, holding the small bundle of rags out for him to take.

“No,” He began to dig around in his bag, “I think for this, some real work is probably best. His hand swept around, feeling for something until he felt the small pouch he was looking for. “Ahah.” He produced his tools with a flourish - a needle and some thread.

Ryla’s face fell. “A sewing kit?” Her look was incredulous.

“Caaron says the simplest answers are usually the best.”

She looked at him doubtfully. "Are you sure you can sew? Most boys don't sew."

“I told Caaron that, back when he taught me. He just laughed and told me I'm not most boys.” He began to thread the needle deftly through the cloth doll, slowly but surely reconnecting ragged head back to ragged neck. "Plus," he gritted his teeth as he worked a particularly difficult knot to bring it all together, "it's good to know how to do things. In case they need to be done."

He smiled as he tugged the thread. "I'd rather know how to sew than have holes in my knickers. Wouldn't you?" He chuckled.

Ryla laughed. “I guess I would.”

“There.” He handed the doll to her, the stitches perfectly hidden beneath the doll's dress. “Good as new.”

Ryla's eyes lit up. "Thanks Kel!!" She hugged the doll to her. Then, she reached up and kissed his cheek. "You are sweet!"

Cheeks burning, Kel stuttered something that sounded like "you're welcome." Ryla was halfway across the bridge, still waving and laughing, swinging her doll around, before he fully recovered. He followed in her wake over trampled daffodils and mountain flowers, and descended the hill to rest before the bridge into town, leaning over to look down at the water below.

"She probably is a little too old for that doll, though." He mused.