Airi and Clyde walk side by side down the dense, tree-edged road, the manor slowly fading in the distance. Clyde’s gaze wanders around to admire the god rays peeping through the tree canopy above. It was simply amazing how much cooler it was under the shade, when it felt particularly hot and humid out. Unfortunately, the shade could only do so much. Clyde pulls at the collar of his long-sleeved linen shirt. Thinking Airi must be hot, he looks over at her and offers a kindness.

“Do you want me to carry that?” Clyde asks, gesturing with a pointed finger to the box in Airi’s hands.

She pushes it into his body. “Finally! It took you long enough to ask.”

Chuckling a bit, he looks down to grab hold of the box and catches a glimpse of a sweat drop racing down her chest. Towering over Airi with his six-foot stature, Clyde discovers a new privilege: being able to see the tip of Airi’s nipple through the top of her uniform. Pff, and she says I’M small.

Realizing she’s being stared at, Airi meets Clyde’s gaze. Upon following his eyes down, she quickly steps back, placing a hand over her chest.

“Pervert.”

Clyde hides his face, and a smirk, behind the box. “Sorry!”

The two reach town and walk toward what appears to be the main street. Up and down both sides of the street, there are houses with structures, both attached and built in front of them, each one with a unique sign hanging from metal perches. Airi opens the door to a shop with the image of a shoe printed on its sign.

The smell of leather and wax greets Clyde’s nostrils upon entry, and he can hear the ceasing of light hammering toward the back of the shop. A very large and hairy man walks out from behind the dividing curtain, approaching the sales counter where Clyde and Airi are waiting. Clyde notices that his ears are actually those of a cat. Leaning down against the counter, the shoemaker asks, “How can I help you today?” For a man so imposing, he brought his fingertips together quite daintily.

Airi nudges Clyde. “Well, give him the box.”

“Oh, right!”

Clyde puts the box on the counter and opens it for the man to see. Inside, there are a few pairs of boots, as well as some equipment, from the bandits they fought yesterday.

Examining each item, the shoemaker finds a pair that catches his eye and pulls them out.

“Ah, a good pair of boots. What would you like me to do with them?”

“A stretch and a resoling.” Airi says. “They’ll need to fit him.” she adds, stabbing a thumb in Clyde’s direction.

“Alright then. We’ll start with the measurements for the boots. Take off your shoes, son.”

Clyde unlaces his Chucks and slips them off his feet while standing, setting them off to the side of the entrance. Meanwhile, the shoemaker sets up a piece of fabric on the nearby bench, smoothing out the wrinkles.

“Place your right foot here.” Clyde hikes his foot onto the bench, and the man traces a quick outline. Clyde wiggles his toes from the tickling of his pencil.

“The other now.” Clyde switches feet, and the man repeats the process. After asking for Clyde’s name, he jots a note down on the fabric before folding it up neatly and placing it behind the counter.

“His pair can be ready in a few days.” He says, “What about the extras?” placing a hand on the box of looted gear.

Clyde slips away from the counter to look at the merchandise as Airi and the shoemaker start haggling back and forth on prices for the loot. He admires the stitching of the edges on the models, and remarks to himself how perfect the sheen has been brought into the leather by careful polishing. The leather also looks soft and supple, only adding to their allure.

Wow… These really put my Converse to shame. I bet the boots will feel amazing to fight in, so at least there’s that.

Upon finally reaching an agreement with the man, Airi asks, “Are you needing any help? Clyde is looking to enter a profession.”

“Heavens, no. I already have two incompetent bastards in the form of sons- I don’t need another.”

The shoemaker wishes them a good day as they exit,and the two make their way a short distance down the street to the next shop. Upon entry, they observed an old woman weaving a beautiful piece of fabric at her ornate-looking loom.

Airi greets her, but is met with silence as the woman continues her work. Patient at first, Airi realizes the woman is actively ignoring her when she receives a side-eye glance from her.

Annoyed and insulted, Airi crosses her arms in a huff and taps her foot lightly, staring at the woman until she finishes.

“What do you want?” The woman sighs, stepping up from behind the loom to look at Airi.

Floored, Airi tilts her head with a bit of sass. “Don’t you know what customer service is?”

The tailor scoffs. “My fabrics are the best in the valley. What use is that? Just a waste.”

Airi raises her brows. “You’re the only seamstress in the valley.”

The woman turns her face back to the loom, ripping the fabric out of it. “Never mind that- Just tell me what you want.”

Clyde feels a push on his back from Airi, sending him stumbling in front of the tailor. “Two outfits for the leech, if you please.”

The tailor looks at Clyde up and down, adjusting her spectacles before pulling out a measuring tape from her skirt pocket.

She circles Clyde like a vulture as she stretches her tape to measure. Whispering the numbers under her breath, she contorts Clyde’s body forcefully, even whacking him when he doesn’t move his arms fast enough.

“By the way, are you in need of assistance?” Airi asks as the tailor writes down Clyde’s measurements next to a rough body sketch.

The woman’s head pops up, clearly keen on the offer. “Oh, are you wanting to work here? I'd actually love to have your hands. It’s tough being the best, and only, tailor in town.”

Airi rolls her eyes. “Not me. Him.”

She shifts her gaze over toward Clyde, disinterested. “I don’t do charity work.”

Once more, Airi takes part in the haggling game to win a fair deal. Luckily, the tailor was reasonable with her prices, due to constant demand. So she does have a bit of customer service after all, Clyde muses, rubbing a piece of fine cloth as they exit the shop.

The pair once more continue down the main street, walking further to the end where the shops gain more working space.

Upon reaching one of the very last buildings, the tinkering clang of hammer hitting metal fills the air. As they drew closer to the sound, they saw a man at an anvil working red hot iron. It was already blazing hot, since the main street had sparse tree coverage, but now it was scorching.

A kindly, hoarse voice shouts out from the fire-lit stall, “I’ll be with you in just a moment! Please head inside!”

Stepping inside, Clyde notes the many horse shoes, boxes of nails, tools, farming equipment, and cooking utensils strewn about in piles on tables. Oddly enough, no weapons or armor could be seen.

What? No weapons or armor at all? I thought a fantasy-world blacksmith would be stocked full with armaments. This is so… boring. Though, I guess people don’t generally buy weapons unless war is upon them. But even then, a government would supply its soldiers, right? A farmer wouldn’t need a weapon, but rather a hoe and pitch fork.

As Clyde studies the signature metal work of the utensils, an unassuming man steps out, wiping the sweat off his face with a dirty cloth. “What brings you and your friend, Airi?”

“He is hardly a friend.” She says hastily. “I came to pay off the tab and put in another work order. Oh, and to see if this deadbeat could help you around the smithy.”

Realizing this is probably his best bet for a job he wanted, Clyde quickly bows low. “Please accept me as your apprentice!”

“No, sorry. I will not teach anyone outside my family my trade.”

Miffed at yet another job refusal, Airi turns back to Clyde.

“Clyde, give him the box.” He hands the box off to the man, who looks inside.

The haggling begins again, and the crestfallen Clyde takes his leave to wait outside.

A moving object seizes his attention as he sees a short girl with black cat ears run swiftly by him, heading toward the outskirts of town.

Why the rush? He ponders.

Clyde’s ear perks at the sound of a soft thud. The girl seems to have dropped a sling without noticing.

Clyde picks it up and runs after her, waving his hand to hopefully grab her attention.

“Hey! Wait! Wait!!” He yells, but to no avail. The girl is already too far off and traveling far too fast for her to hear him.

As Clyde gives chase, he spies the girl passing through the tree line up ahead.

Why am I doing this? Going this far seems a bit stupid…

Slowing to walking pace, Clyde comes upon a fork in the road.

“Might as well take the road more traveled by, at least in these circumstances.”

He treks on- deeper and deeper into an increasingly dark forest. After walking for what seemed like forever, he stops. I should head back. I'm following a young girl into the woods, and that can’t look good.

But as soon as he turns around to leave, the shrill scream of a young, female voice echoes off the trees.

“Help! Help, someone! HELP!”