The birds maybe are the wisest of all, even above men and people of the races.

There was nothing to do inside the Roundell’s Workshop except working. Claire knows this since the first day she was working here as an apprentice. To sum it up, almost a third of her life, Claire Montefiore, an Elf, had spent on this workshop as an apprentice, and now, a manager and owner. The ‘Lifetime Manager’, people called her, as she has been doing this job for a long time. She watched people come and go. She watched people, especially ‘Human’, come and go. Claire never fails this duty even for one day, with exceptions on special occasions. It is not her thing to actually become a ‘clerk’ but she’s got the knack for it. Roundell’s Workshop is her home and eventually, home for its customers.

“Why did you, an Elf work there for a long time?” someone asked in the past.

When she was faced with that kind of question she couldn’t answer. It was something deep inside, and it was hard to put in the mouth. When usually Elf is known to be seclusive to the outside world, Claire Montefiore did the exact opposite of it.

From the beginning of her adolescence until she has come of age, all Claire could think about was the outside world. Years passed by all means. She turned of age, but this special watershed—becoming an adult—meant nothing. Taking her own life from seclusion seemed the most natural solution, and even now she couldn’t say why she had taken this steps. Crossing that threshold is just not the same as choosing between life and death like everyone imagined. For other elves, it would have been easier than swallowing down a slick, raw egg. She didn't know why people always come to that conclusion about Elves.

Everything was made into a stereotype, thought Claire when there is no customer came by. Should the world be full of oddballs, it would be a merrier world. But it will also suggest, by all means, that the world would be full of nut-jobs who will falter in stagnation. They seek turmoils in life. But the most important thing is about herself.

What will happen when she was compared to the other elves?

She fell gracefully to the category of the nutjobs. Not one of them entirely, but different from the other elves, that's sure. She was different in thought. A curious person. And only some of the elves that understand her feelings.

Perhaps she chose to go to the outside world because she couldn’t conceive of a method that fit the pure and intense feelings she had toward her curiosity. But methods was beside the point. If there had been a door within reach that led straight to satisfy her curiosity, she wouldn’t have hesitated to push it open, without a second thought, as if it were just a part of ordinary life. For better or for worse, though, there was no such door nearby inside secluded life. She went out to sate her curiosity, and people never fail to amuse her to her heart contents.

People followed their hearts, Claire often told herself. If not, then this world, the one in the here and now, wouldn’t exist. As a thought or an idea, it was a captivating, bewitching thought. Should the present world didn’t exist, reality would no longer be real. As far as this world was concerned with something else, something that's not important, she would simply no longer exist—just as this world would no longer exist for her. Boredom is the ultimate evil.

Speaking of the devil, the first customer on this early hour defines that for her.

"Yo, Lifetime-Manager~ I'm here to abuse the bench, drink some ale, and talk!" The man said merrily. No one would open a conversation as he would.

Concerning this world, Lyle William of House William had his own opinions.

“You see the people on the streets every day. I asked myself where would they go?” Lyle said as he chugged the ale. His face is red. "They never going anywhere, right?"

While checking the stock of the displayed merchandise, Claire answered, "They did go back to dust, you know?"

"Well, in a sense I can't deny that. But still, they didn't move from this city," Lyle responded. "But, Claire, what you just said give me shivers."

"Hmm~ I don't know what you are talking about~" Claire retorted, faking her innocence. "But eventually all did go back to dust. Aside from that, how is your patrol last night?" Claire asked in return.

"The world is still full of scums, mugger, highwayman, and rapist. The world couldn't get worse than this," the state knight complaint.

"Hmm~ I'm not quite sure. It always could get worse, Lyle. You just don't know it yet. Why don't you ask your father that question? I'm sure he'll gladly give you a good whack in your head~"

"Stop that, Claire. You know that my father's fist is just as heavy as iron. Almost I forgot that you've been here from the younger days of my father."

"Actually it's from the days of your grandfather~" Claire rebuked in a cheerful tone. Her words created an awkward silence between them.

"You're joking right?" Lyle asked in the end. "You've been here from----"

"Hmm~ Who knows~" Claire interrupted. She tilted her head, further added, "But all that matters is that you're here now~"

"WWw--ell--Wel-Well!! That couldn't be helped, you know!? I've got my weapons to maintain here and there is nobody in this hour except you, Claire!" Lyle exclaimed and flustered at the same time. He straightens himself, "Roundell's Workshop is famed for the quality of their weapons, service, and maintenance after all!!"

"That's right! Good boy!" Claire smiled. And in an instant, she patted his head, stirred his hair while brushed it with her hands. “That’s right! That’s right!”

Seeing the scene of this two, the owl on the corner cooed merrily.

This is one of the weak points of Claire Montefiore.

At the same time, Claire couldn’t fathom why she had developed this kind of feeling toward this place, as she patted Lyle's head. There was an actual feeling that had led her to this place—this she knew all too well—but she couldn't explain for sure. These feelings had such a hold over her, enveloping her in its embrace for nearly half of her life. Envelop—the word expressed it precisely. Like a dove who actually developed faith to its couples, Claire had fallen into the depth of this ocean, one untold day after another, not like a lonely star---lost in a dark, stagnant void.

And it was then that the bell from the workshop's back-door chimes. The one who enters is a dwarf. He's going by his nickname Bal. His appearance is like Elder Dwarves in typical. He's short as he's a dwarf, muscular due to his daily works as one of the craftsmen and blacksmith and long braided grey beard. He's been here for almost 50 years.

"I don't know what you two are doing right now but, stop that," he said with half-asleep expression. As he expected, the shop is still empty of customers. After all, no one would place an order or bring stuff in the early morning. What he sees now is only the knight patted by Claire. "Oh. It's just you." he sneered. "So, how's that bastard doing these days?"

"Father is still on his duty, you drunkard! He'll be glad knowing that you're still kicking and alive!"

"Of course duh!!" the dwarf smirked. "Then, you have business here? If not, just go back and play your game of knights! And also tell your father to drop by in his spare time!"

Lyle cleared his throat. "My sword, and spare armour that I sent a week ago. Is it done yet?"

"Oh. So that worn out suit, and that chipped sword is yours?" Bal asked in a curious tone. "Rare of you that you didn't send it yourself. The hell you've done this time!? You people really like to abuse your gears!"

"Things happened!" Lyle shouted to Bal. It was out of rage, and out of his usual character. And now there is an awkward silence between the two.

"Seems that I've crossed my bounds...." said Bal as he lowered his gaze. "Sorry." he apologized.

"Lyle, could you tell us what happened?" Claire asked, breaking the silence. The atmosphere is dark although it's almost noon. Taking a deep breath, Lyle sat by the tall chair. He began his story.

"We should've listened to the birds," he said in a solemn tone. His voice is clearly heard although there are sounds of people crossing the street, and his words overlapped with voices of the chickens.

He should’ve listened to them back then.