“Fly, Farlon, Fly!”
The boy’s shouts pierced through the bustle in the marketplace as he chased after his falcon like a child behind a kite. Hunting bow and net in hand, he dashed through the crowd with his eyes fixed on the soaring figure above. He zipped by the fishmonger’s, wove through the dancers, and brushed past the clothes merchant’s stand. “I’m sorry! ‘scuse me… I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he ran. The people he bumped into merely smiled and chuckled at his childish recklessness.
There was a rumble behind him and the boy turned around to see pyramids of fruits tumbling down from the vendor’s stall. Realizing he must have knocked them over by accident, he watched in horror as a myriad of reds and greens and yellows landed on the floor.
“I-I-I’m so sorry…” He made his way to the vendor.
“No, no; it’s alright,” the man behind the stall answered, smiling. “I’ll take care of this!”
The boy stared in disbelief. The mess on the ground glared back.
“Are…are you sure?”
“Yes, Veryth! Don’t worry about it! Go on, now. Just be careful not to get yourself hurt!” The boy checked the vendor’s face for any signs of anger but found none; he seemed rather amused, in fact. Everyone was genuinely kind, generous and forgiving, it seemed. Veryth sometimes still had a hard time believing how this could be, but had long since adapted to the way of the kingdom. Perhaps their kingdom was simply so wonderful that no one had reason to be rude or impoilte to each other.
“Thank you, sir! I’m sorry about it!” He tipped his cap, and continued on his way.
Veryth climbed the hill that led to the woods, and there, above the forest line, the falcon circled. He whistled, and with a quick arm gesture, Farlon dove straight down and landed on his shoulder. He sat down leaning against an oak tree, his bow and net by his side.
The pair admired the view atop the hill. The forest overlooked the kingdom as the entire city sat
in a valley, surrounded by mountain range after
mountain range. A river flowed through, blessing the circle around the castle – the heart of it all. The city itself seemed to glow with joy and prosperity.
The pouch had been a gift, a reward for running many errands for the local inventor and his assistant. It was one of the finer things he owned, since it was made with a soft, silken fabric, concealing the tougher, more sturdy leather lining inside.
Veryth altered his path so he was now heading northeast in the general direction of the farmlands. Whistling twice, Veryth gestured
upwards and Farlon leapt, taking off into the air. Majestic and proud, Veryth’s falcon was his closest friend and his best asset while hunting. The two shared a tangible connection, one where language was the only barrier and loyalty was never a question.
Their walk continued, only interrupted briefly by Farlon’s attempt to snatch a brown rabbit darting across the way.
When the farmlands came into view, Farlon made a loud sound of approval, dipping down and stealing Veryth’s hat clean off his head. Veryth made a tsking sound. Farlon often played tricks to amuse himself, and Veryth saw no harm in it. Gazing at the azure skies, he watched as Farlon took off with his cap, looping back around only seconds later to unerringly release his prize into Veryth’s waiting hands.
What an odd sight, Veryth thought. He’d only ever seen creatures flee from predators like that, yet the farmlands were normally very tranquil. Rarely did wolves ever come to snatch unsuspecting sheep.
It was as if they knew that the sheep belonged to the farmers. They knew that eating the sheep would be ... would be bad.
Perhaps there was a word for the action, the idea of the wolves eating the farmer’s sheep when it did not belong to them, but Veryth was unsure as to what that word would be. Maybe he would ask the inventor the next time there was an errand to
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