Wizard of the Wood
Shelf and Scribble

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

2

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Frost etched itself along the ridges of the wavy glass windowpane. There was complete and utter silence outside, all sound absorbed by the trees which stood vigil. Snow huddled and clung against the rocks and trees outside the once solitary stone home of the known Sorceress of Fanged Ridge. Creatures dared not step outside of their homes in such frigid weather, and neither did the two occupants of the home which had been carved into the sides of the mountain’s face.

Rylir wasn’t sure what time he regained consciousness, but it was practically impossible to tell exactly what time of day it was in Essie’s home. There was only one window which often had the curtain pulled over it to prevent the cold from seeping through the panels. The window also faced away from the sun’s light. With the overcast days of heavy, snow-filled grey clouds, there was little chance for Rylir to determine many details of the outside world.

At the same time, he could judge how long Essie had been awake based on what she was doing once he woke up.

If she was sitting by the fire staring pensively, she had just woken up. If she had a beverage in the thick clay cup, which he could easily use as a tub to bathe himself, or was eating something, if she chose to eat at all, she was past the pensive stare and onto organizing her thoughts for the day. Gardening often replaced eating, and brewing or scribbling meant he could’ve slept the day away entirely.

Rolling over under the excessive amount of furs covering him, he blinked away the blur obscuring his vision until the room came into focus.

The curtain was, as usual, drawn and the door was shut to the outside world. The fire crackled as though a fresh log had been placed onto it. Rylir was grateful beyond words for the crackling warmth the fire offered. For years, he wandered the roads, taking shelter when he could either in hovels he created temporarily or in the places he worked as a hired hand for a season. Sometimes, he managed to scrape together coin to stay in a proper bed for the night, but that was few and far between.

The warmth from Essie’s fireplace was a welcome change to his previous lifestyle. Though it wasn’t an unwelcome change, it was accompanied by other changes he was still adjusting to. Living with a wizard, especially a wizard who was one of the few giants who roamed the lands, was an adjustment he would need time to settle into.

Poking his nose out from under the furs and inhaling deeply, there was no scent of fresh herbs being ground from the stone mortar and pestle, nor was there the smell of tea. He couldn’t hear boiling water either. There was also a distinct lack of sizzling sounds of meat, meaning Essie skipped breakfast and either gardened or was working.

Rylir craned his neck but couldn’t see over the edge of the furs he was nestled in at the moment, but he did hear something that sounded like scratching. He pulled himself under the covers and stretched, basking in the warmth once more before pushing himself upright.

The slightly cold air flooded underneath the covers, making him instantly regret sitting upright. Still, he knew he would never hear the end of it from Essie if he didn’t get up and do something productive.

He looked around on the shelf space he had been given as living quarters. It wasn’t much, not that he was one to complain. There was a small wooden box for him to keep the clothes he made as well as his miscellaneous belongings. There was a wash basin for his face and a few hooks in the walls to hang his tool belt, rope, and a couple of makeshift weapons such as his bow, quiver of arrows, and a crystal dagger his family gave him when he came of age – one of his most prized possessions.

It was a humble, makeshift home, but it was more than he had in a long time. It was nice to have something be predictable in his life for a change. This morning, however, had a few things he didn’t expect.

Glancing about, one thing he noticed was that one of the journals that usually poked out from the shelf just above him was missing as well as a bottle of rough, purple crystal-like stones Essie called amethyst that sat on the very corner of the shelf closest to the door. The fact the journal was gone told him that Essie was most likely writing, but rarely had he seen her take down that particular journal.

What was in it was a mystery to him, but he wasn’t about to ask his host to explain herself. Now wondering where Essie was and what she was doing, he let his curiosity get the better of him.

Rylir peered down from the shelf he was on and instantly spotted Essie quietly writing on pieces of parchment she created from deceased plant matter, the journal she took from the shelf propped up and splayed open on the desk below. She was standing while writing, which was common for her. Those ice shard like eyes her hyper fixated on whatever she was scribbling onto the surface, stark white hair falling into her eyes, but not enough to make her pause or interrupt her frantic writing.

He watched her for a minute before pulling himself out from under the furs that surrounded him. He stretched before stepping up to the basin and splashing some cold water onto his face.

It was still an odd sensation, waking up not only in a home of a giant, let alone the Sorcerer of Fanged Ridge and the self-proclaimed Wizard of the Wood, but also replaceing the new normal of waking on a giant’s shelf just above her desk placed among books and trinkets felt odd. It was almost hard to believe it had been two weeks and one month since he began living here with her.

Well… it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go…

Not really…

Even though she offered to send him anywhere he wanted, not one place came to mind that mattered, possessing that necessary connection to call home. So, for the foreseeable future, this place with Essie in the mountains far from anyone his own size would serve as home.

Had so much time already passed since he started staying here with her? Since that fateful day in the snow?

“Awake?” Essie’s voice startled Rylir out of his thoughts. There was a pang of guilt for not addressing her first when he woke up. He shuffled his feet awkwardly before stepping up to the ledge and cautiously peering over the edge. He had never really been afraid of heights, but interacting in a world where everything was larger than him was something he couldn’t have prepared for before coming here.

“Yes, I… er… just woke up,” he replied. Her ice shard like eyes hadn’t looked away from her current task. She dipped her quill into the stone inkwell on her desk and continued to write.

“Understood. Will you require assistance descending?” she asked without missing a beat. By “descending,” Essie referred to getting down from the shelf he was on. Essie, to better accommodate her hand sized houseguest, had affixed ladders and bridges to the different shelves in her home so Rylir could get from one place to another. While he appreciated the autonomy, it was still a daunting task to climb from one shelf to the next on swinging platforms.

It was equally as unnerving to have her reach over the ledge and pick him up with her hand. Feeling Essie’s pulse beneath his fingers and seeing the ridges on her pads made Rylir’s heart pound in his chest. It was also the inability to control the descent or movement that made him nervous. Needless to say, his mind was made up.

“I’ll climb down, thank you though,” said Rylir politely as he picked up his day bag and walked across the shelves to the bridges.

“Very well. Notify me if you require assistance,” Essie replied in her familiar matter-of-fact tone.

Rylir remembered how uneasy he felt when they first spoke. Her forthright way of addressing him and sensitive topics, like why he was being attacked in the woods by those four other men that fateful day, didn’t seem to deter her curious and inquisitive mind.

Admittedly, the way Essie could casually suggest picking him up and setting him down onto the shelf was a bit unsettling, but he was slowing learning the subtle details and minor nuances of her speech patterns and behaviors. She was always very direct and forward with what she was thinking, and she sometimes had a hard time understanding his perspective on why he felt the way he did. Still, she was trying, just like he was.

However, he couldn’t analyze Essie’s voice and tone now. He had just reached the first bridge. The braided twine and twig bridge shifted subtly, swaying bak and forth, as it picked up the vibrations of his steps.

She continued scribbling as Rylir walked across the tree-trunk shelves to the ladders over the desk. He descended the mobile ladder bracing multiple times as it swung. It wasn’t until he was planted firmly on the desk when he could finally take a breath to ease his tense muscles. Rylir stared out across the vast surface of the wooden desk toward the single window in the wizard’s home where the garden boxes sat.

Magic could do extraordinary things, but it still amazed him that the plants in the boxes could flourish like this in the winter months. As he admired the flowers and growing things from afar, he felt the desk vibrating ever so slightly under his feet from Essie’s intense scribbling. Whatever she was working on, she was vigorously scratching the edge of her constructed quill against her parchment.

The speed she wrote was just as impressive as the words she scribbled onto the parchment. Language was something that illuded Rylir all his life. He couldn’t read or write, not that he needed those skills to survive the everyday labor he endured when he had a home. Even now, the skills seemed beyond him even with Essie’s instruction, which reminded him – he had a test today.

Did she remember?

Would she even care?

She looked busy.

No sooner had these thoughts crept into his mind did Essie place her writing implement down and turn her ice shard blue eyes onto him. They held the same focused intensity as the first day she met him in the woods.

“Ready to begin?”