Wind Blown Ashes: Episode 2 Golden Needle

Ashes is ill prepared for dealing with non-humans, but has little choice now. Both her bosses were non-human, a dwarf and a gnome. How deep in over her head was she, she did not know.

Painful jabbing in her ribs startled Ashes out of her sound sleep.

“What are you still doing in the hammock?” said an angry, harsh, gravelly voice.

Heart pounding in fear and anger, she snapped out, “Kyayonday!” grabbing the stick poking her. Her hand turned to flame and half the stick to ash. Anger had increased the heat of her flame.

The little gnome jumped back, dropping the stump of the staff he had been poking her with. Then in a sharper voice, “You’re not Rockhammer.”

“No,” said Rockhammer, coming around the end of the wagon. “She is your mage guard. As you can see, she reacts to threats instantly.”

“What’s she doing in your hammock?”

Ashes let the flame die and started climbing out of the hammock.

“A hammock, good meals, and riding on your wagon, are all part of the pay I negotiated with her in order to keep your coin outlay down. She will be sleeping under your wagon, guarding you, from now until we get to Kematree.”

“I see. I will be careful waking her there.” He turned to her. “Mage, what do you go by?”

“Ashes.”

His eyes shifted down to the charred staff he’d been using. “I see. Well Ashes, all new sign-ons need to be at my wagon one candle mark after dawn. I will have the agreements ready to sign then. We leave right after.”

Looking past the gnome, Ashes could see the pinkish tint to the eastern horizon. Dawn was still a candle mark away.

The gnome barked. “Rockhammer, come with me. We have a few things to go over before we start.”

Standing, Ashes noticed her scarf had slipped during her sleep and quickly adjusted it. Had either man noticed her slave cut hair?

It was dark enough that the gnome had mistaken her for Rockhammer under there, so probably not. She cast a cantrip that sped up how fast her hair grew as she had last night. With luck, using that cantrip morning and night and her hair should be shoulder length in two weeks.

The cook was already serving breakfast to a crowd of people, though the sun wasn’t up. Two different breakfasts, in fact. Most were getting bowls of porridge. She and a few others got the second pot. Last night, she had watched him set up that large pot with beans, herbs and spices, with some pork added, to cook over a low fire overnight. On top of her bowl of beans, she got bread he’d baked last night.

They smelled superb this morning. If she had breakfasts like this one to look forward to, she was glad she’d included better meals in her deal. The hot cider he handed her made that deal all the sweeter, and she took both over to sit near the communal fire.

After her demonstration last night and this morning with flaming hands, no one tried getting close to her. She considered how she had reacted with anger and magic both times. She needed to more actively balance her scales. Too much black in her grey was making her too quick to anger. Aside from giving her plenty of room, none of the others seem to give her actions a second thought. It was as if they expected her to roast people that irritated her.

Come to think of it, maybe they did. She thought about how she’d viewed people that used magic before she started learning it herself. Being on a hair trigger might also be good for her reputation from what the dwarf had said. But she had to get rid of the anger.

Watching the sun come up reminded her of the last time she had watched it set all those moons ago, the night before the volcano. This was her best meal since then, too. Then, everything had changed for the worse. Could this signal a change for the better?

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