Timestamp: 62 Summer, 511
The shop’s bell was a loud, welcoming clang telling the world that she was there. Penri grinned and stamped her feet on the doormat before remembering what her mother had told her.
“Don’t go in and make a ruckus crashing and stamping, Penri, try to wipe of your boot. Quietly.” She looked as if she wanted to rest her head in her hands, but instead aimed a weary smile at her boisterous daughter and touched a hand to her small head.
“But Ma, there’s all the mud ‘n stuff in the cracks in the soles, and then if I’m just tapping them like I’m trying to dance or something—and I don’t want to take dancing lessons because I do have two left feet and so d’you and Dad.” The young girl, who appeared to be no more than ten years of age, was sitting at a table with four adults. Two were clearly fully Vantha; two, a more muddled impression of indistinct “human” in appearance. The latter pair contained both of the child’s parents, while the former consisted of their bondmates, for the child and her parents were all Kelvics.
Remembering that admonition, the young girl winced, and proceeded to wipe her boots, trying to for once be careful and get all of the mud off--onto the matt--before she walked into the shop. She did so a touch too slowly and that, paired with the expression of intense concentration on her face, would make it a comical scene to any onlooker. It was just as obvious that she was taking it very seriously.
She was quite conscious of the wonderful aloneness she had in the bustling doorway. It wasn’t that she didn’t recognize anyone else—she did, of course—but she was in the doorway, like an adult, without her parents. It was Penri’s first day at work. A real job, she thought happily, unaware of the knowing smiles and gentle arrangements between adults that had created something for the girl to do.
The youngster straightened up, forgetting the possibility that there might be a smidgeon more mud on her boots, proud of herself for being so very grown up.