Spring 17th, 514 AV Days in Zeltiva were easy. Galvin had nursed himself to full health and shellshock had finally gone lax on him. The place he had come to live in was humble, there was a hearth for him to cook on, a bed (although the floor was just as comfy, if not more so), and a place for him to sit and eat. When Galvin awoke he wrangled in bed for a few minutes before settling down again, it wasn’t until a half hour later he finally sat up and rubbed his eyes out. He let out a sigh and moved to the edge of the bed and opened his chest. Inside was a longsword made from cold iron. Galvin twirled it with his wrist a little and then held it still, trying to see himself in the reflection. The unseen swordsman felt down the tip of the blade, but did not poke himself; he slid his finger down the side of the blade and then rested the blade on his lap. He sat there for a few moments and then locked the sword away in the trunk. When Galvin locked the chest he realized his finger had dripped blood onto the lock. Galvin lived on what was technically the second story of his building, although he could walk onto to dirt from his floor. They had to cut into the hill to build his apartment. However, he could still take the stairs to the bottom of the building. Galvin knocked on the door downstairs, Mrs. Fairstock answered. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite boy.” “Margie, how are you?” “I’m good dear, how are you this fine morning?” “Just fantastic. Say, do you mind if I borrow your pot and stirrer, I promise to clean it out once I’m done.” “Would you look at the manners on you, anything for you Galvy!” She handed Galvin the pot and stirrer. “Thanks.” Beside the hearth Galvin kept a bag of rice, a loaf of bread, and some stolen fruit. Galvin had gotten the hearth going with some light wood he had gathered and one of his neighbors logs, which he burned conservatively. He had collected water in a bowl, and once the pot was hot he poured it in. The water was quick to boil and Galvin lifted it off to let it simmer, then put the rice in and began stirring it up. The pot had to routinely be put down on the hearth to gain heat, but then lifted before it was boiled. In just a half hours time Galvin dumped the rice in the bowl and began eating. The rice was burnt and undercooked, cold and burning, but no care or feeling was in the air about it. When the rice was done and his belly was half full, Galvin pulled closer to him a journal. He flipped open to the latest page, and looked at a poem he had written: Sailors doing Scholastics, The tides will rule the mind! I- Mpulse. Impulse shows in your Temper, in your fear, in love. One Cannot learn all there is in a book. He thought he had written something nice, but one thing Galvin didn’t realize is he did something far more important than write a little prose. He had labored in love. |