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Shawn Daysleeper
Always faithful and endearing to his king, Nole tasked himself with Olwe’s commands. However the king slept all through last day and much of today. So he is wandering about the castle, taking in familiar sights, but most of what he saw jogged previous and sometimes hurtful memories.
He walked past the kitchen door and hears a noise within, emanating from the fireplace. He approaches the cooking fire and sees a covered pot on it, steam issuing from around the lid; evidence that something was boiling inside. A quick look around the room reveals no one else within. “This was not here yesterday,” he says aloud and reaches for a cloth to safely remove the lid.
Inside was a churning mass of green, orange, and what may be, or had been, fish. All floating amid possibly dirty but boiling water. It looks strange and… scary. The smell was not bad, but likewise strange. Seeing this prompts another memory from the past.
He sees his face, Felsa. He was a close and loving friend. His slim figure and long silver hair was envy to many in Alqualonde. He was on the dock each time Nole returned from a voyage to far away lands. Nole was always graced with gifts from the strange native folk that he traded with, and unique, odd, and sometimes downright disgusting ingredients for cooking. Always the polite sort, Nole would accept these, with the intention of getting rid of them at first opportunity.
But Felsa would notice these ingredients and always accepted them from Nole upon his return, and he was glad to get rid of them. Felsa would then proceed to cook some of the most disgusting looking dishes with them, but in an odd way, they actually turned out to be pretty good. It was amazing, the flavour and taste, coming from something with the appearance of those foods. By trying these dishes, he began to understand the peoples he traded with, their culture: he understood diversity, something others of his kin perhaps were not.
Nole placed the lid back on the stew or soup, or whatever it was in the pot. He missed Felsa dearly; he is among those of his kin missing. Only through his memories could he now see his dear friend.
“This probably would not be the princess’ cooking” he said aloud. “But maybe those two newcomer musicians were cooking? Or Elenwe?” He laughed at the thought of Elenwe cooking as he left the room.
But anyone with Nole could not have missed the tears under his eyes.
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He walked past the kitchen door and hears a noise within, emanating from the fireplace. He approaches the cooking fire and sees a covered pot on it, steam issuing from around the lid; evidence that something was boiling inside. A quick look around the room reveals no one else within. “This was not here yesterday,” he says aloud and reaches for a cloth to safely remove the lid.
Inside was a churning mass of green, orange, and what may be, or had been, fish. All floating amid possibly dirty but boiling water. It looks strange and… scary. The smell was not bad, but likewise strange. Seeing this prompts another memory from the past.
He sees his face, Felsa. He was a close and loving friend. His slim figure and long silver hair was envy to many in Alqualonde. He was on the dock each time Nole returned from a voyage to far away lands. Nole was always graced with gifts from the strange native folk that he traded with, and unique, odd, and sometimes downright disgusting ingredients for cooking. Always the polite sort, Nole would accept these, with the intention of getting rid of them at first opportunity.
But Felsa would notice these ingredients and always accepted them from Nole upon his return, and he was glad to get rid of them. Felsa would then proceed to cook some of the most disgusting looking dishes with them, but in an odd way, they actually turned out to be pretty good. It was amazing, the flavour and taste, coming from something with the appearance of those foods. By trying these dishes, he began to understand the peoples he traded with, their culture: he understood diversity, something others of his kin perhaps were not.
Nole placed the lid back on the stew or soup, or whatever it was in the pot. He missed Felsa dearly; he is among those of his kin missing. Only through his memories could he now see his dear friend.
“This probably would not be the princess’ cooking” he said aloud. “But maybe those two newcomer musicians were cooking? Or Elenwe?” He laughed at the thought of Elenwe cooking as he left the room.
But anyone with Nole could not have missed the tears under his eyes.
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