Chapter Text
Kaltmorn was a dead-end town, nestled in the snow-capped mountains of nowhere. People didn't come here to further their education or enrich their lives; they came here when they had nowhere else to go, or when they ran out of options, or when they're merely passing through. It relied on trade and import from nearby settlements down the mountainside for most of its luxuries, meaning most of its goods weren't even homegrown on their own turf.
Days often bled into each other, many rising early to work the fields, their backyard gardens, repair homes and stoves for their neighbors, patch up clothes and other such pretty things. Anyone who lived here would sooner or later fall into a similar routine. And if they shan't, well.. they simply didn't survive Kaltmorn.
Not that the people of Kaltmorn would kill them, no. Just that the monotony would drive them to madness.
Zomes was very familiar with the monotony.
Born and raised in this backwater village, a young lad of eighteen, he had trouble finding his footing within the well oiled schedules of Kaltmorn.
Siola, his uncle, wrangles livestock for the neighbors and provides assistance with other more hands-on work for other folks. Zomes found himself getting underfoot more often than not.
The misfortune that seemed to follow him wherever he went certainly help matters.
Siola's thumb never quite recovered from when Wes drove a nail straight through it when they were repairing Ms. Bancroft's banisters. Siola swears up and down that it was Wes's fault, says the old curmudgeon shouldn't even be handling tools at his age, but Zomes knows that if he hadn't insisted on helping, neither of their instruments would've lined up how they did for the accident to even occur.
His uncle's just trying to make him feel better.. But it's hard not to know the truth when Wes only ever gives him a dirty look now.
So he spent most of his time in Jania's study. She was a woman with a passion for teaching, trapped in a town that didn't value her lessons.
He pitied her really, being relegated to busywork, forced to use her spells for the mundane convenience of others. Zomes had heard his uncle talk a few times about the adventures he used to go on with his brother, Zomes's father, and sometimes Zomes wondered if an adventure is what Jania needed.
But she seemed content trying to teach the youth of Kaltmorn anything of importance, even if the neighbors only view her as a free daycare service for their young ones.
She was the one who suggested he go into the courier business. It was honest work that a lot of the young men and women in Kaltmorn took up at one point or another. Some stuck with it ‘til they croaked, others didn't.
The day he'd finally worked up the nerve to enter the post office and ask for work, three of his peers were already inside, and that alone nearly had him turn heel and walk right back out. Pavone, Wright, and Alsia weren't.. the biggest fans of him, to put it mildly. All born in the same year, practically grew up together, a lot of shared time spent under Jania's roof.
A lot of mean comments whispered just loud enough for Zomes to overhear, a couple physical altercations...
They'd been working for the post for a while, he has no idea how he failed to notice. Or maybe he just forgot? He’s not usually one to forget though…
When he entered, the bell jingling above the door, conversation ceased for just a moment before the three exchanged a look. Zomes couldn't tell what it was, but they seemed amused almost. They let him speak with Griffiths without interruption though, and despite noted hesitancy, he agreed to start Zomes up on an apprenticeship. Get him acquainted with the dogs first, then hook 'em up and send him on test runs.
Zomes would take that.
The first days of training were not great. Not that Zomes was expecting it to go smoothly with his overall track record.
Between one of the dogs' harnesses breaking mid-run and throwing off the other dogs, to the tug-lines on the toboggan snapping and sending it spinning out during a sharp turn mid-run, to consistently losing the dummy cargo boxes and sacks. Zomes thinks Griffiths was reconsidering his career choice every time he had to help him.
Pavone and Alsia– just the two of them, Wright had gone home to help his father with chores– weren't helpful at all, giving him the wrong instructions at times. Alsia seemed very stringent about safety though, at the very least.
Coming home that night, covered in new bruises and ego thoroughly hurt, Zomes sat down at the dinner table.
"How'd it go?" Siola asked from the living room, stirring a pot of something on the fire stove. Zomes reveled in the warmth he could siphon from this distance.
"I f..- fear Griffiths may rewrite his will tonight." Zomes answered back, to which Siola gave a sharp laugh.
"Woof, that bad?" Siola had stood up, making his way to the table to sit across from Zomes, continuing the conversation. Zomes averted his gaze immediately. He never liked having to look at people to talk to them, it made him uncomfortable, "no one died I hope."
"No, n- no. All... alive and a.. a- ccou-- accoun-- t- ted--" He paused, cursing himself under his breath, "ac- accounted for. Just.. it's been going puh-- poorly."
Why was talking so difficult for him? He was by no means an imbecile, if anything he was probably the most well-read youth in Kaltmorn, but actually utilizing his understanding of language in day to day speech had proven to be a day to day challenge.
"I figured with how late you've been getting home. Glad you're back before I'm in bed tonight though. You ate the past couple nights, right?" Siola cocked an eyebrow.
Zomes nodded.
"... What'd you have?" Siola quizzed.
Zomes paled for a moment, catching himself. "Ah, bread with some garlic Oathday night.. uh... A- and some.. little pastry confection J- Jania offered me Fireday.”
Both were lies. He'd sustained himself off hunting the past two days, or whatever his version of hunting was. There wasn't much to catch out here but birds. Twisting their necks, draining them of their blood and their warmth. He buried the evidence. He could eat normal food, he did so often actually, it just didn't offer him much. The ache of hunger never went away. He was always freezing, always starving. Stealing warmth from other things took the edge off of both, even if it never lasted as long as he'd like.
Siola didn't need to know about any of that though.
"So... Not a meal is all I'm hearing." Siola deadpanned with a sigh, getting back up to tend to the pot.
"Pharasma's tits kid, you're not a bird." The mention of birds made Zomes's heartrate spike for a moment, as irrational as it was.
"I don't get how you scrape by on the bare minimum, I mean.. Hell, I ate better when I was scavenging during my adventuring days."
Zomes replied with a hum of acknowledgement, but didn't verbalize more than that.
The room lapsed into a mildly uncomfortable silence, Siola eventually ladling the nondescript animal slurry into a bowl and serving it to Zomes before getting his own. Thinking it 'animal slurry' was disingenuous, it was a simple meat-broth made from leftover stock and whatever vegetables they had lying around, probably about to spoil. Zomes didn't wait for it to cool.
The silence was broken by Siola asking a question: "What do-- you do think's like,--" He paused, clearing his throat with an apology, "What do you think is.. making the work such a shitshow? Like, is it the terrain, the steering, or...?" He prompted.
Zomes hummed, sitting back for a moment. "Think it's the dogs..." He concluded.
Technical failures were a result of faulty hardware, and his own falls were user error, so he couldn't blame the pups for that. But when Roscoe's harness broke it took all four of them out there today to wrangle the dog and get him back in place. He wouldn't even listen to Griffiths. The other dogs weren't very receptive to his commands either, slacking in some areas.
Having Pavone and Alsia tutor him by giving him the wrong commands on purpose certainly didn't help though.
"G-.. Griffiths warned me that.. I may need t-.. to give a comm- mand more than once b- before the... the dogs follow through, but..."
"But they're not following through at all most of the time, yeah?" Siola interjected, an assumption that was unfortunately correct. Zomes hated it when he interrupted him like that. He hated it even more when he accurately finished his sentence. He hummed affirmatively.
It was Siola's turn to hum, though this one was contemplative, leaning back in his chair with his hand to his chin.
Only the sound of the dying fire crackling from the firestove filled the house now, cold winds buffeting the walls outside.
Siola took a quick, suspicious look around the abode before leaning forward, keeping his voice hushed. "... Look, I'm not the exemplar of good decisions, but... What if, hypothetically, you just... Cheat a little?"
"What?" Zomes bristled, replying in a matched hushed tone.
"Not all the time! Just.. when you really need it. If the dogs aren't listening to your commands, you..." Siola trailed off for a moment, trying to find the words, "... Have... methods of making them listen."
Zomes knew exactly what he was referring to. "You... Y- you told me to never do– do that again, ever."
"I know, I know! But, I'm just sayin', if it'd help you, then..." He shrugged, "Just keep it infrequent, under the table, don't get caught."
It felt almost wrong for Siola to be suggesting such a thing, especially after he was so adamant about Zomes never using that ability again. He can still remember that night so vividly, it often replayed in his nightmares.
It's hard to forget your first brush with death.