Tree of Life by Sarah Joy Green-Hart

Author:Sarah Joy Green-Hart
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2018-11-05T05:00:00+00:00

Nineteen | Post-Conquest: 227

This friggin’ cold spell would not let up. It sneaked past Jes’ stolen furs and under his worn-out clothes with the tenacity of a lonely, young housewife. If only he could run into one of them tonight. She’d give him somewhere to . . . warm up.

He managed a frozen smirk.

A few degrees less cold and he’d make it just fine outside. Most seemed to think someone his age likely deserved to be a bum, so he stayed outdoors a lot more since he started looking and sounding like a man.

Fifteen years wasn’t that old, was it? Maybe it was. Maybe he did deserve this. He couldn’t think of why, but . . . well, it was hard to think straight when he couldn’t feel his toes.

Apple Gate looked like a good place to find a nighttime landing spot. Any of these houses might be friendly enough to open its doors. His nose and fingers needed a break from the cold before playing the door-knocking game, so he’d step inside the first open business on his path.

Gentle drums beat their way through the air. Must be a wedding in the woods. Though it would be weird to have a Meros gate so close to inhabited trees unless Apple Gate was an Earth Person community. He looked around. Nah. Earth People never built Gates this big. They kept more trees, too.

It was a good thing for him that the Gentles were so close, though. Just in case. The Gentles gave him a warmish place to sleep a few times in the past.

The light from a general store window in the town circle ahead promised warmth and a bite to eat.

Promises, promises. Lights don’t mean open.

It was worth a shove at the handle at least. The door opened with the surprisingly loud jangle of sleigh bells.

He sniffed the air. Castor oil, chicken soup, and a hint of mint. He hadn’t eaten since—when was it?

‟Good evening, sir!” A clear, friendly voice came from somewhere. An old person. A nice one.

Easy as whore-pies! If he was respectful, old people never suspected he’d steal—

‟You look as if you’ve been walking a long time. I’ve got a fire in the back and some soup you ought to have. Posthaste!”

Where was the guy? Jes looked around, trying to spot the source of the voice.

A strong hand with swollen knuckles grabbed Jes’ shoulder and pushed him forward. A short old person. They were sneaky . . . and dangerous when wielding canes or purses.

And shotguns.

Oh! That lady with the knitting needle a couple years back. That was actually super scary.

No matter the weapon of choice, terror was the name of the game when a short person felt the need to attack him. They were easy to miss ‘til it was too late.

Jes laughed. ‟Whoa, buddy. I’ll come without pushin’.”

Releasing Jes’ shoulder, the old man strode ahead and giggled as he disappeared around the corner on surprisingly long legs for a short dude. ‟C’mon, big guy,” he called, clinking dishes and slopping liquid somewhere out-of-sight.

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