"You're awake!" Nia smiles brightly. "Hehe, I'm glad!"
The voice snaps him back to earth. Wanwan looks at him, tongue still out, smiling, his eyes squinting just a little.
Sol can't meet Nia's eyes, not right now. He looks toward the other direction only to see Wanwan squint at him.
Wha... what's with those eyes?
Wanwan squints even more and smiles, almost slyly, before leaving him for Nia, welcoming her back to Ol' Crazy's house along with the rest of his litter.
Huh?
They stop right in front of him, the Garm pups now looking at him like they know something is up.
Huhh?? What's with the look? Why are you pups looking at me like... is there something on my face?
There is, in fact, nothing wrong with Sol's face.
"IT'S BECAUSE YER DID GRAB ON TO THE LASS WITH ALL OF YER STRENGTH WHEN THE SHPOCKITY SHMOCKITY SPOUT SPITS YA OUT!! THE DRINKY-MAJIG IS HERE, YE LI'L SHITES!!"
Ol' Crazy pops up from inside the river, not far from where Sol is standing, near the wooden waterwheel on the side of the house.
The "drinky-majig" that Ol' Crazy is talking about is, in fact, a medium-sized wooden barrel, still sealed, its cork not yet popped.
"Drinky-majig?" Nia tilts her head to the side. Wanwan mirrors her.
"Right-on!! This thingymajiggy is muh greatest invention! With the caypabeeleetays to keep a drinky-drink fresh fer years!! If it's a drunky-drunky type'a drink, it gets even shlurpier the longer it stays inside!! Dunk 'em inside the coolin' riverflow, and yer done!! Hoo-wee!!"
Ol' Crazy lifts the barrel with both wrinkly arms. There is a sloshing sound that Sol can hear from inside.
"It's... hard liquor?" Sol looks at the barrel, quite worried. The Nhevari are known to be extremely sensitive to hard liquor. Just a small amount of fermentation is enough to discombobulate one. That is why the Geherrim of Elm usually stay sober. There are some exceptions, however.
"Pfah! Yer crazy! And I thought I was the Ol' Crazy! Nyahahahahahaha!" He laughs to himself for a bit before continuing.
"Of course I won't give ya li'l dipshits liquor. Espeshully the hard ones! Yer a few decades too early for the REAL kind of celebration! This 'un's filled with sum honey I found a few moons back, bein' hoarded by them honey-munchin' Helarzos, mixed with some milk of some wild zeefah from the lower ground, ya-hoo! These shmackadoodle-doo will grab yer atchensyun and heal yer right-on quick!"
Helarzos... is the Brown Armored Bear that hunters of the village usually hunt in the summer? Never seen one alive before.
"Oh! It's honeymilk! We can boil it slightly to get it warmer and drink it!"
Nia gives her wicker basket to Wanwan, who in turn happily transfers it inside the house near the kitchen, while she offers to get the barrel from Ol' Crazy.
"Not jus' honeymilk, lass! It's Helarzos' Honeymilk! This 'un'll make me stanky rich if I dun' sell it to someone at the village down the river, I tells ya!"
He avoids Nia's helping hands with some crazy little dance before continuing.
"Naw, yer'll take the lad's hand, lass. His wounds were from protectin' ye."
Nia looks at Sol. Sol cannot really look her in the eye, with both his arms still holding the bowl of soup. Nia just takes the bowl of soup with her left hand, links her right hand with Sol's, and walks with him back inside the house for a couple of steps before Sol stops.
There is a scar near the middle of Nia's right arm. It is from the wound from before. Perhaps because she cast the big spell, she is not able to heal her arm perfectly. A pang of guilt stings inside Sol's chest.
"Wait, it's okay, I can walk by myself." Sol tries to avoid her arm being linked with his.
Wanwan looks back toward them and scoffs.
"Hoo-wee, the beauty of youth!! Sure takes me back a couple hundred years, ya-hoo!"
Ol' Crazy does some weird jig before entering the house. "My wife used ta tell me off if I were to offer her some hand jus' like that, hoo-wee! She's no longer here of course, but her spirit carries on... IN HER RECIPES!! YEEEE-HAW!! These un's the famous leech meat, fermented with some spit and dirt..."
Ol' Crazy's explanation trails off for Sol.
He wants to ask Nia whether the big healing spell she did before when they fought the csezul had a lasting effect on her, seeing how she went unconscious throughout the drowning.
Sol still worries a bit, but then his attention is caught by the second floor.
Sol just realizes that this house resembles an Elm hunter's house a little too well. The door is right in front of the stairs toward the second floor, so he can see some weapons and armor placed on top of the table. He cannot see anything else, though.
Down on the first floor, he notices that a lot of things have been moved recently, possibly to accommodate him, Nia, and five of the Garm pups. On the wooden walls, he can see lots of Remembrance Crystals hanging there, with pictures of a woman and a kid, both Geherrim. The kid looks just like Ol' Crazy, if he were a bit more normal and not this eccentric. Inside the crystals, Ol' Crazy looks... just like The Chief.
"Uh, sir?" Sol sits at the table again, and Nia sits right beside him, while Wanwan and his littermates are scattered around the house like big, breathing rugs of white, finally tired from all the frolicking and mock-fights. They fall asleep the moment they touch the wooden floor.
"Ol' Crazy'll suffice, hee-hee-haw!!" He does his weird jig near one of the boiling pots.
"There's no way I can call you that." He looks toward Nia, who checks the bandage wrapping his body. "Uh, Nia, what are you doing?"
"The bandage will have to be replaced soon, I think?"
"Right-on, lass, right-on! I'll change 'em after I boil the shlurpy-shlurpy in a jiffy!"
"I'm sorry, Sol, but my healing got a bit weaker when I woke up, thankfully Grandpa Razhg--"
Ol' Crazy interrupts her right in the middle of her talk.
"Dag nabbit! Ol' Crazy-mrazy over here, um yes yes, yes'm!! Reportin' for duty! Heee-haw! Boil-em, boil-em, boil-em."
He cracks the barrel's cork open and dumps everything inside into an empty pot. He removes the pot with the boiling soup with his bare hands and puts it on an empty spot, then replaces it with the smaller pot with honeymilk.
"Grandpa Razhg? Razhgir?"
"Yes, that's his name! Grandpa Rahzgir!"
"Grandpa Rahzgir as in... Old Chief Rahzgir? The father of Chief Rahzmir?"
Ol' Crazy does not respond. He is currently thinking about how to proceed. He stirs the pot, keeping his back turned toward both the younglings, and replies, curtly.
"Never heard of 'im."
Nia knows what is going on, so she just looks at Sol and nods. Sol, understanding this, also nods in confirmation.
"My mistake, then. I'm sorry, Ol' Crazy."
Ol' Crazy turns around, smiling wide, does his weird jig and shouts, as usual. "Hoo-wee... No harm done, lad!! Yer fine, yer fine!! Heeeeeeee-haw!"
He readies some big wooden pints, the insides lined beautifully with sun-dried Lowland Fir black resin, possibly made by himself.
Sol remembers the stories about the Old Chief Rahzgir. If his son, The Chief, was the one who was responsible for the great Steelpine Bridge, then his father was responsible for everything else in the village: the big bath in the middle of the village, surrounding the Frozen Elm tree; the walls; the ramparts; the watchtowers; even the plaza. The Chief was born into a family of craftsmen. Not just craftsmen, great craftsmen.
Rahzar's father, if he remembers correctly, was also Rahzgir's son, and he is the one who taught Dobsy's father to be an armorsmith, because he himself was a great weaponsmith. But people said that Rahzar's father died fifteen years ago, and that means Sol was just born at that time.
The family of Rahs are skilled smiths and craftsmen, and they are so good at their job that they can create a village in a remote, cold, and desolate region like the base of the Stake in the Northern Nhevar.
If this man is really the Old Chief, Sol might be able to get some help repairing his dagger, so that he can actually fight and protect Nia next time. Or better yet, new weapons, perhaps he has the knack to learn how to use big swords like Rahzar?
"The ol' shlurpy-shlurp's ready!! This'll bring warmth back into yer bones right-on quick lemme tells ya!" Ol' Crazy returns with three big wooden tankards of honeymilk, puts them on the table, and prepares some more honeymilk.
"And these are for ye magnificent breathing rugs!! Heeee-haw!!" The rest are given to the pups, using big wide buckets so that they'll cool off faster. The pups do not really mind the heat from the milk, though; they are drinking it like there's no tomorrow.
He takes one chair and sits. He looks at both Sol and Nia, and starts drinking the milk slowly.
"So... lad. Yer from the village further north I reckon'?" His tone of voice changes slightly, no longer as chaotic as before.
Sol swallows a bit. "Yes, sir. I'm from Elm."
"Never heard of it." He takes a sip from his tankard. "But I do know that there's a frozen tree over yonder, surrounded by hot springs."
Nia listens intently. She slurps her honeymilk, but it is a bit too hot for her, so she puts it back on the table and starts blowing slowly.
"Yes, sir. That's the one." Sol replies, still has not touched his honeymilk.
"Is it warm there?"
"Yes, sir. The village is really warm."
Sol can see him sipping his honeymilk slowly, both of his eyes closed.
"Answer me." Ol' Crazy puts his tankard back on the table, looking squarely into his eyes, and continues.
"Is it warm for you, lad?"
Sol is caught off-guard. He doesn't know how to answer this question. He takes a moment to consider his answer, but he realizes that there's no correct answer to this, so he might as well answer the question honestly.
"...Not particularly."
Ol' Crazy sips his honeymilk again. Sol realizes that perhaps Ol' Crazy knows about his existence. The One Horned Boy, the Cursed Boy, the Half Human. Perhaps Chief Rahzmir comes here from time to time and tells him some news.
He puts his tankard down, and his facial expression changes, more stern, more charismatic, exactly like The Chief.
"Then, what is the purpose of the walls, if they cannot bring warmth to their villagers?"
Sol frowns. Nia looks at both of them while blowing on the hot honeymilk inside the tankard. Wanwan perks his ears up, and one of his littermates steals some licks from his bowl.
"...I don't understand," Sol replies slowly.
Ol' Crazy stands up, empties his tankard, and fixes his posture. Right now, right in front of him, Sol and Nia witness the change from the thin, lanky, eccentric and weird Ol' Crazy into a strong, far-seeing, charismatic Old Chief Rahzgir. His back is straight; his hair flows backward beautifully; his horns curl majestically now that he lifts his chin up.
He feels like a different person. In fact, he might be a different person.
The Old Chief stares at him right in the eyes, in silence, for a good twenty to thirty seconds, and breaks the silence with a low, intimidating voice.
"Stand, boy."
He walks outside and stops before the door. He looks back toward Sol and Nia. His old, thin, and lanky silhouette still commands a high amount of respect.
"Come outside."
"Uh... why?" Sol looks at him, worried, then looks at Nia. Nia looks at him then her tankard. Cool enough after a couple rounds of blowing, she finally takes a sip while looking at the two men.
"I will temper you like steel."