#nepenthe

She turned, expecting a halfling or gnome—she was used to people her height or taller—but it was a human boy, shedding his baby fat and taking the first steps into something lean and fast. He was modestly dressed like most people in the Tangles, neither rich nor poor, growing up on a decent living.

She blinked. After he'd regained his balance he blinked back, eyes doubling in size, little lungs working.

"Sorry," he said belatedly.

"No trouble," she said.

"That's a big sword," he rushed out.

"As big as you and probably half as light," she said with a smile.

His eyes bulged bigger, twin spots of sun twinkling in them. "Half as light?"

"She's probably about five pounds, give or take; she's elven made."

"She?" he prodded. "Your sword's a girl?"

"Vidrinath."

"What does that mean?"

"It means 'lullaby' in my language."

"Oh! My mama sings those to me." His brow twisted in puzzlement. "What language is that? Why lullaby?"

Nepenthe opened and closed her mouth. This, she was less willing to explain—soon he'd be old enough to train on a weapon. What that weapon was for the parents' or him to decide, be it one of farming the land, defending the city, an instrument for busking, or something she hadn't considered.

"Do you have a guardian nearby?" she asked instead. "Any friends you're out with?"

"Ruben!" A woman jogged over in answer, all attention trained on him. The mother—assuming so given they shared the same eyes and curly hair—gently took his arm. "Apologies, miss, he's—" She glanced up into Nepenthe's face under her hood and the words burnt up fast as dry brush, colour draining from her cheeks. Nepenthe raised an eyebrow.

"It's alright," she said. "Kids are learning how to take up space, aren't they?" She aimed another smile down at him. "Ruben's very curious."

"Come along," the woman whispered to her son, whisking him away, glancing askance at Nepenthe on the way for good measure.

"Bye," Ruben said, almost like a question.

Nepenthe frowned. Any sweetness from the interaction soured from the naked dislike. Mistrust she could accept, she nurtured a healthy amount for every stranger, and she understood wariness for someone armed to the teeth, but not dislike. Dislike rode on assumptions.

Ironic, the kid would've been safer with Nepenthe more than the mother, but only in the short term. She wasn't about to piggyback a child into a battle, but if any dangers came at them, Nepenthe would stand between them.

It occurred to her that Ruben must've been born after the war of Ash and Light, not even seen a decade of summers and winters. Her mind cycled through wild guesses: did the parents shelter the knowledge from him, or warn him of drow? Had he defied her wishes and latched onto the first drow he saw? Neither? It was too short a meeting to come to any conclusions, just one of the many tastes of what Rexxentrum had to offer.