#therit

Ey sat down on the ground beside me, hands wrapped in cloth, hood pilled low, and cloak bundled up tight. I didn’t think anything of it, just thought ey was too poor for proper mittens or something.

We talked while I cooked us food. Ey was a largely travelled person, if eir stories were anything to go off of. While I stirred my little pot of stew ey rambled on about how people on the Coast would smoke their meat with wet leaves, and how villages in the North would have huge community pots that they filled with meat and broth so that everyone could have their fill.

Ey asked me a lot of questions, too. Where I came from, where I was going. I told em about my mo’s family farm, how I helped her out with the cows and chickens growing up. I handed em a bowl of what I had made while talking about the mischief I’d get up to with my cousins, and my Unty’s meatloaf recipe.

Ey complimented me on my cooking, I told em my Granfa taught me how. I told em what all I added, ey talked about other ways ey’d heard the ingredients used. That stranger was good company, even as our conversation turned to nonsense like what I thought about the rulers of other places, or what I thought the greatest thing mortals could ever experience was. I don’t know much about my own king, let alone the others, and I told em that I thought the best thing would always be a hearty meal with family in a loud, busy home.

Ey laughed at that answer, told me that most people said it was falling in love.

I scoffed. My mo had never wanted that, never even asked my father to marry her, and had always made sure I knew how important family was, that they’re important even if you found your One, and I’d always been sure that the group of people I saw around the stove in the mornings had more love to give me than one person ever could. I told em that.

Ey chuckled again, patted me on the back and stood. Told me ey’d remember that answer, and that I had a great point there.

Then ey thanked me for dinner and walked into the forest. Ey wasn’t even going in the direction the road was, just due south.

I kinda wished I had asked what eir name was. I never even saw there face, with that hood pulled up, and I’d never be able to recognize em in something else because of how close ey held the cloak, even while ey was eating.

For some reason, when I got back home, I didn’t tell any of my family about the stranger. I thought about em almost constantly, though.

The first person I ever told about em was the priest in town. There was just something about that stranger I thought she would understand, for some odd reason.

I described the stranger as best I could for her, said all we talked about, how ey disappeared.

She was quiet for a minute, before she said it sounded like a sprite of Therit. All the questions, and the weird knowledge, and hiding eir face and hands. It made sense, I guess, but something in me was sure it couldn’t have just been a sprite. That ey had clutched eir cloak so tight because of the four arms, that the hood stayed low to hide eir eyes, that those hand wrappings would have hidden more than just one extra set of eyes.

I didn’t tell the priest that, just told her that she was probably right and went on my way.

The next time all of my aunts and uncles and untys came over for dinner with their kids and their spouses, the chaos of all those people I shared blood with seemed just that much sweeter. Almost like what that stranger had said to me, sprite or not, had made me cherish this even more.