and it will be hard
The shoe was too small. It pinched Ren's toes and scuffed at the heel even when they left it unlaced. Its mate had a ripped seam along the side, letting in water and sand and too much fresh air for comfort. They hadn't pointed this out to their father yet. He always got such a pinched look around the eyes whenever money for new things was mentioned, somewhere between guilt and anger, and it really wasn't bad enough yet that it felt necessary to ruin the mood. After all, hadn't Ren been allowed to come along on this trip already? Work for the father, a much needed break for Ren's mother, and a splendid adventure to the youth, who couldn't wait to see more of the exotic city after their brief walk from skyport to inn.
"Where are you going?" Father looked up from the papers he was sorting as Ren got up and reached for the door.
"Out. Maybe do some busking." Gods knew they needed every coin. The father grunted, rubbing day old stubble on his chin and cast a glance at the bustling city beyond the grubby window.
"Don't leave the city. And be back here before nightfall."
"Yeah." Ren reached for their beat up lute in its case, and slipped quietly outside.
Escaping the run down inn was like plunging straight into a vortex of color and sound. Everything was vibrant, from the clothes people wore to the buildings and the wares they hawked from market stalls and boutiques. In some ways it reminded Ren painfully of home, but in most it was completely different, in a dizzying, exhilarating way that they decided must be a good thing. Wandering aimlessly for a while, it was the sound of music that drew them in to a square. The reek of seafood mingled with fragrant spices and sweets, an ice cream stand had customers queuing long past endurance, and a jongleur sent green-and-yellow balls flying in a mesmerising circle above her head. A man with a forked beard strummed away on a lute, cross legged by her feet, and Ren stopped to watch, their fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against well worn trousers. Longing to join in, painfully aware that they hadn't practiced for weeks - or months, truth be told.
"Where are you going?" Father looked up from the papers he was sorting as Ren got up and reached for the door.
"Out. Maybe do some busking." Gods knew they needed every coin. The father grunted, rubbing day old stubble on his chin and cast a glance at the bustling city beyond the grubby window.
"Don't leave the city. And be back here before nightfall."
"Yeah." Ren reached for their beat up lute in its case, and slipped quietly outside.
Escaping the run down inn was like plunging straight into a vortex of color and sound. Everything was vibrant, from the clothes people wore to the buildings and the wares they hawked from market stalls and boutiques. In some ways it reminded Ren painfully of home, but in most it was completely different, in a dizzying, exhilarating way that they decided must be a good thing. Wandering aimlessly for a while, it was the sound of music that drew them in to a square. The reek of seafood mingled with fragrant spices and sweets, an ice cream stand had customers queuing long past endurance, and a jongleur sent green-and-yellow balls flying in a mesmerising circle above her head. A man with a forked beard strummed away on a lute, cross legged by her feet, and Ren stopped to watch, their fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against well worn trousers. Longing to join in, painfully aware that they hadn't practiced for weeks - or months, truth be told.
but that's not all it will be
REN
