“Bear leather here! Good quality! Can be used to make saddles, clothes, and arrow halting armour!” Yelled a monotonous voice in the market square. Not a single person that walked past made even the slightest effort to turn their heads in the direction of the yelling, their reason being there clearly far too important to amuse the seller for a moment.

For hours now, the former apple grocer had been attempting to sell doe leather strips of various sizes to the residents of the little borough: Ottbrook. So far, he had only managed to acquire one gentleman’s attention just enough for a brief discussion. A conversation that almost brought tears to the grocer’s eyes when the gentleman had laughed at his wares. His enthusiasm had long since left and now he just repeated the same phrases over and over again, as if he was in a trance of the melancholiest variety.

The biggest reason for his lack of sales, the grocer quickly realised, was most likely the lack of creativity he put into the leather of his. Leather while not patricianly cheap was still most certainly not a rarity and even many serfs possessed some level of ability in tanning a hide, of course not all wielded the skill to hunt for the skin, nor the permission from their lords to do so. So, the main reason as to why the common folk would purchase something of leather was if it was crafted into something, they could not make themselves. Perhaps a pair of boots, a saddle, or a durable coat. Perhaps even a chest guard or some vambraces. Unfortunately, the grocer lacked the skill and tools to make any of these items. He had a knife that could barely cut his creations and at best a very basic knowledge of sewing from his boyhood days in the manor.

The grocer was begrudged to admit it, but a part of him did not want anyone to approach him. He seemed to have gained a gnawing fear of people in the recent months and even had to stop himself from fleeing when he was in the midst of a conversation with the gentleman from earlier.

The grocer sighed deeply and began to pack away his belongings. He was not too stubborn to admit that his leather selling plan was a coin-less endeavour. Maybe he should use the hardened hide himself, after all it would be advantageous to wear something that can resist the rain and at least fend-off the punches and kicks of children. However, hiring a tailor would still cost money and involve talking to someone. For now, the grocer would just have to put “do something with the leather” on his forever growing to-do list.

Once all of the grocer’s belongings were all placed in the tan sack of his, he began to walk through the market, now as a potential patron.

The market possessed the basic design of Loncian trade structure. A row of stalls on the left, a row on the right, plenty of room for man and animals to walk in between. The merchandise was also typical, though that was to be expected of a quaint borough of no historical worth to be found. Breads, fruits, vegetables, mutton, pork, beef, dog, pelts, and plenty of fish. So much fish of so many different species that most of which the grocer had never laid eyes upon before. The galore of sea creatures was a good indication that the town of Ottbrook was close to the ocean. Not so close one could feel its winds or the salt they carried, yet still close.

The smell and sight of fish was the best inkling of where he was in the land of Loncia he had had in a long time. With no compass or map in his inventory, he had been completely lost for months. Fortunately for him, however, he neither possessed a destination either.

As he continued his march through the rudimentary maze of stalls, his eyes fell upon a small one, barely visible through the towers of fish. It’s lousiness actually made it stand out in the normality. The stall was shabby, terribly so. Though, the grocer couldn’t judge too harshly, he did not even have a cloth for his wares to rest upon.

He lazily walked over to the stall and began his inspection.

Laid across the top were trinkets! Bracelets of steel, necklaces of bronze – even the odd rose quartz ring. The grocer had to manually stop himself from drooling over the treasures.

“May I help you, young man?” Asked a gurgled voice from the front of him.

Looking up the grocer finally paid attention to the seller of these magical wares. A small old woman with so many stretched wrinkles, she resembled the bark of a dehydrated tree.

“You most certainly can, fare maiden.” The grocer replied, adding just a hint of flirtatious desire in his voice.

“Fare maiden? Aren’t we a bold sprout? The name’s Finley, luv.” She said with a softer tone than her previous remark.

“Finley, huh, what a beautiful name.” Exaggerating his compliment with a flourish of his arms. “As for myself: Bry...” He paused. Not once had he been in a situation where he had to give his name. His name was not too unique it would raise an eyebrow, nor neither was he a person of fame, yet he still hesitated at the idea of someone learning of him, even if it was an old peasant woman. “Think; think; think...” He thought. “Bry- Bryp- p-p, Brypple. Apple... Apple... Apple... Tanner.” He stammered. “Did I just tell this old biddy that I’m called Apple? I’m such a bloody idiot! She’s not going to believe that. Apple is not a name!”

“Apple huh.” She hummed, interrupting the grocer’s inner turmoil. “Your parents must be simple folks with a passion for pickin’, I’d bet.”

“Huh. Oh yes! Ma’ and da’ sure did love their apple picking. Of how they went on about the picking of apples. Even more so than the leather work me da’ did. Oh, how they loved the apples they picked, and the ones they didn’t, I suppose. Yup, they loved all apples and picking – leather too!” He responded immediately. “Seems I overestimated the simplicity of commoners. Though, I guess I’m going to have to get used to being called Apple from now on.”

“So, Apple, how can I help ya?” She asked, returning the conversation back to business.

“Well, my dear Finley, I was walking through your humble market and happened to lay but the very corners of these grey eyes of mine upon your wares. In just that small peak, I was entranced... Such marvellous trinkets, pulsating with love. Pray tell, how did you happen upon such treasure?”

“Oh, they aren’t no treasure young man, at least not the kind you would find in a magical forest, or at the bottom of the ocean. Nay, these are but my own jewellery. In my sin I hid them from those queer knights several months past. The shame has been eating away at me the entire time. I tried to find those same soldiers, but they left as quick as they came. Now I just want them from my sight through whatever means.” She explained. The guilt and sadden laid ever so bare across her aged face.

While the story was a sad on indeed, Apple supposed, he was more fixated on her resistance to obey the Circle’s men. Perhaps she was unaware of whom the knights worked for. Maybe this queer mind magic of the Circle’s had not spread to this corner of the country yet.

He almost asked the woman, but did not dare to utter that accused shape. For now, he should just thank his luck that crystals now laid before him, with an owner who could barely look upon them.

Just the moment before Apple asked the merchant: Finley, how much for her poorly cut rose quartz ring, he was struck with the realisation that the question was of little worth, as he himself possessed none.

“What a tragic story. If it pleases you, I will do my up most to take these burdens from your hands. Pray tell, how much for the beautiful pale red ring?” He asked, deciding there was little risk in asking regardless or his wealth.

“Two wooden coins.”

Apple wanted to scream. “So cheap!” She had not even attempted to haggle the price. Apple once sold a rotten pear for four wooden coins. Four woods! The price offended him as a fellow merchant. He did wonder however, why no one had snagged up these jewels before him. The whole ordeal angered and confused him. The worst part was even at such an absurdly low price, he still could not afford it, he still wondered what happened to that iron coin he acquired in that village a while back.

“My word,” he began. “Such a low price. You were not jesting when you said you wanted them gone. Your honesty of your woes has almost moved me to tears. I must admit, good woman, but I actually do not currently possess even that amount of coin,may I instead interest you in a trade, perhaps?”

“That’s fine. What do you have to trade?” She inquired.

“Why just the finest leather in all of- “

“I don’t need no leather. My husband is a cow farmer, he is. Got more leather then I know what to do with. What else ya got?” Finley interrupted.

“Oh., Erm, how about this hat on my head?” Apple stuttered, awkwardly taking off the cloth cap on his head and presenting it to the old woman.

“No thanks dear. I have rags for cleanin’ cow dung off me boots in a better state than that thing.”

Apple was not sure how to respond to that. He would be insulted if he could not currently feel hundreds of tiny feet parading across his head. It seemed he had grown too accustomed to living in the wildness. The epiphany of his current hygiene struck him with force. When was the last time he bathed? It was a question, much to his dismay, that he could not answer.

“Tell you what, Apple, with those shabby clothes and that queer posh-like accent of yours, you’re clearly one of them city beggars I used to gander at in my younger days. Not sure why you’re ‘ere, I’m not. But I’ll tell ya what, why don’t you help me and husband out on the farm? We’re getting’ a bit old and our children have all left the nest, they ‘ave. Some help would be much appreciated. Even from a city dweller that’s probably never even touched a cow in ‘is life. In return I’ll give you all of the trinkets before ya.” She asked for him. While even with the minor insults, her offer was still warm and sincere.

Apple weighed up the request. On one side he had an opportunity to get some crystals without money or theft. On the other hand, he had no experience working on a farm or knew how long it would take.

“I’ll do it.” He declared. He decided it was worth a chance. Besides, if it turned out to be too much work, he could just leave. It was also a good chance to learn a bit about current events and hopefully get a bath.

“Atta boy. I guess since I’ve promised my goods to you, no need to be here. Help me pack up dear and we’ll head to my farm.”

Apple did as he was asked. Quickly wrapping up the jewels in a large cloth. He had to resist the urge to run away with the bag. But the trust this stranger had for held him in place.

Once everything was safety packed away, he followed Finley’s painfully slow pace, towards his new job as a farm boy.

**********

Salty liquid oozed from scorched skin; stinging it in routine masochism. Luckily the sensation never lasted long, it took only seconds for the blazing sun to vaporise the liquid; only leaving a slight itch and a wanting coolness.

Even though this cycle continued for hours on end, Apple stopped feeling the sensations even longer ago. He was in a trance. His body had a reached a state of tranquillity in which it was only itself and the axe it held. There was no pain, no hunger, no fatigue, just the job at hand. He raised the axe above the head and brought it down onto the wood, repeating the movement until the wood has been fully cleaved in two.

For three days now, this had been Apple’s entire goal in life. Shortly after arriving at old lady Finley’s farm, Apple was put to work at the instruction of her husband. Tom was his name. A short old man made even shorter with the great hunch in his spine. Skin with the appearance and texture of tree bark – like Finley. Once he was informed of Apple’s situation by his wife, he shook the grocer’s hand and found him wanting. Over the months Apple’s once soft hands hardened threefold as they combated nature and the discomforts of peasant life. However, they might have well been threads of loose silk when compared with the carved rock that was Tom’s hand. Skin so rough you could create a spark by striking it with flint. Skin so old and weathered it was lost under the layers and layers of iron calluses. The second Tom felt Apple’s hand, he could tell the “city-boy” knew little about a hard day's work.

So here he was, chopping a seemingly endless supply of logs. A simple job that only required an average level of physical strength and even less intelligence.

One the first day Apple took a break after less than hour of chopping. That break quickly ended when Tom reminded him of their agreement: For a fortnight Apple would do whatever Tom told him and in return would have a place to sleep, three meals a day, and at the end he shall receive all of their unwanted jewellery. So, he had two options: quit or suck it up. He begrudgingly chose the latter.

What helped him power through the tortuous exhaustion and aching was realisation of his weakness. The magicians of Loncia were taught that it is more dignified to move as little as possible. Running, dodging, grunting, even moving your arms was considered primitive behaviour. The less a magic user moved in battle, the better. Apple in the past had happily subscribed to this philosophy, proudly wearing a blank expression when sparring, never once moving an inch on his own accord. However, now that his golden carriage had abandoned him, only his body had remained. A squishy thing used to the tenderness of rich comfort. Lamb became mouse and mouse became worm. His soft fleshly armour of cushions and pillows disappeared in the wind, revealing bone and leathery sinew. He now realised that if he wanted to thrive in this world, he would need to don a new armour. He shall weave chainmail with the pink fibres that dwell beneath his skin. And that skin shall have no choice but to be beaten by the elements and his actions, over and over until it becomes something that would win the respect of a gristly elder.

The axe in his hand was his hammer, the wood his anvil, and he the blade.

**********

“No, no. Much too loose! Stitching like that will never hold the two pieces for more than an afternoon, they won’t.” Old lady Finley scolded.

“You’re right. I’m being too hasty.” Apple sombrely agreed with the woman.

“It’s fine dear. You may not ‘ave much of a talent for this, ya sure don’t, but as long as you keep at it, you’ll get there.”

So, Apple did just that. With a slight sigh he undid his stitching and began again.

It had been eight days now since he had begun his new job as a farmhand. He was currently in the midst of his third sewing lesson with old lady Finley. On his fifth day at the farm, when called for dinner, he found Finley mending a pair of wool trousers. Apple remembered all the leather he owned that was just taking up space in his sack, he worked up his courage and asked if she would be willing to teach him in the art of sewing. The old woman seemed more than delighted to become his tutor. No matter how much he messed up, she always encouraged him and simply seemed to enjoy the whole experience. Even Tom appeared content with their current lessons; never once complaining that it was eating into a bit of Apple’s work time.

Sewing was not just the only thing that Apple was learning at Tom’s farm. On the fourth day of none-stop wood chopping and pondering all the physical benefit he was receiving from it, he realised that this farm was also home to plenty of other activities that could use aid his survival skills.

Later that day he watched Tom butcher a cow and skin a rabbit. The tasks made him nauseous at first but he quickly grew accustomed to the scene. He cursed internally when he saw Tom skin a rabbit with an awesome speed and efficiency. It made him realise just how poorly his self-taught skills were. He thought longingly of all that skin and meat that was left on that doe carcass. It could have all been his if he had done the deed after watching Tom at work.

On the fifth day he had managed to persuade Tom to teach the basics of growing and preparing crops, then about wild plants, salt and pelts.

On the tenth day a routine was made: wake up at dusk., chop wood until breakfast. Afterwards shadow Tom until he gets fed up with Apple, at an apple or two, chop more wood until dinner., and finally sewing and fabric lessons with Finley. Bed. Repeat.

**********

The fourteenth and final day had arrived and thus Apple’s time on old Tom’s farm had come to an end. He woke up at dusk like normal and chopped wood until breakfast, like normal. However, this time he was met with more than just a bowl of porridge, bread, and the all too familiar apple.

On the table, alongside his meal, was a green cloth and upon that was the crude jewellery he stumbled upon a fortnight ago. The rose quartz ring, steel bracelet, milk quartz necklace; all there.

“They’re all here, dear. Well, all except one.’ Said the old feminine voice that Apple had grown fond of.

Apple turned around and was met with the sight of sweet old lady Finley. Her eyes looking ever so tender. Her mouth in the shape of a sad looking crescent. In her small cupped hands was what appeared to be a lump of honey.

“Good morning, Finley.” Apple responded.

“Good mornin’, Apple.” She replied, her crescent mouth growing in size.

Apple was unsure what to say next. The air in the room was strange. He was about to make an opinion about the days weather but Finley thankfully spoke before he could. “I want you to have this,” she said, gesturing to the honey in her hands.

Apple was again unsure on what to say next. He liked the taste of honey. But, was he supposed to scoop the sticky substance out of her hands? As he walked closer towards her, he realised he had appraised the thing her hands wrongly.

What was cupped in those branch-like fingers was solid and of a glossier shade than honey, like tree sap. It was tree sap, a long time ago. Now it been hardened by time, useless to a tree and insects that feast upon its nutrients; amber.

A gem more valuable than an amethyst. A gem that Apple dreamed of. It was also large. It looked to be the size of his fist, or a heart.

He had to violently blink his eyes to stop the liquid he could feel forming in his eye sockets. Though, he was unable to contain the well of emotions inside enough to stop himself from hugging the old woman. He took her in his firm arms, lifting her frail body off the ground, and spun.

He twirled four times before he regained his senses and awkwardly put the poor old lady back down. “My word! You startled me. I had no idea you’d be so excited to see this gem.” She said, wheezing slightly.

“Oh, you have no idea! You could have presented me with the finest horse you own, with a wench a bosom the size of a mammoth’s testicles, carrying a lifetime supply of gold ale, yet that would pale in comparison to the treasure you have shown me!”

“Well. I guess that’s good then,” she mused. “I didn’t originally plan to give this to ya, I didn’t, but you’ve been good company and given us enough fire wood for more winters than I’ve been alive.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! You magnificent woman! If I didn’t respect Tom so much, I would have us married by dawn!” He declared.

“I should ‘ave shown this last, I should. I’ve got a few more goodies to give ya before you go, but first you need a bath.”

That was something Apple could not argue. He still had not bathed since he came to this farm.

“The water has already been set up for you. Clean ya self-up and the rest of your stuff will be ready for ya.” She told him.

Apple immediately did as he was ordered. He was most certainly exited for his other gifts, but even more so for the idea of being clean once again.

In the wash room he was greeted to the divine sight of a wooden tub filled with steaming water, covered in dandelions and mint leaves, highly luxurious for peasants. Apple wasted no time in stripping bare and submerging himself completely in the water.

He sat in the wooden tub for at least an hour. Only finally leaving when the water turned cold and having aggressively scrubbed his body raw several times over. Afterwards he found a mirror and began to trim his hair. First his beard, a scraggly thing that had tickled him in annoyance for the past moons. He sliced through the hair effortlessly with the fine bronze blade Finley had left him beside the mirror. He eventually stopped once all that was left was auburn-coloured stubble, daring to not go further less he removed skin. He again thought back to his old life when a steady-handed servant performed this task for him every morning.

Next came the hair. Straight strands the colour of dirty copper, laying idly on his back. He gripped tightly his hand, fixing it into the style of a pony’s tail. He cleaved off the long tail with the alloyed blade, leaving only hair that fell to the lobes of his ears. It pained him to do it for he enjoyed having long hair, although he had long grown tired of untangling it from tree branches and shrubberies.

With his grooming done, Apple dried himself off and headed back to the kitchen.

On table, along with his now cold breakfast and his new jewellery, were a variety of different of other oddities. A hat with a large rain sheltering brim, made of a familiar looking leather. A wool tunic accompanied by wool trousers. A long leather coat and a pair of crude leather boots. Finally, the last of the gifts was an axe, smaller than the one Apple had been using the past fortnight, but still looked quite capable of cutting things in two.

“You know, you’re not that bad on eyes when you clean ya self-up.” Complimented Finley, appearing at his side as if by magic.

“This, this is all too much. I can’t accept this. All I really did was chop wood.” Apple protested, not even hearing Finley’s praise of his new groomed appearance.

“You can and you will.” She huffed “You’ve done more for us than you realise. Nothing I’m giving you if of value to us. The clothes are my son’s and too big for Tom. The hat was made with your leather and I made the coat and boots with some of my cow. Not as soft as your doe but tougher and if you forgive me for saying so, of a batter quality. Tom’s got more axes than a horse has flies and I promised you the jewels a while back.”

“But, but...” He protested.

“But nothing. Now get changed and eat your breakfast.”

Once again, Apple simply did as he was ordered.

**********

Once Apple had finished his meal, he said he final farewells. Deciding it would be easier to get it over with quickly.

He donned his new coat and hat. Strapped the axe to his belt. Fastened his catalyst’s spine to his back and slung his sack of goodies over his shoulder.

As he began his march through the farm fields one final time. He felt bitter about Tom not seeing him off. They had only known each other for two weeks but Finley had reminded him that the old man does not like getting all “sappy’”. “but still...” He thought.

His bitterness vanished in an instant when he small the small silhouette of a hunched man at the farm’s entrance.

“You off lad?” Asked a voice that sounded as if it swallowed gravel for fun.

“Aye.”

“Got any place in mind?”

“Oh right! You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find a blacksmith, would ya?” Apple asked, a question which should have been asked days ago.

“Aye I do, lad. Take the road from ‘ere south. Keep goin’ till you find a borough called ‘Westin’. Not all that far, ‘n’ travel’s really simple, it is.”

“I see., thanks Tom.” Apple replied, not even attempting to calm the giant smile on his face.

“Don’t get soppy on me now lad. Go ‘n, get. You clearly don’t belong on a farm with them soft ‘ands of yours, ya don’t.

Apple just laughed in response.

Off the former farmer hand went. Much richer now in both materials and knowledge.

So far on his travels he had acquired a spine and a heart, all that was left was some veins and a study covering of skin.