[1489] – Y06.389 – Adam’s Heart IX
The merry music faded into the background as the half elf poured his wife a cup of hot tea, cooling it slightly for his wife, having long noticed she preferred the tea cooler, doing the same for his own tea, though his special gifts allowed him to consume the drink much hotter than one might expect.
Vonda sipped the warm tea, feeling the warmth of the liquid flow through her, pressing her side against her husband’s, resting her head upon his shoulder, pinned by the half elf’s head. The woman stared out towards the plate of fruit, half eaten, each fruit growing more solid as the moments continued to pass.
“This year has felt pretty long, huh?” Adam whispered, his breath slipping into the air.
“It has,” the woman confirmed.
“I feel like not much has happened.”
“What has happened?”
“I don’t know?” Adam could barely remember the beginning of the year.
It was when her husband tensed that Vonda realised what the half elf was thinking about, then as he continued to tense up further, the memories flashing within his mind, the woman wrapped her arm around the half elf’s back, then another around his front, intertwining her fingers as she half hugged him from the side.
“I guess a lot did happen,” the half elf thought, his eyes slipping to the side, for earlier in the year, he did not have quite as much XP. He checked how much Experience he required to Level Up, the half elf blinking, almost ready to spend it, only to tense up once more, his heart beginning to throb and ache, the half elf’s entire body flushing with a chill.
“What is wrong?” Vonda asked, feeling her husband’s arms quickly wrapping around her, as though to ground himself.
“Ah, nothing, nothing,” the half elf replied hurriedly, reaching up to his forehead, trying to calm his heart. He couldn’t allow himself to slip into the thought it was so simple to Level Up, not after being ripped away from life so many times.
Vonda held the half elf, allowing him to speak of the matter when he pleased, for she must have known of it, though she could not guess what had him so tense at that moment.
Meanwhile, his brother was currently in the business of feeding his own wife, cutting into the third cake, while the woman found it difficult to refuse the bite. Eventually, feeling as though her stomach was going to burst with how much she had ate and drank over the last few days, the woman began to feed her own husband in return, who accepted each bite.
“There is too much to eat during the festival,” Pam admitted, recalling all the meals on offer. Unless she had a single bite of everything, she would be unable to eat it all, and even then, having just a single bite of such delicious meals, it was a travesty in its own way.
“I will ask them to invite us whenever they cook your favourite meals,” Jurot replied.
“I don’t need you to do something like that,” Pam replied, half flushing, for the Iyr was so open, even to her, but her heart wasn’t ready to accept all of its privileges just yet. Her husband was more than enough for her, and considering the monsters within his family, easily capable enough to match the likes of a singular Order, perhaps their wealth too, she understood just how fortunate she was to win his eye.
As Jurot accepted another bite from his wife’s fork, he realised quickly the difficulty that came with loading up on so much food within the basket, realising that he had almost killed his wife with food, because as he ate the other half, he was beginning to feel a fullness in his stomach. However, what kind of husband would he be if he refused his wife’s fork?
No.
Even if it killed him, he had to eat.
Thankfully, Pam noticed just how uncomfortable the young man had become after eating all this food, although, for a moment, she considered pushing him further. Instead, she placed the fork down and shuffled over to his side, half sitting on his thigh, though finding herself upon his lap as the Iyrman lifted her with ease. She turned, noting he hadn’t even slipped into a rage, the woman flushing since her husband, though certainly he could clash with King Merryweather for a moment, he wouldn’t be able to defeat him, she assumed, and yet he could lift her with ease, something she was certain few other than giants were able to do.
Tanika yawned, half slumbering due to all the alcohol and food the Iyrmen had eagerly shoved towards her, showing off their families recipes. The woman missed the warmth of her hills, the spice of her family’s cooking, and even the droning of her father. She opened an eye to stare at the sky above her, realising just how little she had managed to accomplish within the year, all the while her supposed mentor had not yet begun to teach her. Then again, noting the paleness in his skin, and how he was in the middle of napping, she realised should she not wish to die and she would need to accept the current training for her patience.
“Hello, miss Tanika,” called a little girl, with silver eyes, and silver scales around her horns and neck, the girl waving towards the sand giant.
“Hello, Little Boss,” Tanika replied, waving her hand in return, suddenly far more awake.
“Are you enjoying the festival?”
“I am.”
“Good!” The girl held up a thumb towards the woman, not exactly the most inoffensive gesture in the sand giant’s culture, however, the sand giant could not refuse the girl’s gesture, especially not with such a terrifying figure who stood a few steps away.
Duteous’ eyes remained fixated upon the sand giant, at the ready to cut her down, should she think to harm his greatniece, and though she was decent enough, considered equal to a Master, perhaps even able to clash with a Grandmaster, she would only last a moment or two against his blade.
“Kal Tanika is a guest of the Lord,” berated a bald Iyrman, who brushed his thick beard, neatly trimmed, his lips hidden behind the thick whiteness, for though he looked younger than Duteous, his hair had grown white long ago. “Stop exuding such pressure.”
Duteous returned his attention back to the sand giant, who greeted each of the triplets, for she understood she could not shirk their attention, not because their father was that strong, not because their uncle was that strong, not because their greatfather was that strong, and insane, not because they were related to many more monsters, but because though any one of them would have made her pause, all of them together reminded her that the Iyrmen, the people which hadn’t stepped out into the world in full force since the stories of her own ancestors, were indeed Iyrmen.
“Babo, it is time to eat,” little Konarot said, taking the old man’s hand, while Kirot took the other, and Karot held onto Malfev’s hand, leading him to follow his babo and sisters, who sniffed the air and turned to make sure he was nearby and following them, Konarot holding a hand out towards him, so the five moved as a chain.
Tanika wondered if she would be so sweet to her siblings if she had any.
“Nano, look,” Jirot whispered, revealing the bowl of food to her, as well as the additional peppers the girl had hidden within the pile of rice. “Do not tell anyone, okay? I brought all these peppers for you.”
“Nano,” little Jarot called, holding his own bowl of peppers, the twins not understanding the pain they were causing their greatmother, who wanted to feed them the peppers, but knew they would sniffle and cry.
“How wonderful,” Gangak said, lifting the pair onto her lap, allowing them to feed her with their spoons and fingers.
“Kekekeke!” Virot exclaimed, squealing with delight as she caused a storm of trouble.
As an Iyrman reached over to stop her, a hand grabbed at their wrist, and the eyes of the Mad Dog met their gaze, causing the Iyrman to retreat.
“Virot!” the old Iyrman called out, holding up a ball of snow.
Virot gasped, blinking at her babo, the girl shuffling to the side, forming her own little snowball, while the old man waited, and the girl tossed her snowball, though did not see that she had struck the floor beside her as she turned and fled from the old man.
Damrot looked up towards the old man, who blinked down towards him. The boy then picked up some snow and wiped it against his greatfather’s trousers, the boy’s innocent eyes looking up to his greatfather’s expectantly.
“Of course you would defeat me with ease, since you are your father’s son,” Jarot said, dropping the snowball, lifting the boy up, and then followed the squealing to find his greatdaughter.
The Iyrman who had reached for the girl turned to see the gazes of their companions.
“I could not see her ears.”
“Oh? You could not see her ears? What matter is that?”
“If I had known that she was the Mad Dog’s greatdaughter, I would have allowed her to move as she pleased,” the Iyrman replied.
“Oh? I do not see how that has anything to do with anything, since the girl is an Iyrman?”
“I will stab you.”
PATREON LINK
Rage baiting in the Iyr is kind of crazy considering the chance of someone dying is probably closer to 1% than 0.