Chapter 56: Mentor?
DING
The soft tinkle of a bell resounded through a small shop, alerting the wizened old man at the counter of someone’s presence. He called out a noncommittal greeting in response, not looking up from the mortar in which he pounded a few leaves into mush. The visitor, light on their feet walked up to one of the low rack of potions that lined the side walls of the cozy-looking shop. They stared at the diagrams of spell models on the walls, right above the rack, walking slowly as they assessed them. The only sound in the room was the rhythmic soft pounding of the leaves in the mortar and a light whistle of a concoction on a small stove that filled the room with a herby scent.
"Did you draw these—?" The person made to say when the tinkle of the bell cut them off as another person entered, also light footed.
The attention of the old man shifted as he noted the presence. He looked up from the mortar with slight surprise in his reptile-like eyes as a small smile broke on his face.
"You’re done so quickly?! It’s only been two days!" He said with his gaze locked solely on the box the figure carried, watching it sway with their steps. It was fairly large, and looked heavy, making the man’s smile even wider. It seemed the figure had completed the job successfully, and in record time.
Zephyr dropped the box on the table with a thud, throwing a passing glance the way of the figure standing some distance away, staring at him, before locking his gaze on the old man who was nearly about to start clapping in glee.
"Ha! You got it didn’t you?! You did right?!" He repeated like a kid as Zephyr slowly lifted the lid of the box.
A large, pale white heart was nestled carefully inside the box, with traces of purple looking arteries running underneath the surface. It still had a blue tinge of beast blood to it, showing that it was freshly killed.
The man’s breath caught in his throat as he let out a squeaky intake of breath, amazed at the quality of the heart. "You— You— This is still freshly killed!!" He exclaimed with spittle flying out of his mouth, totally forgetting about the plant he was pounding earlier.
"Where is my scalpel— If it’s of this quality, then I can use it to— No! that would be a waste— maybe—" He muttered random thoughts under his breath as they crossed his mind.
As Zephyr watched the old man scuttling about in search of his tools, a melancholic feeling washed over him. The man reminded him of Old Bjorn with the way he was so clearly passionate about his craft.