The ringing started when the stars were still bright in the sky. Most people who heard it would describe it as random noise, but all I could make out were wind chimes rattling against each other on a breeze. I was used to hearing it every day, so maybe that’s just me. Either way, it signaled my time to wake up.

I’m always slow to get up; it took me about five minutes to actually get out of my bed. Pale moonlight streamed from under the curtain, casting distorted shadows around my room. The source of the noise was a pot of flowers on the bedside table. It was drooping, silver petals rubbing against one another to make the wind chime sound. I yawned, grabbed a cup of water next to the flowerpot, poured it into the soil, and watched as the Silver Clamor straightened up and ceased the noise. I did this every day without fail, so I moved automatically, trying not to just flop back on top of the covers.

I went through my morning routine: bathe, brush my teeth, get dressed, find my shoes, stumble down the stairs, walk outside, reach the buildings about six minutes down the road, unlock the door, and get started. I threw kindling from a sack into the fire pit under the oven. Rummaging through the jars lined up underneath the counter, I found the one I needed. I unscrewed the lid and peered inside. Still have enough for another week or so, but it would be better if the next shipment got here soon. I scooped out a glob of pasty green goop and threw it on top of the kindling. I walked through the storage room and opened the door into the back room. In the corner was an organized stack of logs. I grabbed as many as I could carry and went back to the fire pit. After placing the logs neatly on top of the kindling, I smeared another handful of goop onto the logs. I picked up the flint and block of steel next to the pit and struck once, twice, three times before the kindling and goop caught fire. Within minutes, the pile was up in a blaze.

My hands were covered in goo and grass and bark, so I washed them in the sink on the far right of the counter. I turned a knob and water spilled into the basin. I rinsed my hands off quickly, turned off the water, and dried my towels on a rag that was hanging off a hook. After that, I went back into the storeroom and brought out all the ingredients we would need to start off the day.

After about an hour, I was kneading the dough of the puffs when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I heard another door open in the storeroom, and my uncle emerged a few seconds later. His hairline was receding, but he just said that his brain was getting so big that it was pushing out the follicles (he can be rather strange sometimes…). He had a round belly that, coupled with his ever-present smile, gave him an air of jolliness. If you looked closely, he, like all Naiads, had a dusting of blues and purples across his skin like colorful powders.

He was tying an apron around his neck, not paying attention as he walked over to the oven. I felt a sharp pain and gave a yelp as my uncle stumbled back. He looked down and let out a surprised puff of air. “Oh! I’m sorry, Bassi! I didn’t see where I was putting my feet!”

“It’s okay,” I said, holding up my tail and rubbing the spot he had stepped on. “It woke me up.”

Ripple snickered. “If it works, I guess I won’t hold it against myself.” He opened the oven and peered inside. “Started with some bread, uh?”

“Yeah,” I nodded as I continued kneading the dough. “Just something simple to start the morning.” I rattled a bowl full of slimy, green pouches. “I didn’t start the best part without you.”

Ripple saw the bowl and his smile widened. “You’ve already brought out the Spew Pods! I expected no less from you!” He took a closer look at the dough I was currently working on. “And you're preparing the dough! Never one to disappoint, are you?”

I shrugged as I continued. “No point in waiting until the last minute.”

Ripple chuckled as he pulled the bowl of pods towards him. “Very true boy, very true. I’ll take my hands at these blasted things while you're finishing up the dough.” He opened one of the drawers and withdrew a small knife.

Spew Pods have two different phases of maturity: the pouches and the spreading. Once they’re ready to drop seeds, the algae develop pouches where the pods would grow. Once the pods are ready, the pouches detach from the main body of the plant and get carried away in the current. The pouches open and spill the pods, which burst when they come into contact with something with enough force. The pouches are harvested a day or two before the separating begins, and you have to carefully split the pouches open to get to the pods. One wrong move, one tiny nick, and the pods will burst and cause a terrible mess! It’s a lot of meticulous work for an unpopular item, but I can’t get enough of them.

Once I was done with the dough, I helped my uncle with the pouches. We had gotten the knack of cutting into the membrane without getting covered in slime. By the end, we had emptied the pods into a new bowl and discarded the deflated pouches. After that, the morning continued as it always does. My uncle and I had finished about a dozen baked goods before the sun rose. Ripple was just setting out a few pies when the customer door opened and the bell rang.

A messenger, a boy around my age, held out a stack of letters to my uncle. He accepted and thanked the boy, who raced out to finish his deliveries. He ruffled through them, sorting them into different piles when one caught his interest. He opened it and scanned the pages before giving a hearty “Oh ho!”

“What is it?” I asked. “Is it some kind of order, or one of your old friends?”

“No, it’s actually from a young lad I meet a few years back,” My uncle replied while reading the letter again. “A good kid, he was. Apparently, he’s getting married here and is looking for someone to bake the cake. His fiancée's mother is friends with Mauve, you know, the lady running the bakery on the other side of town. Anyway, he wants to see all his options before making a final decision. He’s coming into town in soon and would like to buy a cake to sample.” My uncle looked up with a gleam in his eyes as if someone just wagged a sack of rue in front of his face. “I better prepare my best!”

“Was he really that friendly, or do you have something else in mind?”

My uncle patted me on the back as he came back around the counter. “He’s just someone with a good soul, nothing more nothing less. I just want the chance to give him something special for such a big day. Besides,” he continued with a breathy tone, “It warms my heart to prepare something with such a meaningful purpose.”

Ripple has said stuff like this before, but I don’t understand. A cake is just a cake, isn’t it? What does it matter what kind you have or who makes it? It’s just a small detail in the long run.

I rinsed my hands again and asked, “By best, do you mean your favorite: The Frosted Fountain?”

“Of course, my boy! Nothing can even compare!” He scratched the back of his head as he peered at the jars once more. “Although, it has been a while since I last prepared it. Also, I don’t seem to anymore Teary Moonlight.” He was referring to a dye he uses for the frosting. He only used it on special occasions. “I want to show him a prime sample when he arrives tomorrow! Could you run to the market and pick up a jar for me?”

“Of course,” I replied. The market would open soon anyway so it would be best to get there before a crowd forms.

Ripple retreated into the storeroom and returned with a small pouch of rue. “That should be enough for a jar from Swirl’s stall. Good luck!”