Rosco feels someone gently shake his shoulder, trying to wake him, but the boy is not so easily roused. He pulls his blanket further up over his head, outside his nest he can hear a bit of muttering as whoever tries to decide what to do with him. Tansy helps out and solves the problem by mercilessly yanking on some curls. Rosco yelps, jolting upright, hurriedly shaking out his hair. The three other men who slept in the loft moving back, startled by his sudden outburst. Tansy snickers, buzzing over to inspect the other men while Rosco blinks, trying to process what he’s looking at. All three of them appear to be older than Rosco, but not by terribly much. He’d learned last night that only two of them were actually employed at the inn while the other worked for one of the guests,

 “Ahem,” one of the nameless shapes begins, “We are about to head to get breakfast? If you wanted to join us?”

Rosco blinks again, rubbing his scalp where Tansy had pulled at his hair, scowling at the man who’d spoken, willing his eyes to force the speaker into focus.

“Let’s just go.” One of the others mutters from the back, “Kid’s clearly not awake yet.” There are mummers of agreement and some shuffling as they depart.

Alone again, Rosco groans loudly, curls himself into a ball and mutters a string of curses that has Tansy gasping and putting a shocked hand over their mouth. The boy raises his head slowly, locking eyes with the wildflower, “I forgot you were here.” He mutters sheepishly, “Please don’t tell Hayden I said that.” He begs.

Tansy laughs, filling the air with the music of their voice, nodding their agreement.

After orienting himself, Rosco heads down to find some food.

Being in the inn’s kitchen reminds Rosco of Lolly’s house, which means lots of noise and always full of people. Mr. Rosewood is singing as he prepares the breakfast for the day, stirring pots on the stove and pulling pans in and out of the oven, filling the inn with the scent of freshly baked breads. A plate is pushed into the boy’s hands, some sort of roll that had failed to rise correctly, giving it a strange misshapen lumpiness. He’s about to take a bite when Mr. Rosewood stops him, brushing some sort of sweet-smelling glaze over the top, not losing a beat in the song he’s singing to flash the boy a grin. Taking a tentative bite, Rosco gasps at the taste, eyes growing to the size of saucers. It’s warm and soft and the glaze so sweet his teeth hurt. Mr. Rosewood seems pleased by his reaction, tuning back to his pots with a smile threating to burst his cheeks. Marveling at the sticky goodness, Rosco brakes off a morsel, offering some to the wildflower on his shoulder. Tansy shakes their head and makes a big X with their arms.

“Oh,” Furrowing his brow, “Do you eat something else then?”

The wildflower starts to speak and then shrugs. Rosco can’t help feeling guilty, eating the whole roll himself, also completely stuffed. But the glaze was so good, the boy found himself licking his fingers after he was finished, even though it felt his stomach might rip itself open.

After his meal, Rosco heads back to the stable. Rowen is already up and knee deep in his own work, so Rosco hunts around for the shovel, setting himself to his task. Tansy ends up distracting Rosco just as much as they keep him on task. It’s nice to have someone to talk to while he works, it’s easier for him to get lost in the mindlessness of the task if he can let out the endless stream of thoughts dancing in his head. But it seems Tansy is just as scatter brained as he is, constantly wanting to pull the boy away to show him something interesting or begging him to explain the way some piece of equipment is meant to be used. At one point, Rosco is so far down his stream of consciousness, he’s telling Tansy about the differences in mortar used in building stone houses by the sea or further inland. Tansy taps his nose to snap him out of it, gracefully drifting to the ground to point out he’d finished cleaning the stall some time ago.

“Oh,” he blinks looking around him to find he’d completed his assignment. All the horses currently stabled here are already happily standing on clean sandy dirt. Rowen appears behind him, laying one of his work-worn, wrinkled hands affectionately on the boy’s shoulder. Giving him a proud nod before turning back to his own work.

 “Come on,” the boy says to Tansy, letting the cheek splitting grin take over, “Let’s go find Hayden.”

Hayden had told him to come around to the front of the inn when he was ready. So, after a quick wash up and switching out his shirt. the boy wandered around to the front, keeping an eye out for the god. The weather is pleasantly warm today. The bright sun unhidden behind clouds offering endless blue sky. After a long winter, such warm days are richly welcomed. Further into summer the masses will curse at the heat, but today it brings people from their homes, seeking the touch of the sun on their skin, Rosco included. He finds a sunny spot to wait, basking in the light like a cat. Rosco is hesitant to say he hates anything, but he hates winter. He is a creature for summertime and heat, bright sunny days and lose cool clothing. The darker tint of his skin seems to prevent him from burning under the sun’s rays like his more porcelain foster siblings. They would whine and complain at having to work under its oppressive light for more than a few hours, and the palest children would be forced to wrap themselves in cloth least they turn red and blister.

“Has something happened?” Hayden asks warmly. Rosco spins at the sound of his voice, Hayden grasping his elbow to keep him from falling.

The stupid grin the boy was already wearing grows, “Nothing really, work was nice I guess,” He shrugs, “Oh!” Lighting up even further, “I had something called a sweet bun!” Rising up on his toes on the influence of his excitement, “It was a dud out of the oven, so it looked like something one of my little foster sisters might make out of mud, but it had this sweet sticky stuff over the top, Mr. Rosewood said it was mostly honey, but I’d never had anything so sweet before! It was amazing! I ate the whole thing, even though I was so full by the end of it. I couldn’t help myself, it was just so tasty,” Sighing dramatically, rocking back on his heels. So caught up in the moment he hardly notices he’s still using Hayden’s hand at his elbow for support, “I couldn’t eat one of those every morning, I’d pop.” Rosco sighs, genuinely concerned for the state of his stomach.

 “If you get that excited about a sweet bun, I can’t imagine what you will say after you’ve tried an actual sweet.” Hayden chuckles. Releasing Rosco’s elbow, Hayden holds a hand out for Tansy, who jumps from Rosco’s shoulder to perch on Hayden’s outstretched fingers like a small bird.

“And you?” Rich tenderness in the god’s deep voice, “Has your morning been pleasant?” Tansy dives into their own account of events, waving their arms while they speak. Several times Hayden’s eyes flick from Tansy’s face to Rosco’s and then back again. Rosco fidgets, twisting the ring on his finger, sure Tansy must be talking about him.

“And I hope you didn’t cause any trouble?” Hayden asks at the end of Tansy’s story. Pressing a hand to their own chest the wildflower does their best to look offended by the insinuation. Tutting at the god, Tansy abandons his hand, fluttering back to Rosco’s shoulder, crossing their arms with a huff.

Hayden sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Anyway,” He begins, “We need to find the mountain spirit’s temple, it will probably be Manarow, his is the largest mountain in this range. The other mountain spirits defer to him. Will you ask someone for directions please, Rosco?”

Rosco has no trouble finding someone willing to tell him the way. The temple for the mountain gods was on the highest hill within the city walls and apparently was not for a single god, but all the mountain spirts have a shrine there, though the temple had been built in Manarow’s name. He also learned the city had a few river spirit temples and lots of shrines dedicated to different types of trees.

Tansy huffs when they hear that and Rosco delves into a rather long rant while he leads the way, about how it was wrong for any of the spirits to be posing as gods, but even more so because they were leaving so many out. Why did trees get shrines when perfectly capable spirits like Tansy had to beg and skimp for praise? Rosco, who had forgotten who his audience was, glances back to find Hayden simmering in a quiet rage. Eyes blacker than night and the air around him a few degrees colder than the ambient temperature. The boy snaps his mouth shut, hoping Hayden keeps his promise not to burn anything down.

They round a corner, and the street opens to a large square, completely packed full of people.

The mountain gods temple is nothing like Ocyrin’s temple. Where Ocyrin’s temple is open to the air with soft curtains and warm fires, the mountain gods have a closed off building, comprised of cold stone and harsh angles. It’s beautifully built; with tall spires reaching high up into the heavens. Stained glass windows depicting artful images of the sun rising over the mountain peaks. All in all, an imposing monstrous thing. The doors themselves are probably larger than Lolly’s entire house, looming over all those gathered in the courtyard. Vines and moss grow up along the walls, little patches of wildflowers taking root over every stone not set flush against the others, decorating the man-made building with the mountains natural grace and beauty. The boy’s mouth falls open at the sight of it, previously unable to even imagine something so grand. He wonders what it must have been like to grow up in the shadow of such an ostentatious display of power. The people of Ocil did not fear Ocyrin. No one doubted his power and gave him proper respect of course, but his followers flocked to him out of a sense of love, or a quest for hope. His temple was not built to intimidate or frighten, yet this building inspired just as much fear in Rosco as it did awe. A being that would command this monument be erected in his name was not one who cared for those crushed under their feet. The idea that these spirits used fear to command their followers upset Rosco more than Ocyrin ever had. Ocyrin was selfish sure, but he’d never coerced anyone into his service. Rosco shivers, eyes wandering down from the daunting structure to the worshipers gathered at its feet.

The path to the doors remains clear, but every other inch of cobble stone holds mourning families, kneeling in reverent desperation. Others linger together in tight clusters, faces turned down, voices hushed, casting nervous glances. Some hold candles or small flowers, leaving little gifts along the temple’s outer walls. The sound of sobs echoing off every hard surface of which there are many. The air here is heavy under the weight of grief, so ladened by loss and pain it seems difficult to take a full breath.   

Rosco can’t handle crying people. Rosco can’t handle hurting people. Growing up in a place where suffering is a daily occurrence, the boy had learned to avert his eyes. But he’s far from home and his toxic coping skills and he feels every person’s sorrow more closely than a stranger has any right to. His hands tremble and his eyes water, unable to deal with any of this on his own. He turns, more on instinct than on purpose, reaching for Hayden, and the warm comfort the god gave so freely. Reassurance floods him the moment their hands brush, and he grips tighter, using Hayden as an anchor. Hayden doesn’t pull away, accepting the touch as if it’s natural, and Rosco is finally able to let out the breath he’d been holding. He looks up, but Hayden doesn’t really see him, looking past the boy to the scene laid out before them. His face holds no expression, to an outside observer he may have appeared bored, but Rosco has learned the god’s darkened eyes betray his true feelings.

“Stay here and speak with the people. Find out everything you can.” Hayden’s tone is soft, but his words are unmistakably a command, “I will go in and see what the mountain spirits have to say for themselves.” Onyx eyes finally flickering down to meet the boy’s. Chewing at his lips, Rosco nods. Talking to the people here is just about the last thing he wants to do, but this is the first job Hayden has actually seen fit to give him; and his need to please simply won’t allow him to turn the god down.

“Stay with him please, Tansy.”

The wildflower responds in their bell like voice, flying over to pat the god’s head before settling back on the boy’s shoulder.

Pulling apart their hands, Hayden heads into the mountain god’s temple.