PROMPT

“Please don’t be scared of me. I’m not dangerous, I’m just big.”

Big and small, we’ll see it all

*WHACK!*

Zower’s fist collided hard with what he was sure was a jaw. He ducked the next boy’s punch and, with a quick jab, nailed him in the gut. The boy’s air was thrown from his lungs, and he crumpled. Good thing he aimed high…

He felt someone grab around his waist and attempt to lift him up. Fool. The older teen used his weight in his favor and threw his head back, sending him and the boy who attempted to grapple him to the ground. Because the boy wasn’t ready for it, he was disoriented, and his head collided harshly with the ground. He groaned in pain as Zower grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him just enough to be a few inches off of the ground.

“Stay down!” he growled. His attention turned to the other brawling boys, eyes focused on his friend and the reason for this midday spat - Birrant Spennek.

Birrant, in the meantime, focused all of his energy on the one boy who was about his size. They each had gripped the other’s shirt and were throwing one another around, trying to throw them off balance. The boy snarled and forced his hand up, clocking Birrant in the cheek. Birrant was sure he was going down when the eyes of the boy he was fighting widened. He let go and took several steps back in retreat as did the other boys who were nearby.

The one Zower nailed earlier forced himself to his feet and spat.

“This isn’t over Speck,” he said as he and his thug friends. Zower glared, his dark brown eyes practically boring holes into the boys’ backs.

“See you next time then, Fayne,” Zower growled.

He made sure the other boys were far down the road before turning to his friend, eyes softening slightly.

“I’d like to think you didn’t provoke them, but I swear you’ve made it a habit to run into those rats every chance you get,” stated Zower with a hint of sarcasm.

“You know I didn’t,” retorted Birrant as he reached up with his thumb and attempted to stanch the blood sluggishly leaking from his split lip. He looked up, practically craning his neck, to see Zower flash a sarcastic grin.

“Mmhmm,” hummed Zower suspiciously. He looked down at his knuckles and checked to make sure he wasn’t bleeding too bad before reaching into his side pouch and holding out a wad of herbs he collected earlier that day to his friend.

“Thanks,” muttered Birrant. “I swear I’ll hit my growth spurt one of these days. Let’s see them pick on me then.” Zower chuckled and grabbed his friend playfully around the neck, forcefully ruffling Birrant’s platinum blonde hair which had been smudged with mud and blood.

“Like that’ll happen,” teased the older teen.

“Hey!” Birrant struggled futilely. “Not fair! You’re basically an adult! You’re older and stronger.”

“Not really, and it doesn’t matter. You should be able to fight back at this point. I go for the same moves every time,” stated Zower as if he were bored. He released his friend after a few seconds and, for his actions, Zower received a comparatively weak punch to the side from his teenage friend.

“Manners,” muttered Birrant. It was something his mother always said when he was misbehaving and, naturally, he mirrored the behavior.

The two teens walked off to a nearby well with a running stream to tidy up.

This had been their pattern now for many moon cycles.

Birrant would get picked on and a fight would break out, Zower would come running out of nowhere, they’d fight off the thugs together, and then the two teens would go off and talk or hang out until Zower started feeling unwell and had to go rest back at his home. Birrant offered for Zower to come and rest at his home, but it was always turned down politely with some explanation or another and would depart, promising his friend he would return the next day and fight at his side. Even though the fights were becoming a less frequent occurrence, they still happened from time to time.

Though this wasn’t always how things were.

Birrant Spennek never really considered himself someone notable or special in any sense of the word. He didn’t understand why he was the center of torment for the older, bigger boys of his home in Wohl. Then again, it wasn’t like Birrant ever questioned their motives. He was slight of stature, the youngest boy in his age group, and had a memory like a steel trap.

Needless to say, he was singled out early on and dealt with torment for years from the same group of five boys.

It was because of the fights and the older boys picking on Birrant that the two boys became friends in the first place.

Birrant still remembered that day. He had just left the schoolhouse and knew immediately the boys were going to give chase. They did that often. They would wait in the alleys and shadows like they were hunting him before chasing him through their town streets and cornering him and beating him bloody.

He tried to outrun them and outwit them, but the odds were never in his favor with five against one. This particular day, Birrant had a plan to climb barrels to the safety of a roof, relying on his thin and dextrous muscles, but no such luck happened. The barrels were knocked out from under him and he crashed down to the ground, sure he was about to receive another beating when something - someone - stepped in.

Zower.

Zower had been in their town of Wohl for about a week at the time. He was skilled in herbs and wanted to live a solitary life after his family and possessions were taken and destroyed by the monsters and creatures in the mountains where he used to live. He barely escaped with his life and asked the town elders if he could simply live off in the woods with permission to enter the town to trade the supplies he harvested from the first.

Zower saw Birrant being surrounded and simply sprang into action, charging in and fighting off the other teens. If Birrant closed his eyes, he could still hear Zower’s battle cry as he came sprinting at his tormentors. The younger teen regretted not springing into action and helping his newfound friend the first fight they were in together, but he made every effort to participate and defend himself after.

When Birrant asked Zower why he stepped in, Zower had a direct and very simple response.

“Answer should be obvious. I hate bullies.”

It was all history from that point on. The two boys became fast friends. Despite the relative age gap of about three years, the two of them had a lot in common.

They had a love of things that grew like plants and herbs, woodland investigation, and wanted to travel and see the world. They both had a fascination for potions and for the arcane and magic in the world. They talked endlessly about how they would discover the secrets of the universes that swirled around them. The best place to do that was The Lyceum, a school for knowledge seekers across the world.

Though Birrant was the only one who could read between the two of them, Zower’s curiosity was insatiable. More often than not, their talk consisted of traveling to The Lyceum and learn everything they could before taking the world by storm.

Their talk was always just that though - talk.

Birrant was more than ready to take up stakes and travel, seeing the world with his friend, but Zower was a bit more hesitant. Birrant wasn’t one to pry, but he did ask once why Zower was reluctant to leave a town he hadn’t known all his life when Birrant was champing at the bit, ready to leave at the drop of a hat. Zower’s response still chilled Birrant.

“You don’t know what they’re like…”

Birrant knew exactly what - who - Zower was referring to.

In this land of the arcane blessed and potions and monstrous creatures that lurked in the shadows of the forest, there were other dangers - and not all of them were human. Though the town they lived in, Wohl, was just an average town that was nestled in the forest beyond the mountains, it was protected from many outside dangers.

One of those dangers were the giants – the Mendo.

The Mendo, for the most part, left towns and villages alone. Still, it didn’t stop the occasional rampage and slaughter of a roaming tribe.

Birrant didn’t need to ask Zower to put together that it was probably the giants that destroyed his family and his possessions, leaving him to live alone in the woods. So, when the subject of travel came up, Birrant was always left feeling slightly hollow. He wanted to travel with his friend, but he instead settled for the stories Zower told of his own travels before everything was taken from him.

So, as they tidied themselves up at the stream by the well, Birrant asked his friend about his travels. Zower had the best stories about all of the places he had been to. Nyfee. Enhuryn. The Pol Islands. Everywhere, something interesting happened which only fueled Birrant’s drive to travel far away even more.

“You are blessed by the Souls. Handpicked by them to live an exciting life,” moaned Birrant as he pulled up another bucket of well water to help clean out his wounds. Zower chuckled and reached up awkwardly to scratch his messy black hair which was now long enough to hang in his eyes.

“Hardly,” muttered Zower. “My family traded security for adventure.”

“But to see the dunes and smell the brine of the sea? That sounds so much better than scraping mud thumpers off of tree roots,” countered Birrant. “I mean, haven’t you ever wanted to go back and see all of these places?”

“Sometimes,” replied Zower as he folded his arms against his chest. “But I like it here. Of all the places I’ve gone to, I have probably liked this one the most.”

“Really? You can’t be serious,” said Birrant disbelievingly. “This place?”

“It’s quiet here. You don’t have to worry about a lot of things here. There’s plenty of hunting, fertile ground, and there is nothing like the forest at night.”

“You know where else is quiet? The Lyceum. We could travel across to the Ibry-ne, stop off by Caprice, and then we would be there!” said Birrant excitedly. Zower chuckled and shook his head.

“You know that is a four-moon ride by itself, right?”

“So? We’ll get horses and go.”

“And your parents?” prompted Zower. Birrant shot his friend a dirty look.

“I’d… come back… eventually…” he said quietly, knowing that his case was already at its end. Sometimes he could tease the conversation into a couple hour long debate, but today wasn’t one of those days.

“And leave them on their own?” asked Zower, his dark brown eyes proading Birrant into relative submission. Birrant sighed and shook his head as he finished cleaning the split in his lip.

“Well, if you ever want to go back out there, you let me know. Oh! That reminds me. Are we still going hunting for Peekem root?” asked Birrant, surrendering his argument in exchange for a new subject.

“Yeah, I think… ggaahh…” Zower suddenly doubled over, letting out a gasp of pain. His arms, which were casually folded across his chest, jolted and wrapped around his middle. His teeth were gritted to the point where Birrant could hear them grinding against one another.

He had never seen his friend like this and, instantly, his heart tripled in pace and adrenaline coursed through his body. He rushed forward and grabbed Zower’s shoulders, panicking as he realized that if Zower fell forward there was no way he could catch his falling friend.

“Zower? Zower! You okay? What’s wrong?” Beads of sweat were forming on Zower’s temple. His breath shuddered in his chest. His entire body was shaking. The color in his cheeks drained as his body raged like an inferno. After nearly thirty seconds, Zower’s breathing regulated. His pulse started to slow, but he was still shaking.

“I’m okay. I’m just… not feeling well. I’m sorry. I just… need to go home. Here. I’ll walk you back,” said Zower.

“You kidding? I’m making sure you get back,” insisted Birrant, which made Zower reach out and grip his friend’s shoulders. “Come on.”

“Birrant, maybe it’s better if you… hngg… just… stay here. I swear, I’m fine. Get home safe and I’ll see you tonight,” insisted Zower. Before Birrant could argue, Zower stood at his full height, making him tilt his head back to catch the worried expression on Zower’s face, and took off running, sprinting, toward the edge of town by the forest.