Yeanda passed three towns over four days, avoiding each by hiking through the surrounding woods. On the fifth day, her food supply ran low and she stopped at a small village with a general store and a sheriff’s shack. Not many people wandered through the town center, and Yeanda felt it was relatively safe to visit. She ordered traveling supplies from the storekeeper. He did not seem too surprised at seeing a lone woman traveling the roads, or at least he did not ask any questions, which was what Yeanda was worried about. Yeanda resisted the urge to peak into his future and kept her hat low over her eyes. With all her powers, she had been unable to improve the lives of the villagers that she had spent the most time with. Meddling now, even in a place she planned to spend only a night in, seemed dangerous to her.

“Where are you traveling?” a stranger said. His voice was self-assured and his looks haggard but appealing. Yeanda had not been with a man in many years, and although she knew she was no longer in her prime, she still had desires. Like most of the men in this part of the world, he was shorter than Yeanda, his head coming up to beneath her chin. But, unlike many men she met in these parts, he did not seem the least bit intimidated by the difference in height. If anything, he appeared to take the height difference as more of a challenge, as if however much shorter he was than her, he could use other wiles to make up the difference.

“I’m traveling north for now. Maybe I’ll go east in a few weeks, but the future’s lips are sealed from silly old woman like me?” Yeanda’s speech dropped into her oracle cadence, as she checked each word for accuracy and its affect on her listener. She had no intention of traveling north and she did not want her pursuers to have an easy trail to find her. Besides, she had become so used to being careful what she said and how she said it, that she was not sure she could speak in any other manner.

“I’ve seen many silly old women in my days, and I would not count you as either silly or old,” the stranger said. Yeanda studied the man closer. Although short, he carried a weight of authority on his broad shoulders. His face sparkled with mischief, as a child learning about the ways of adults but taking advantage of his youth to poke fun at the grown-ups might. He smoked a long pipe while they spoke, puffing smoke with each word that he spoke, which he did in a fast cadence, as if, unlike Yeanda and her careful speech, he did not think of the words that he spoke before they tumbled from his tongue.

“Will you stay a few days? We could always use a wise woman in the village. Many women are nearing their term and our elderly have seen better summers,” the man said.

Yeanda’s spirits dropped. Her gypsy outfit reminded too many people in these parts of wise women. She had hoped to avoid the label, to go about her travels in relative obscurity, but now that someone had asked, she knew she would not turn down their request. She had many skills that would be useful to this village that would not require her to soothsay. The man charmed her more to have use of her skills than out of any desire for her. Her hopes had been raised for nothing and now she felt stupid for thinking it could be any other way. It was the way of the world, she knew. The young did not know what they desired, and the old were too advanced to have the options they did as youths.

“My name is Tomlin, and I watch over the people in this town,” Tomlin said, puffing out each word, his head appearing in a cloud of smoke. His chest expanded with the statement. He was a proud man and felt like he had accomplished much in this village. They all did these villagers. They did not realize how large the world outside of their towns really was. If they did, they would not walk around so proudly or spend so much time on the politics of their villages.

“You are the mayor of this town?” Yeanda said.

“Not exactly; my role is a bit different, as is this town. When you stay with us, you will see. I am very proud of everything my people have been able to accomplish over the last few years,” Tomlin said. He motioned for the storekeeper to join them in their conversation. The storekeeper, a timid fellow with auburn skin, a yellowed mustache and a slight limp in his right leg, walked over still carrying the hay broom he used to sweep the store.

“Then I look forward to visiting with your town. I ask only shelter and food in payment for my services,” Yeanda said. After accepting, she felt the gears click into place in her mind, and she realized that before entering the village, the outcome was already decided. She would remain her for the time being because there was either something she must do in the village, or, as had been the case more and more, there was something that would happen to her.

“I would not hear of it. You will have your food and shelter, as well as enough gold to see you on your way when you are ready to leave. I hope that you will grow to enjoy your time here and see the beauty that I find in these people. This good man is Storied-Knee, a native to these parts. He will lead you to your shelter and ensure that you have hot meals and adequate medical supplies. Do not hesitate to call on him for any of your needs,” Tomlin said. Storied-knee bowed his head in agreement and waited for Yeanda.

Yeanda watched Tomlin talk with apprehension. There was something not right about the man and she opened her mind to him, but saw nothing. He was involved in her future somehow, and her involvement clouded her vision. Yeanda did not always trust her non-augmented judgment. She knew, as a judge of people, she was fair at best. She had relied on her visions for too long and forgotten the simpler skills, or perhaps never learned them. She looked longingly down the road. Uncertainty scared her more than anything. If she walked down the road, she would be able to see into his heart, but she knew she would not. Her decision had already been made before she had tried to know him. If she had been destined to walk down the path, her vision would have parted.

“Very well, master Tomlin. I thank you for your kindness. My journey has been a long one for many long weeks have I traveled on the road. I am need of a warm bed and a hot meal. If it is possible in a village like this, I would also enjoy a soaking upon my waking. Storied-Knee, if you would do me the privilege of leading me to my room, I would be in your debt,” Yeanda said, resigned to her uncertain future, but taking on her commanding presence that allowed her to provide her people with the best care and advice she could muster.

Lenny returned to work on Monday in better spirits than since before his aunt had become sick. His headaches had cleared up and he stopped questioning his sudden good fortune. He wore the pink sweater again, and his head stayed clear. Samantha did not ask about the sweater this morning, and he did not bring up the subject. She was sure that the sweater had some emotional connection to his well-being. He had not been able to tell her yesterday that it was something more, something he did not understand and if she probed, he could not have explained. For now, that it cleared his head and provided him with a sense of well-being was enough to continue wearing it. He still thought it looked ridiculous on him, but after trying on all of his coats from his closet, he had not been able to locate something that did not look as ridiculous. The sweater looked almost orange in the morning. He was beginning to appreciate that the sweater’s colors changed. It was a most unusual fabric.

The thirty minute drive to work went by quicker than usual. Lenny sang loudly to the songs on the radio, screaming above the roaring wind that swirled between the open windows and sunroof. After work, Lenny planned to stop by the hospital to visit his aunt. His mother told him that she was improved, still very weak but able to recognize visitors. He worried for her and his mother. His mother took her sister’s failing health hard. His aunt was seven years his mother’s senior and had raised her when their parents took second and third jobs to support their growing family.

Lenny arrived to find a pile of correspondences on his desk. His clients had not been happy with his absence, and a number of the letters from the various clients were not kind. His clients were demanding, and with his forced absence, he missed a few deadlines, and his clients were for the most part, very busy people who took their contracts and business seriously. His message light blinked and Lenny spent the next twenty minutes listening to the various messages, jotting down notes and numbers that he would have to return before he left for the day. The messages and letters were no worse than he expected. Although he drafted and sent out a letter to all his clients before taking his leave, he knew that the excuse letter would not satisfy them. In his normal course of business, his clients were demanding people who expected everyone who worked for them to answer to each and every whim. Lenny rarely disappointed his clients, but he knew even one lapse would cost him business.

Charlie, an associate that started work at his firm a year ago, knocked on his office door and let himself into the room. “It’s good to have you back, Lenny. I was beginning to worry about you,” Charlie said. Charlie sat down on the black vinyl chair that stood across from Lenny’s glass-top desk.

Lenny doubted that Charlie had missed him. Charlie was a young, talented illustrator, but he was also a blatant kiss ass and someone that Lenny did not trust as an associate or a person. Lenny was sure that Charlie was searching for an angle in Lenny’s absence, some way to take advantage of his scarred relationship with his clients. In the commercial artists’ world, the artist was only as good as his last piece of work, and the associates apprenticed with successful artists until they built up enough of a portfolio to steal enough clients to hang their own shingle. It was not a bad business model, since Lenny himself had worked with his former mentor before appropriating some of his clients. Although, Lenny knew, he had taken the clients with his mentor’s full blessing, having waited until he was ready for the lighter workload. Lenny did not think Charlie would be so kind in his methods.

“It’s good to see you, Charlie. I hope they didn’t have you doing too much to cover for me. As I’m sure you’ve heard, it’s been a rough few weeks for me,” Lenny said.

“I heard about your aunt. I’m sorry about that. Pressure’s a terrible thing sometimes. You never know how you will handle it until the cooker heats up. But I am glad that you have rebounded back. And the sweater is a good touch. You always taught me to look my best at client meetings. I’m glad you not only give advice, but take it yourself as well.

“The clients were beginning to ask uncomfortable questions about your absence, and I was running out of answers. It’s good that you returned when you did. I set up three meetings for this afternoon. I’m sure you’ll be able to explain better than I could your missed deadlines,” Charlie said.

Lenny laughed louder than he expected. Over the last two years that Charlie had worked for the firm, Lenny began to think that Charlie was dangerous. In a small firm, like Lenny and what’s-his-name started, it was relatively easy to lose control. The firm’s success depended on pleasing his clients and grooming new talent to find additional clients. Charlie was definitely a talent, his skill with ink surpassed Lenny’s and what’s-his-name’s. What he lacked, and it was a serious problem, was an ability to relate to his clients. For all his skill with a pen, his naked ambition and inability to question a client’s request made him not so much dangerous as a liability to the firm. Up until his current exchange with Charlie, Lenny never knew him for what he was. Now that he understood him, the only thing he could do was laugh.

Charlie turned red as Lenny laughed. “You wouldn’t be laughing if you heard what they were calling you. I will see you this afternoon when they visit,” Charlie said.

Lenny continued to laugh and waved his hand for Charlie to leave. Charlie left, slamming Lenny’s office door behind him. Charlie was young and skilled, but he had a difficult time growing up, Lenny saw. He was short most of his life and never learned to compensate for his lack of height with humor or a thick-skin. Every insult any boy in the schoolyard gave him, he kept inside him, heating up and eating him from the inside out. He would harbor these feelings until he could bring his revenge upon the boys. His revenge was a petty thing: usually he would snitch on a boy to the teachers or set up a fight between him and a bully with some dropped hints. What Charlie never learned, Lenny saw sadly, was that friends could help him get over some of his weaknesses. Lenny saw Charlie’s sad past. He did not know what he planned for the client meetings, but he did not care. Charlie had watched him deal with his clients for long enough to know that he was not a risk to take any of them. Now that he understood his past, watching Charlie’s sad life flash through his head, from the mother who abandoned him to the schools that taught him the skill to do great things, there was one constant in Charlie’s life. He never appreciated what was given to him, and for however much he schemed, in the end, he never successfully took advantage of his spoils. Laughing, Lenny buzzed what’s-his-name to discuss damage control with his clients.

Word count: 2,506

Words Left: 34,365

Caffeination: Tall mocha

Feeling: I was a little sick this afternoon and I didn’t think I’d finish my goal for the day. After falling asleep, I woke up at 1 am with enough energy to get my computer and pound out more words. While it’s technically Monday, I’m not a stickler for rules.