Author's note: I'm going to try a moralizing story this time, with no prologue, much like the original Aesop's Fables. Please comment on which type of story, legend or moralistic, you prefer, and I'll keep on the series that way.
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There once lived a farmer by the name of Cathic. His farm lay on the western slope of Canernon, the fire-mountain of the eastern shores far from any town, so he was used to making or growing anything he needed.
One day, however, there came news of a new invention; a scythe widely believed to be able to cut any grass-related crops such as the endules growing mainly on his farm. Unable to get hold of a prototype to copy, Cathic decided to go down to the town for the first time in seven years to get himself such a tool.
Being as the lazy farmer he was, his pack was light; most of the weight made up of the dried fruits and water leaf-bags. Once the preparations were done, he started the long trek going down the valley, through the small desert, past the river, and into town.
At first, all went well according to plan. Venders passed him on the road, offering "necessities" such as extra water, food, and walking shoes. Well, for the moment, Cathic's shoes were whole and supple, seemingly able to carry him all the way there. And so Cathic didn't take the chance to replace his walking shoes when he could have.
Quite some time after he'd seen the last seller, Cathic's shoes, so accustomed to walking only the small, soft-soiled farm, began to give out on the hard path they were placed on. When night approached, the shoes have now become no more than rags wrapped loosely around his aching and bleeding feet.
The next morning, Cathic found himself at the start of the desert; an oasis to his torn feet when carts led by remnules were being rented out nearby. Passing the well, for his half-full water bags were substantially filled, he walked past it all and talked with the renter. Finding some extra change in his pockets, Cathic borrowed a cart and went on his way.
The day was still new when thirst wrought its steely grip around Cathic's neck. Trying to wait it out, he finally gave in and drank. This happened quite a few times until, late in the afternoon, his water supply ran out. Cathic was forced to stay his thirst through the night.
His next morning was a relief because the end of the desert was there. Going to the twin cart rental, he returned the remnule cart and raced down to the clear, sweet waters of the Nevana River. Drinking his fill, Cathic filled half his water bags (for the weight was tormenting) and tried to seek out the place to borrow a boat.
The shore was riddled with food merchants selling various appetizers, snacks, and full meals, none of which tempted Cathic since last time he peeked inside his pack, the various dried fruits were still in plentiful supply. In a short time, he found a sign reading "Boats to rent" and joined the queue outside of the tent. Soon, he slowly gentled a small rowboat into the water, getting into it himself. The trip will be easy, he thought, since the boats row and steer themselves downstream nonstop for an entire day right into town.
The waves gently bounced him up and down the seat, making the scant remnants of breakfast leap around uncomfortably. And when he gets irritated, he eats. It was too late to realize a half hour later that his bag was empty of his dinner. Cathic now kept his hunger from rearing with small sips of water, knowing that if he drank too much, the amount of liquid waste he would produce would overflow the chamber pot with him; and he had no desire to go into town smelling so foul.
Hunger closed itself when he came onto shore the next morning, temporarily easing its pain with the fruit of amazement. So much has changed since those seven years ago that he hardly believed that it was the same town by the river. But as minutes rolled by, the pangs returned to his stomach, making him rush over to the nearest vendor selling anything edible.
Smarter than last time, now Cathic stocked up on food and a new pair of walking shoes, later walking down to the river to refill the leaf-bags. Last of all the jobs were to go down to the square and see the scythe that caused all the trouble for him the last three days. The crowd once again gathered for the demonstration taking place in the mid-afternoon, Cathic squeezing through to the front.
The scythe causing all the uproar was of a strong wood, blade of a silvery, shiny metal, capped with a length of wood connecting it to the handle. The entire thing would have, magical or not, made Cathic's day any time, anywhere. After a few showings in which multiple types of grasses were sliced like a hot knife through butter, the sellers began taking money and giving out the shining devices in return.
Pulling out his purse, Cathic was about to slap his money down on the table when something felt wrong. His hand, on withdrawing his coins, came out half as full as he needed. Confused, Cathic wriggled out of the crowd to count how much exactly he had on him. He needed four brasses, but time and time again, only came out with two.
Not believing in what he saw, Cathic sat there in the dust, surrounded by new owners of the long magical blades. Coarse tears trickled down his face. He picked up the moneybag thrown angrily at the ground and placed his handful of coins back in. Tying it back onto his belt, Cathic trundled towards the upriver carts as the sun set on his back, making the scene truly peaceful to the now-wiser farmer.
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Vocabulary:
-Fire-mountain (Para. 1): Volcano
-Endules (Para. 2): A kind of grain
-Remnules (Para. 6): A horse-like creature with thick, flat feet able to cross deserts easily, but slowly.
-Brasses (Para. 14): About equivalent to fifteen US dollars each