Faithful Pebble
Part One Hundred and Six
The wanderer watched him a moment, the boy, the pickpocket, that small little kitten.
Then…
Slowly…
He shook his head.
The boy didn't answer. He sighed a little and his countenance dropped, but he didn't speak. Even as young as he was, even as immature, he knew. He didn't need to admit that he understood why. Still, he didn't like it. It wasn't what he'd imagined, the boy. The child wanted to meet her, to become fast friends with her, to show her off to the rest of the village. Those dreams slowly faded as reality hastily took root, growing up and out, rising well beyond his reach.
The child looked up at the wanderer. From his place on the ground, the cold morning air seeped into the frailty of his bones. The grey blanket was quickly becoming a bona fide god send. It sat heavily about his shoulders warm and perfect reminding him of those expensive ones, those imported ones he'd often plunder off of his mother's bed. He loved those. The child pulled the blanket tighter as he watched the wanderer quietly re-pocket Pebble's diamond necklace. "I'll watch her for you," he agreed, "but what do I do if something happens?"
At this, the wanderer paused. He tilted his head. At this, he paused and reached into his bag. Brown and stout and strong deft fingers searched and sank before they pulled out something shiny, something vaguely small out of its depths. It looked like a whistle, a small and rusty cylinder with a dozen or so holes roughly punctured into the curve on one side. It was made of cheap tin and probably hadn't been polished since its original minting. Still, the boy's eyes widened. Still, he calculated.
"This," the wanderer whispered conspiringly, "is a magic whistle."
The boy gleamed.
"With one blow, anyone who plays this pipe will play it perfectly every time. If something goes wrong, play it and I will hear you. I'll come running just as fast as tomorrow the dawn. This I promise you."
Completely charmed, the boy drew his hand out to grab it. Then, immediately, the wanderer whisked the whistle from his fingers. The boy pouted.
"This is not a toy," the wanderer said, stated flatly. His eyebrows floated into his hair line.
The boy nodded.
"It is very old and very valuable," the wanderer warned.
"I know," the boy answered.
"And! It should only be used for emergencies. Do you understand me?"
The boy scowled.
The wanderer's eyebrows hefted as high as they could get. He tilted his head, at which the boy frantically nodded. "I promise," the child repeated.
"And?" the wanderer pushed.
"I will watch her," the boy grumbled. "And! Only use the whistle for emergencies."
The boy pouted, pouted only until the magical item was slipped happily into his itching fingers. He looked down at it with something a kin to pure greed. Then he hid it, deftly, quickly.
The wanderer smiled having a hard time keeping up with the movements. He had no clue which pocket the boy had stashed it. The boy grinned, then frowned as the man started to walk away. Once more, the wanderer's bag was slung across broad sturdy shoulders. It swayed gently with his steps, left, right, then left again. It was the last thing the boy saw slip silently into the forest.
- Calla