It was the end of a day. Dad was counting his money upstairs. Drackio was sharpening the tools and putting them away. I was sweeping the floor, a pile of sawdust flying before the broom.
“So where are you from, anyway?” I asked as I cupped my hands and scooped the sawdust into a bin.
“I grew up in the Iron District,” said Drackio, not looking up from the saw he was working on.
“Really?” I said. “Have any siblings?”
“Three brothers,” he said.
“Oh? What are they like?”
“Well, the older two are jerks,” he said, looking over at me with a smile. “The younger one's the spoiled baby of the family.”
“Doesn't sound like you're that close,” I said, dropping my last handful of sawdust into the bin.
“Nah,” said Drackio. “What can you do.”
“I wish I had siblings,” I said. “Sometimes I get lonely around here with just me and my dad.”
Drackio put the saw away. “I get lonely too.”
“You don't have a bound one or anything?”
Drackio hesitated. “No,” he said, looking at the workbench. “No, I don't.”
“Hm,” I said, softly.
“What?”
“Nothing. Oh yeah,” I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out two silvers. “Dad gave me your pay. He's been really happy with your help; I wouldn't be surprised if you got a raise soon.”
“Thanks, Alleava,” said Drackio. “I'd better get home.” He accepted the money and went to the door. “Good night,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder.
“See you tomorrow,” I said. He went out. I waited a moment, then cracked the door open again.
Through the crack, I saw Drackio striding across the road and into Kia's bakery. After a little while, he came back out with a bottle of milk and a loaf of bread under his arm, with which he set off down the street. I watched him until he had disappeared around a column.
“Getting an eyeful?” grunted my dad behind me. I squealed and shut the door.