The veterian(t)arian is useful for repairs too

Ingrid Erikdottir; year 1032 Ab Teoria Magica; Hamlet-nested-between-mountains-and-river;

Nine out of ten parts.

Well, more like nine hundred and four parts per thousands, if my eyes weren’t betraying me.

That’s how much it’s missing from this window’s glass.

“Grandma, this is how much we have right now. Either you remake them, or they will have a lot of holes.” I shouted.

While for four of the houses it had been easy, having been covered from the explosion by the common house, and so the windows having just cracked, others didn’t share the same luck.

And the common house was the worst one, being on the side from which the explosion was closest.

“Little rock, creating something is harder than just restoring it to a previous state, and there are still forty windows remaining. Either we dust off the old carpets to put on the window, or we will need to remake them from scratch, which considering the upcoming taxes would just put us on some heat.”

I winced at the wise, and somewhat sour, words from grandma, who was staring at the small hill of glass with a focused look.

It was better to make them think we were just good at our work, and so having some small luxuries.

“Vic? Any idea? Maybe the spirits would be willing to do this work.” I turned towards the Druid, who had just finished his own work with one of the easier sets.

He immediately shook his head, and pondered, rubbing his beard all the while: “Maybe, but the brats are usually…”

Then he winced suddenly, his eyes scrunching up like in sudden pain.

Ah, they were speaking one over the other.

“They say they could redo them fast, but it would cost somewhat. And I don’t think that using all the honey they ask for will go over well with Grandpa, not when he wants to do the mead.” he muttered, rubbing his eyes and exhaling through the nose.

This time I was the one who winced at that.

So, the problem could not be solved by remaking them.

I looked around, the smaller shards of glass being thrown around, their multiple colour being as small as…

Maybe…

“Oi Vic, can you speak to ants?” I asked, turning towards him and making very much attention to not step over the glass.

Or any surface, I am sure there were some shards on the tables. And probably on the clothing as well.

Hopefully the others didn’t already clean the clothes, or the shards didn’t…

Well, cross the bridge later.

“Hmmm. No, ants use…smells to speak.” He made a small pause, probably because it was a far more complex word that I didn’t have context to understand, so I just let him go on: “But it won’t hurt to try? Grandma, do you know anything?” He turned towards Grandma, who chuckled a tad, and shrugged lightly, her smile amused while speaking: “Young druid, you ask me of things I don’t know, which you probably are far more prepared for than myself. If it doesn’t work, we will just use honey, and hubbie will have to not drink mead but beer this winter.”

Well, at least we had a secondary plan to go to.

Vic shrugged, mirroring the action I probably did, and went to take the loaf astrid made, and broke it in half.

Then, mustering his best commanding voice, he demanded, somewhat, while rising the bread high: “Oh ants, I offer you bread in exchange of crystals of glass, broken from this building! For each shard you find and put in the pile, you will be given a crumb of the same size!”

One beat.

Two beats.

That was for how long I could hold out my laughter, before I let out something between a wheeze and the bellow Thorin uses.

Then it was full blown laughter, intertwined with words like “Dunce” and “Idiot” and “Poser”.

He remained in that pose but, while holding my stomach, I could see his ears becoming redder and redder.

Oh, and Grandma was smiling wide too! Truly, a sight that my descendants will speak off for centuries!

Then I saw something small moving, through the cracks of the door.

Then two small things.

It was four, six.

Uh.

I was the one who saw them first, my eyes being that good, but then Grandma noticed them too.

Vic was the last one to look down at the tens of ants that started going around, going through cracks.

Then one climbed the hill of glass shards with something small in its mouth, a red shard.

It waited patiently.

“Vic.” I spoke up, unsure but awed: “I think this little one wants to be paid.”

“Uh. So she does.” he tilts his head and, taking a crumb between his nails, he gave it to the small insect, who dropped the shard and started to chitter and move out.

Then two more ants joined, with yellow and pale shards, over the pile, waiting for their food.

Then it became four, then eight, then many more.

Ninety and one parts, ninety and two parts, ninety and three parts, ninetyfour…

All being brought by hundreds of ants, all being rewarded with bread crumbs.

In the meanwhile all I could think was how scary it would be if he had asked for spiders, those small critters that had the bad habit of lowering themselves on my head while I slept, or while I waited for a deer to get into position.

I shuddered at the thought of a river of spiders reaching for me, all hairy and black, while keeping sight of the rising hill of shards of coloured glass.

Then the hundreds of ants became tens, and tens twenty, and twenty became two.

“Nine hundred and sixty parts of a thousand.” I said, my eyes giving me the outlook of how the window would be back.

There would be some weaker parts, some parts slightly thinner, but…

“I can work with that, druid boy.” Grandma spoke up, her tone almost amazed and her blue eyes watching with rapt attention to the small animals moving outside, the bread having been all given.

“Oi, Grandma, the spirits can repair them. They may be…somewhat sad that they can’t get a lot of honey, but I think we can work with a cup, no?” Vic asked, now down to half a loaf, immediately turned towards Grandma, concern open in his face.

Grandma tapped her cane on the ground, and her blue eyes focused on Vic, who didn’t back off but, while crossing his arms, continued: “I know the difference between asking the spirits and doing it directly, but-”

“I do have my pride, boy. Now let me do the work, it will be as easy as making a pie.” Grandma simply pushed aside the concern and pointed the heap of glass on the floor.

A quick mutter and the staff lighted up in a suffuse orange and green, and the glass started to melt, or rather reform.

When the glass was almost reformed, the green light became more prominent and, like the wind itself had hands, it started to fly towards the windows they were in.

“Now,” Grandma, who on the outside almost didn’t seem winded, almost: “be dears and call Erik, he should have the mortar ready.”

We didn’t let ourself need to hear that twice, not out of fear for ourselves.

The “almost” was not a good thing, above all when only doing a light show had taken the breath out of her.