#|| childhood

[lebratprincess]

[ostianshadow]

🐣

11 years (or something close to that)

A noble turned street rat. A life much removed from the one he’d once known. Thieving was rarely so profitable as to make up for the spoiled, pampered life he’d been made to leave behind. Most days, though, Matthew didn’t mind. Most days he made do, and he had always cared little for extravagance besides. Most days his hands were deft, his feet nimble, his person akin to a wraith ghosting the streets. He caught coins and tidbits of information alike, no sweat.

Save that today, he’d forgotten himself. He’d gotten clumsy whilst he flitted from shadow to shadow. He’d picked the wrong target. Said target was now animatedly telling him so in none too gentle a tone - curiously, however, aside from catching Matthew in the act and dragging him aside, surprisingly little violence featured in the red head’s actions.

The boy almost wished the opposite. This ear lashing was positively dreadful, too much to bear. Yes, he had messed up, had missed his step. Yes, he would return what he’d pilfered - here’s your lame knife and lame money pouch, weren’t worth much anyway. And no, last but not least, he was not going to ‘change his tune,’ wasn’t going to give up what he did best.

The man didn’t seem to be particularly advocating for that last bit, though, which came as a welcome surprise. But then, with a frustrated mutter, the sniper whirled on Matthew and with no warning flicked him in the forehead. The youngster viciously recoiled, wrinkled his nose, and showed his teeth in obvious disdain as he bitterly massaged his head.

“And don’t be so sloppy, next time. You’ll lose a hand, or worse.”

The advice caught the young thief off guard, but only for a spot. His pride wounded, he bristled and, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest, he pointedly looked away.

“You won’t know it happened next time,” Matthew promised, mouth teased into a premature version of the trademark smirk he’d often be seen wearing down the road.

[[ I only got the one of these 🐣asks and got suddenly inspired upon finishing it to do another sooo… you get two, haha. under the cut.]]

8 years (…ish)

Nervously tugging at his collar - uncomfortable, stiff, annoying thing that it was - little Matthew stayed half hidden behind his mother, poking his face around her side just enough to see that his brothers were both still lying in wait. He retreated with all haste… albeit in vain, he soon learned as his mother pushed him forward.

Toward those damn vultures.

“Go play,” she coaxed.

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t wanna.” He glanced over his shoulder at his brothers. The one was rather amicable, a bit of a pushover, really. The other, the eldest, was a bully and a backstabber. A tattletale. The worst. “Don’t see why I ought,” Matthew elaborated, as though that would help things.

It didn’t.

Which was why he was standing here now, loudly counting as his brothers ran to hide. They’d wait for him to come find them… but he wouldn’t. The eldest would tell on him, inevitably, but that was a problem for the future. The boy was, at present, more preoccupied with a strangely shimmering arch of stone.

Had that always been there? He didn’t think so. He’d wandered these woods more times than he could count. Curiosity his better, he stepped through, hand leaving a light imprint on the stone as he went. The air on the other side tasted similar and yet distinctly different but otherwise everything appeared unchanged… everything save for the lone individual curled up at the base of a tree. He was working on something - an arrow?

Eyes narrowed with no small amount of suspicion, Matthew ventured forth. “You’re on our land,” he reproached, sounding very sure of himself - though in truth doubt niggled at the back of his mind, and he was no longer very sure at all. The man’s clothes were utterly foreign. Green… was he from Sacae? Where, then, was his horse? No matter. “Have you tribute to pay?”

He was pretty sure it didn’t quite work that way, but whatever. He was hungry, and so he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to wheedle something out of this guy. Maybe he’d even make his father proud - the man was the very definition of ‘opportunistic,’ after all. Still, somehow, Matthew doubted he would care.