Her color is pink. The color of distillates as they dripped down the philters and settled in to the melting wax. She dreamed of something more. She dreamed of something full of life and living and breathing, pulsing with its own will and breath. She dreamed of creating from nothing and found that it was possible with her own two hands. It’s the stain on her fingers from the boiled ingredients splashing with every pour. She just needed better equipment and better funding. Her color is pink because it is the color of victus; life.
His color is copper. It’s gun metal and smoke, the taste of sulfur and fire. It’s the sunsets over the far horizon before going in to a warm hearth with a pot on the kettle. A thick husky voice raw from years of screaming and service, but warm and polished soft with something that he claims isn’t love. It’s the color of his cape- the one later stained with guilt and grief. His color is copper because there’s blood mixed in with his gunpowder, brown and dried.
Her color is green, like a new leaf. It’s the blooming bud of a new sapling, the promise of a new life filled with struggle and reward. It’s her dreams of a family tree not smothered under the boughs of a dark history and tradition. Smiles of warmth and sunshine help the sapling grow in to a strong willow that snaps when the forest around it tries to choke it out. Her color is new green because she is blooming in the tree tops, looking for a brighter tomorrow despite crooked roots in the dirt below.
Her color is light blue. It’s a stark contrast to the blood red of her blade. It’s the soft shadow under her horns, and of the bruising and blush on her skin. It’s the glint of fresh snow, still soft under the sun. It’s the banners of Rimefjell college and frost hall’s outpost. It’s nonabrasive and gentle, it’swell worn books, once navy and azure faded with time and use- pages flipped a thousand times before being flipped again. Her color is light blue because it is the shroud her best friend was buried in.
His color is white. It’s the white strike of metal as it scrapes over the stone. It’s the drifting of clouds over an endless sky. It’s his hide, even when it’s smudged with soot or coal. White is the blind rage and the searing vigor behind the slash of his blade. It’s the sparks of frost off of the blade as it digs in to flesh and the rend of wounds seconds before the blood starts to gush and stain. His color is white because it is the color of lightning as it strikes around his fury.
Her color is red. It’s a bright crimson like a toadstool or redcap. It’s the soft hint of lips and a gentle kiss by the flickering fireside out on the trade road. It’s the canvas of their cart, posted up with small banners to announce their arrival. It’s her love’s blood weeping from sores, and the uniform of the guards as they’re separated. It’s the color of her anger, and of the injustice that separates them. Her color is red because it’s the color of vengeance and resolve.
They were eating lunch when someone knocked on a pole holding up their tent. This wasn’t unusual—people seemed to come at all hours of the day, even in the night. Her parents glanced up and immediately looked to Saffine.
“You should answer it,” her mother said.
“You need to get used to talking to customers,” her father said.
“I know, I know,” Saffine said. Her family had decided that she’d spent enough time fletching arrows, and it was her turn to sell them. It would be her business one day, after all. They always liked to remind her of that.
“We’re here if you have any questions,” her father added as she left the table.
She could hear voices as she approached the door. That, and horses impatiently idling as their carriages stopped. They sounded like part of a caravan. She knew their customers better than her parents realized.
She pulled open the flap of their tent to an elf leaning against one of the poles framing the entrance. Her attention was faced toward her wagon; a couple of her cohorts were clearly screwing around.
“Hey! You two! You break anything, you’re paying for it!” The workers immediately stiffened at the sound of her voice.
“Sorry, Faylen!” one of them yelled back as they returned to their places.
The elf Faylen shook her head as she turned back to Saffine. “Sorry about that. You the fletcher?” She wore the same shallow smile that every merchant owned, but the longer she studied Saffine’s face, something tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“That’s us. What do you need?”
“One of my clients wants a large shipment of arrows. Unusually large, but I didn’t ask questions.”
“How large do you mean?” Saffine asked, slowly articulating her words.
“I mean one thousand arrows. Can you do that for us?”
Saffine froze. They had about 700 in stock. It was a couple hundred more than usual, and they only had that because her mother couldn’t sleep the night before.
“We can have that many by tonight.” The words came by themselves. Maybe 300 arrows wouldn’t be that hard to make by dinner, but she’d use up their entire stock.
“Wonderful.” Faylen grinned. “And—what is your name, fletcher?”
“Saffine,” she responded.
“Faylen.” She held out her hand to shake. “The boys and I can’t be back until this time tomorrow. You’ll have to wait for us. You will wait for us, won’t you, Saffine?”
Saffine took her hand. She’d never felt such a firm grip.
“It’s a deal.”
The sun rose to the apex of the sky, and Saffine’s hands were blistered. After convincing her parents to entertain the elven merchant, she’d worked half the night away. They were still low on inventory, but they figured they’d manage for a few days.
Like clockwork, there was a familiar knock at their tent. Saffine pulled back the tarp to see Faylen grinning with a sack of gold grasped in her hand.
“Fletcher, you waited.”
“So she did come,” Saffine’s mother muttered in the back.
“With a thousand arrows waiting,” Saffine said, ignoring her.
“Perfect.” Faylen brushed a lock of her hair back, which caught the light of the sun. Saffine swallowed. It glowed like fire in the noon sun, and she couldn’t take her eyes off of it.
“Saffine.” Laughter touched Faylen’s voice. “Show us where to pick them up.”
“Right, right,” Saffine nodded. “Follow me.” She waved Faylen forward, and Faylen nodded toward the men from earlier. They followed Saffine to dozens of bundles of arrows stacked in a corner. While the caravan workers started to haul them to their wagon, Faylen turned to Saffine.
“This should be sufficient for the arrows, and extra for the rush order.”
Saffine shook her head. The bag seemed heavier than the standard price—which had turned out to be only 50 gold.
“That shouldn’t be necessary.”
“No, I insist. I feel guilty I made such a pretty woman work so hard on my behalf.”
“Excuse me?” Saffine could feel the blood rush to her face.
“It should reimburse you for your supplies. Besides, we’re always able to jack up the prices on bulk purchases like this. The rich never know how much these things are supposed to cost, so we might as well give a little more to their suppliers.”
“...Thank you.”
“I’d stay longer, but we have to get on the road. The rest of Glint waits. But I’ll be back in a few weeks for more arrows. You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”
Saffine glanced down as a smile made its way to her lips. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”
“Perfect.” Faylen winked at her. “Farewell, Saffine.”
The next few weeks went by as a crawl. Saffine’s mother insisted on manning their store, not humored by her risky transaction. She was left with two choices: practice fletching, or wander the streets under the guise of networking.
She was starting to get tired of making arrows.
The streets of Star Camp were lined with colors. There were textiles of every type in every shade one could imagine. It was overwhelming to most, but those who lived there got used to the roar of color. In fact, Saffine couldn’t seem to focus on the rainbows that blurred in the corner of her eyes. She couldn’t focus on much of anything lately.
She was chatting idly with an old family friend when a voice rang out above the buzz of the marketplace.
“Fletcher!”
Saffine turned. As she did, a blinding flash of red caught her eye. She barely recognized Faylen without her wagon behind her, but it was her. Alone and on foot with that same grin shining on her face.
“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” she greeted Saffine, ignoring the merchant beside her.
“I decided to go for a walk,” Saffine responded.
“What a perfect coincidence.” Faylen lowered her voice. “I need to get away from the caravan for a while. They’re driving me crazy. Do you know a place?”
“I think I do,” Saffine said.
It took some time for them to weave their way out of the maze of the camp. Faylen followed Saffine close—it was only way she could keep up. The tents that framed the city slowly thinned out until they reached the outskirts. Buildings were replaced with trees and the colors of the market transitioned into the green of nature.
“Are we nearly there?” Faylen asked, a hint of uncertainty in her normally confident voice.
“Almost.” Saffine started to stray into the grass. As they passed the final buildings, Faylen could see their destination. Surrounding Star Camp, farther out than the roads allowed, were endless acres of wildflowers.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the fields. Saffine stopped in a stretch of small, purple flowers.
“I come here when I need to get away from the city,” Saffine said.
“It’s beautiful,” Faylen said. Her eyes darted along the spectrum of flowers, which reflected in her brown eyes. Her deep, brown eyes. Saffine had to force herself to focus on the flowers. It was close to harvest, and they’d be thinned out before long. She had to enjoy them while they were here.
Faylen sat down cross-legged. Saffine sat beside her, hugging her legs close to her. The two of them said nothing for a long time as they took in the view.
“You’re lucky to live here,” Faylen finally said, and she looked to Saffine.
“I suppose.” Saffine paused. “Although you get used to it after a while.”
“This?” Faylen laughed. “I don’t know what else you’d want. What could be more beautiful?”
Saffine didn’t respond and looked off into the distance.
“I went on the road for things like this,” Faylen said. “To see the things this world has to offer. People, places. Giant fields of wildflowers.”
“Where are you from?” Saffine asked.
“Ah,” Faylen smiled a little. “No place special. I couldn’t have been more different from my folks. People like that are where elven stereotypes come from. I didn’t want to end up as another one.”
Saffine nodded. In a trading camp, she’d met the type.
“I had no idea I’d meet people like your family,” Faylen continued. “Hardworking. Down to earth. Modest. Like another world out here.”
Time passed, the wind carrying it with the bees that buzzed around them. The birds sang throughout the balmy afternoon. The gentle roar of the city was barely audible behind them.
“Thank you for bringing me here. We’re stocking up for a real long trip. By the time I get back around Glint, I imagine this will all be gone.”
“How long?”
“A few months. Maybe longer, depending on what we run into.”
Silence.
“We’ll need some more arrows once we get back. Always an essential commodity. You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”
“We’ll have plenty waiting, Faylen.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Fletcher.”
In Star Camp, the morning brought fireflies. The settlement was famous for it; in fact, many said it was where the name had originated. It was a perk for the early birds of the trading city. Wake at dawn and have the light of the fireflies to accompany you as you work. It was common for children to catch them in the summertime, and bottles of them littered the streets.
The season was near its end, and most of the bottles were empty. Still, today seemed to be an especially radiant day. Some said the gods sent them when they were happy. Today was a good day for gods and people alike.
Saffine was awake with the fireflies. She knew she was going to miss them, and watched them hover across the tents of their neighbors. People were starting to stir in the streets. The peace of early morning started to dissolve.
She heard the clop of horses coming from down the street but didn’t flinch. She’d stopped looking for them a long time ago. This carriage slowed, and it stopped outside their threshold. She looked up, and a red glint caught her eye.
“Saffine. How are you?” Faylen hadn’t changed a bit in the past few months. “What do you have for arrows?”
“I’m done waiting,” Saffine stated.
Confusion furrowed Faylen’s brow.
“Are you angry?”
“No,” Saffine started, clearing her throat. “I don’t want to wait for you anymore. Take me with you. I want to see all the times the world has to offer.”
The fireflies danced around them, lethargic in the light of dawn. One landed on Saffine’s shoulder. Faylen grinned.
