Newcomer: Day 7

Word Count: 42,009

Summary of Events:

Miķelis spent the next few days on his own, continuing his training, but daily paying visits to both Kristiāns and Genādijs as they recovered. Kristiāns was greatly appreciative of these visits, but Genādijs was annoyed by them, and continued to believe that Miķelis was only pretending to be nice to him in order to convince people that he was a nicer person than he really was. As the week went on, Kristiāns informed Miķelis that the doctor said he might be able to get up and walk around a bit, at least coming to meals…

Excerpt of the Day:

Slowly, and looking pained, Miķelis saw a figure advancing to join the line of hungry young trainees eager to get their breakfast. He strode toward the figure, quickly recognising it to be, as he’d suspected, Kristiāns. Kristiāns, spying him, offered a grimacing smile that emphasised his pain as opposed to disguising it.

“This is more tender than even I thought it would be,” Kristiāns said, pain sounding near to tears in his voice.

“Well, you’ve made it this far,” Miķelis said, putting his arm around Kristiāns’ shoulders. “I think we can make it the rest of the way.”

Kristiāns reached his arm around Miķelis’ shoulder and gripped tightly as they resumed progress toward the line.

Even though Miķelis was pretty sure he and Kristiāns were pretty close to the same height, Kristiāns’ hobbling made it clear that he was the — even if only just — shorter of the two of them.

“Do you think it’ll bother you sitting down?” Miķelis asked once they’d integrated themselves into the loose column.

“I don’t think so,” Kristiāns replied. “Even, standing still it’s not so bad. It’s just the walking part.”

“So it’ll be the transit between places that’ll be more unpleasant than standing and watching?” Miķelis asked.

“Well, I don’t know,” Kristiāns replied. “Standing too long could be a bit much.”

“That’s no surprise,” Miķelis said.

They made their way slowly with the rest of the line into the dining tent, where the aroma of the freshly-cooked food made their stomachs grumble with anticipation, while the warmth generated by the cooking process warmed the interior of the tent a couple degrees compared to the still-chilly morning outside.

As of yet, no snow had fallen, but Miķelis was sure it wouldn’t be long before at least a little skiff might land, which would be followed by more and more snow, sometimes in light dustings, sometimes in big dumps, which would all be moved and shifted around by the wind to create drifts that could sometimes be so thick as to allow a fully grown man to walk a good metre above ground level.

The annual first fall of snow had preceded Miķelis’ birthday as usual, but — also as usual — it’d quickly melted away, disappearing by the end of the day, and since then no snow had fallen, but Miķelis knew that there would be snow yet before the year came to a close in just under a month and a half’s time; there always was.

They reached the line before long and Kristiāns withdrew his arm from around Miķelis’ shoulder.

“I think I should be able to hop along on my own for this part,” Kristiāns said.

“If you need any help, I’m right here,” Miķelis said.

Kristiāns nodded.

Miķelis let Kristiāns go ahead of him to get his porridge, which could be adorned with a few simple garnishes: namely cream, dried or canned fruits both indigenous and imported, syrup, and imported sugar and spices.