We're not Enemies.

The glow of the sun peaked out from above the horizon as it began its climb over the craggy heights of the smoldering mountain. On the shore of the lagoon, behind a huge rock, Sniffia unconsciously pulled a thick piece of cloth tighter around her body. Her head, bandaged with a yellow cloth, rested on the soft, decaying trunk of a long ago fallen tree.

Peirce squatted, naked from the waist up, preparing the purplish-red flowers inside his little steel pot. The floral stew gave off a scent of medicine and flowers as he stirred it with a stick over the fire. He grabbed his now empty orange bag and gently fanned the flames with it, causing sparks to shoot up from the dry sticks.

“I should have asked the dragon to take us home,” he mumbled. Peirce looked to the sky, smiling. “That would be fun.” He raised the stick up in the air. “Then people will know me as Peirce… The Mudlark! No… that is…” He scratched his head. 

He’d been given the nickname of “Mudlark” by the other children in his village because of the weird way he nurtured the plants and swine that made their home in the muddy areas outside the village. He’d been hearing it so long, he’d come to think of it as part of his name. But it wasn’t. The dragon had called him Pierce Wande. That was his true name, wasn’t it?

Sniffia sneezed.

Peirce startled slightly, turning to her. He left the stick inside the tiny steel pot and walked over to her, carefully, gingerly. He didn’t want to startle her - she was one of those hunting him, afterall. Judging by the way she’d been dressed, she was probably trained to stab first and ask questions never.

“She’s waking up… Hmmm what should I do?” he muttered, pacing. He glanced around the barren shore, the lagoon’s small waves lapping calmly on the sand. “Where should I hide?” He stopped, looking at the injured woman, not really a woman, she couldn’t be much older than him despite her fierce appearance. “No I saved her life. Sooo… she will never kill me, her savior… I hope?” Peirce said to himself while walking around, so distracted he almost poured out his little flower concoction.

Sniffia slowly opened her eyes. Peirce froze in front of her.

She stared at Peirce awkwardly waving at her with the most disgusting grin she’d ever seen. Sniffia narrowed her eyes, scanned her surroundings, then looked at the thick cloth covering her body. She lifted the thick cloth up, noticed she wasn’t wearing anything, and looked to her side. Her clothes were neatly spread on the trunks next to Peirce’s sleeveless.

Peirce put his hands up in a gesture to show he meant no harm. “It is not what you think! I can explain…” he stammered.

Sniffia glared at him.

“No. Don’t worry, I closed my eyes before doing all that… and umm… if I didn’t do it the wet clothes would cause your temperature to rise… No… To fall? Anyway. Please don’t kill me! I saved your life.”

Sniffia’s scorching glare turned to the half-destroyed mountain, Peirce followed her line of sight.

“Um, I don’t think anyone is alive up there,” he said. “Judging from the mountain, I, um… I think the dragon did them in. I don’t think any of your kind could have survived that. You barely did.” 

Lord Jared? Sniffia thought, tears welled up in her eyes, one finding its way free to trickle down her left cheek.

Peirce looked at her with pity. “I’m so sorry,” he said, consolingly. “They were probably friends of yours.”

He glanced at the tiny steel pot, “Chai! It’s foaming!” he cried. He yanked the steel pot out from the flames, immediately placing it on the sand. “Ouch! My hand! Ouch!” He swung his hands in the air. “So hot!!”

Pierce tripped on his bag and fell down on the burning sticks. A few moments later he sniffed as smoke came out underneath him. He looked down, seeing the ashy black trail of smoke coming from his buttocks. “My favourite underwear!” he shouted.

He dashed to the lagoon and shoving his flaming rear into the water. He sighed with relief, waggling his hips in the cool water. Suddenly, he jumped up as two fishes swam into his pockets. He rushed from the water.

Sniffia stared at him in wonder. What was going on?

Peirce came up to her, smiling sheepishly. He pulled out the two fishes from his pockets and put them on the sand. “Guess our breakfast is ready,” he said.

Sniffia raised her right eye brow. Peirce turned, bending down to pick up the stirring stick. She could see the blackened hole in his pants and realized what had happened. She pulled the thick clothing tightly to herself and buried her head under so he wouldn’t see her laughing.

Peirce turned, looked at her, and said, “It’s fine now. Sorry for the confusion.” 

Several minutes later, Pierce sat on the sand with the now-smoked fish skewered on the stick. He took a bite, then looked at Sniffia. “Aren’t you eating?” he asked, staring at her for some seconds as she made no move to eat her fish. He sighed, watching as some crabs made their way through the sand towards the lagoon. 

“I don’t understand. Why are we sworn enemies? You know, the world we live in is not always hard but the way we live in it makes it hard. Or we make life uneasy. I don’t really know how my grandma said it, but it was something like that.” He looked at the scorched mountain. “Guess successfully taking the flowers and saving you was my only luck.” 

“Your luck?” Sniffia whispered.

Peirce stared at her, surprised. “You talk?”

She immediately looked away.

Peirce smiled. He dropped down beside her, crouching as he drew in the sand with his cooking stick. “Let’s just say I was born unlucky. Everything I did was… I’m like a bomb.”

“Do you have any family or friends?” Sniffia asked.

He shook his head. “Not really. Pretty much everyone I’ve ever met hates me.” He gazed off into the distance, pointing his stick toward a place Sniffia couldn’t see. “I live with my grandma in a village very far from here. My mom and dad are both dead.” 

“Did your grandma hate you?” 

“My grandma? Never! She is the only one I talk to.”

“Then why do you leave your village to steal from us?”

“Hmmm… Can we say took from you? That’s sounds a little bit proper. I took it to show all of them that I can do something good, since I’m the only one that is willing to explore far from the village. With these flowers I collected,” he looked at the pot, “which I just cooked to heal your wound, I think my luck is up.”

She sat herself on the trunk slowly, raising her hand to check her injured fingers. However, she found it was neatly wrapped in pieces of white cloth. “No, I don’t need that.”

“Yes, you do need it. If you don’t drink the medicine you’ll die.”

“I’m Humane; I will survive,” she said, jerkily standing while making sure to hold the thick cloth around her body. The world tilted around her as she tried to find her footing.

Peirce stood up as well. “No. You feel dizzy. Your wounds aren’t fully healed.”

Immediately, Sniffia staggered, held her stomach and vomited blood. Peirce rushed to help her but she raised her hand to stop him.

“Stay where you are. Or I will kill you,” she warned.

“Kill me? The only person you’ll kill is yourself if you don’t allow me to heal you. Please?”

Sniffia wiped the blood from her mouth with her arms as she stared at Peirce with her venomous orange eyes. She turned and lurched back to her seat, looked at his face again and nodded. Peirce nodded back and took the pot, holding it to her lips. She inhaled deeply.

“Wait,” she whispered.

“What?” he asked.

“How do you know about the flower you just prepared? You’re not from us. You are Inhumane.”

Peirce ignored her question. “Just drink.” He poured it all in her mouth, watching as she swallowed it. “There you go.”

She coughed. Peirce patted her back as she leaned over.

“I stole the book about the flowers from my grandma,” he confessed.

Sniffia wiped her mouth. “And you said you are unlucky,” 

“Hmmmm.” Peirce turned, dropped the pot on the sand, picked up his stick and sat on the sand next to the fire, drawing. “Now that the flower is in your system, your pain should go away, and….”

As he was talking, Sniffia slowly stood up, gently dropped the thick cloth to the sand and picked up her dagger which Pierce had carelessly left beside her clothes.

“Then your wounds will slowly heal one after the other, which will cause… ”

Suddenly Sniffia dashed to him swinging her dagger, Peirce turned and jolted upright, dodging it.

Her eyes widened. “How did he?... “ She leapt on him, both tumbling to the sand. She landed on top of Peirce. He grabbed her hands just in time to keep her from stabbing the knife through his eye. He held them tightly as they stared into each other’s eyes, her blonde hair lightly brushing against his face. 

“Ugh… Then your body will… ugh… shutdown.” Immediately, as Peirce said that, Sniffia’s eyes widened, her body felt numb, her grip on the dagger lightened.

Peirce slowly collected the dagger from her as her head dropped, falling asleep on Peirce’s body. He blinked. “Well… this is a perverse position. I should have tied her blanket to her with ropes.”