Ask a brownie and he will tell you, at length, of the brothers on the mountain road…
Once there was a road. Not a city road with all clean cobbles, or even a Bear’s Way strung out between civilized points for the legions. This was the sort of road you set your bead on when you run out of towns that ain’t seen your show or (like as not) run out of places that ain’t twigged to your better cons. This road weren’t much more than enough footprints strung together to make a decent line and a signpost every once in a while to let you know you’re still lost in the same direction.
On this particular road there were two brothers. All they had to their name was a wore-out cart and an even-more-wore-out mule to pull it. Weren’t much of a name left either, to be perfectly frank. Trouble with the father-conductor. You know the sort of thing, and there ain’t any point getting into specifics once the dust settles. So it was just the two of them.
Our intrepid mosey-ers were winding their way up the biggest mountain either of them had ever seen, and that was a fair few. Damn thing looked like it probably poked halfway up to the moon, and at least a quarter of the way up to Kael’s lost trousers. The younger brother, he figured the mule wouldn’t ever climb it. Older one knew better, though. He said backward wasn’t a whole lot better’n dead. He said mules that don’t pull carts are pretty good eating too, and don’t you forget it, mister fuzzy-ears. He said that part louder.
So the mule kept on going, and the cart kept on going, and the brothers kept on going, right up the shoulder of the biggest mountain they ever saw (The younger brother had started watching out for sparkly trousers, ‘cause of he didn’t figure distances as well as his older relation). Mules and brownies get thirsty though, and one of the three caught the sound of trickling water. Didn’t much matter which. Not like a thirsty mule’s gonna follow a lead over the promise of water, even with the older of two brownies sharpening a fork with intent. So the three of them found themselves poking around a bit off that scraggly excuse for a road, tracking down a stream.
Lucky they found it, too. All over the banks there was some kind of blue flowers. Stank of magic, so heavy they almost glowed in the daylight. They got a fair few bundled up and threw them in the cart. The brothers were fair chuffed, ‘cause of they weren’t expecting any kind of valuables until the other side of the mountain. Now they had a mess of magic flowers stacked in a cart, theirs as fair as anyone’s.
They kept heading on up and up, and kept finding more mountain. Hardly seemed fair, really, there being so much mountain in one place. It was starting to be a real problem. The brothers hadn’t had much in the way of meals recently, being so distant from their usual stomping grounds (and not too popular there, in any case). It was getting colder too, cold enough to bite right through the coats a couple of clever brownies might take for a trip straight up half to the moon. This particular pair didn’t even have those.
So when they came across a little house set up on a rock, you might imagine they were pleased. They stopped for a piece, just out of easy sight, to discuss the particulars of what to do.
“They’ll know what these flowers are, right enough,” said the older brother. “And we can sell a few for food.”
“Not just food,” said the younger brother. “Surely we’ve got enough for a night’s room just as well as board.”
“Maybe we have, and maybe we haven’t,” said the older brother. “No telling what the owner of such an edifice might price our cargo at. Play it by ear, says I, and see what we can get.”
The younger brother couldn’t hardly argue with a thing like that, so he didn’t. Best sense he ever showed, and better than most. They rolled up the road to the house, looking out for whatever sort of fellow might call it home. Pretty quick they saw a shaggy-haired man tending to vegetables out by the side of it.
Well, the brothers made friends all quick-like. Same as anywhere else, brownies are a happy sight for folk without much of a line into civilization proper. Quick as blinking they had their feet up by a fire and a hot meal in front of them. But that’s when they hit the snag. Well, just the opposite. They wound up to start bargaining for room and board and the farmer just laughed. He didn’t want paying.
Fair enough for a minor thing, but they kept piling up debt. He told them what the flowers were, even helped sort out the best stock and how to keep them sellable. He put together food for the rest of their haul over the mountain. Fed their mule and brushed it down. And he kept waving off pay.
That night the brothers had a bit of a chat. “He’s playing us,” said the younger brother. He had grown into trying to be clever and hadn’t gotten good at it yet.
The older brother laughed at him. “You need to grow into your nose. This doesn’t smell like a con.”
“What else could it be?” said the younger brother. He was worried.
But his elder relation had seen a bit more of the wandered world. “He’s a giver.”
“He’s got little enough to give.”
“Most do.”
And that was plenty, for the night. The brothers bunked down and got some kip, and in the morning they had a good breakfast. Wasn’t till they packed up that things got touchy again. See, the older brother wanted to dawdle until the farmer had gotten out to his fields. His counterpart was a mite troubled, not quite sure why.
But once the farmer was out of sight, the older brother unloaded half the bundles from the cart and piled them on the table inside. Then they set off on the pokey excuse for a road. Soon enough the little farm was out of view and the world stretched on around the two brothers.
The younger brother asked, once they were rattling along, why they had left the flowers.
His older brother told him an old truth first. “With a decent lot, get a good deal. With a bad lot, take a good deal.” Then the elder gave the younger one of the secrets of the folk, because he was ready. “When you find a good one, the like who’ll hand their last bun over to those what need it, you give them what you can and skip quick before they give it back.”
So a little brownie learned a bit more about Kael’s way, and a good one got what he deserved, and two brothers made their way to another adventure.
And the brownie will tell you that the story’s lesson is charity.
Once there was a road. Not a city road with all clean cobbles, or even a Bear’s Way strung out between civilized points for the legions. This was the sort of road you set your bead on when you run out of towns that ain’t seen your show or (like as not) run out of places that ain’t twigged to your better cons. This road weren’t much more than enough footprints strung together to make a decent line and a signpost every once in a while to let you know you’re still lost in the same direction.
On this particular road there were two brothers. All they had to their name was a wore-out cart and an even-more-wore-out mule to pull it. Weren’t much of a name left either, to be perfectly frank. Trouble with the father-conductor. You know the sort of thing, and there ain’t any point getting into specifics once the dust settles. So it was just the two of them.
Our intrepid mosey-ers were winding their way up the biggest mountain either of them had ever seen, and that was a fair few. Damn thing looked like it probably poked halfway up to the moon, and at least a quarter of the way up to Kael’s lost trousers. The younger brother, he figured the mule wouldn’t ever climb it. Older one knew better, though. He said backward wasn’t a whole lot better’n dead. He said mules that don’t pull carts are pretty good eating too, and don’t you forget it, mister fuzzy-ears. He said that part louder.
So the mule kept on going, and the cart kept on going, and the brothers kept on going, right up the shoulder of the biggest mountain they ever saw (The younger brother had started watching out for sparkly trousers, ‘cause of he didn’t figure distances as well as his older relation). Mules and brownies get thirsty though, and one of the three caught the sound of trickling water. Didn’t much matter which. Not like a thirsty mule’s gonna follow a lead over the promise of water, even with the older of two brownies sharpening a fork with intent. So the three of them found themselves poking around a bit off that scraggly excuse for a road, tracking down a stream.
Lucky they found it, too. All over the banks there was some kind of blue flowers. Stank of magic, so heavy they almost glowed in the daylight. They got a fair few bundled up and threw them in the cart. The brothers were fair chuffed, ‘cause of they weren’t expecting any kind of valuables until the other side of the mountain. Now they had a mess of magic flowers stacked in a cart, theirs as fair as anyone’s.
They kept heading on up and up, and kept finding more mountain. Hardly seemed fair, really, there being so much mountain in one place. It was starting to be a real problem. The brothers hadn’t had much in the way of meals recently, being so distant from their usual stomping grounds (and not too popular there, in any case). It was getting colder too, cold enough to bite right through the coats a couple of clever brownies might take for a trip straight up half to the moon. This particular pair didn’t even have those.
So when they came across a little house set up on a rock, you might imagine they were pleased. They stopped for a piece, just out of easy sight, to discuss the particulars of what to do.
“They’ll know what these flowers are, right enough,” said the older brother. “And we can sell a few for food.”
“Not just food,” said the younger brother. “Surely we’ve got enough for a night’s room just as well as board.”
“Maybe we have, and maybe we haven’t,” said the older brother. “No telling what the owner of such an edifice might price our cargo at. Play it by ear, says I, and see what we can get.”
The younger brother couldn’t hardly argue with a thing like that, so he didn’t. Best sense he ever showed, and better than most. They rolled up the road to the house, looking out for whatever sort of fellow might call it home. Pretty quick they saw a shaggy-haired man tending to vegetables out by the side of it.
Well, the brothers made friends all quick-like. Same as anywhere else, brownies are a happy sight for folk without much of a line into civilization proper. Quick as blinking they had their feet up by a fire and a hot meal in front of them. But that’s when they hit the snag. Well, just the opposite. They wound up to start bargaining for room and board and the farmer just laughed. He didn’t want paying.
Fair enough for a minor thing, but they kept piling up debt. He told them what the flowers were, even helped sort out the best stock and how to keep them sellable. He put together food for the rest of their haul over the mountain. Fed their mule and brushed it down. And he kept waving off pay.
That night the brothers had a bit of a chat. “He’s playing us,” said the younger brother. He had grown into trying to be clever and hadn’t gotten good at it yet.
The older brother laughed at him. “You need to grow into your nose. This doesn’t smell like a con.”
“What else could it be?” said the younger brother. He was worried.
But his elder relation had seen a bit more of the wandered world. “He’s a giver.”
“He’s got little enough to give.”
“Most do.”
And that was plenty, for the night. The brothers bunked down and got some kip, and in the morning they had a good breakfast. Wasn’t till they packed up that things got touchy again. See, the older brother wanted to dawdle until the farmer had gotten out to his fields. His counterpart was a mite troubled, not quite sure why.
But once the farmer was out of sight, the older brother unloaded half the bundles from the cart and piled them on the table inside. Then they set off on the pokey excuse for a road. Soon enough the little farm was out of view and the world stretched on around the two brothers.
The younger brother asked, once they were rattling along, why they had left the flowers.
His older brother told him an old truth first. “With a decent lot, get a good deal. With a bad lot, take a good deal.” Then the elder gave the younger one of the secrets of the folk, because he was ready. “When you find a good one, the like who’ll hand their last bun over to those what need it, you give them what you can and skip quick before they give it back.”
So a little brownie learned a bit more about Kael’s way, and a good one got what he deserved, and two brothers made their way to another adventure.
And the brownie will tell you that the story’s lesson is charity.