Doris Kerrick watched her youngest child walk out the door as she wiped the table, feeling that same odd mix of befuddlement and satisfied pride she always did whenever they finished one of their talks about a topic Brennan questioned her on.
Speaking with her son was an illuminating experience, she had learned. One moment, he would be asking about something seemingly innocuous, and then he would ask a follow-up question that caught her off-guard. Yes, illuminating was the right way to put it. Her boy was bright for his age.
Neither her daughter nor her husband initiated conversations about the Paths nearly as often. That wasn’t a bad thing by any means, but she did enjoy her time spent alone with Brennan whenever it was just the two of them in the house. If it was on a topic that interested him, they could talk for hours. He wasn’t even five yet!
When he was born, she had assumed the second child would be easier than the first since she had some experience now. Years later, she knew she had been right and wrong at the time. Right because it was indeed easier in areas where she expected she would have struggled. Wrong because it wasn’t due to an exhaustive amount of effort on her part.
All in all, she was of two minds about her son's attitude. On one side, she was thrilled to see him follow his path with such fervor. On the other side, she wished deep down that she could help him more. She wanted to connect by guiding him, and he needed precious little guidance in most areas. In the future, once he grew up some more, she hoped that would change.
She had done her duty as a mother, but her little baby was naturally very independent in the early stages of childhood, contrary to his sister. With him, the problem was usually that he was a bit too independent, to the detriment of his socialization. That behavior made her decide he needed his sister to chaperone him to the village square for a set number of hours every day to make sure he was getting to know kids close to his age group.
These days, she no longer deemed it necessary. George had taken it upon himself to follow their son around and see what he was doing when separating himself from the group. Brennan had no idea, seeing as her husband had a versatile foot travel skill he’d acquired in the starting phase of his career that doubled as a stealth skill, more than enough to evade the detection of a sharp four-year-old.
According to George, Brennan had rather unsurprisingly taken to training, though not on his lonesome. He’d formed a friendship. With the late Clara Whytmere’s only child, no less. After that woman’s passing, Doris had offered the widower to share the burden of responsibility, but that man was… difficult. So it warmed her heart to see their kids forging a bond by themselves.
As far as she was concerned, the girl was welcome here anytime. Of course, she realized her son might not be the most forthcoming with such things. Consequently, it might be sensible to extend an invitation of her own accord. Just not today, Brennan had looked to be on high alert when he left, clutching one of his drawings, and she didn’t want to disturb him by being an embarrassing adult for now.
His choice to pick up the Drawing skill was startling. While there was a logical basis for it with his aptitude for the pen, the creative drive wasn’t something she had foreseen in him. But that was alright, she was still getting to know him, like he was getting to know himself.
One part that did stay consistent was his inexplicable ability to entertain himself under all circumstances. At no point did he ever ask for more stimulation like other children would, unless it was for food and drink. When left to his own devices, there was always something he would find for himself to do.
If she ever heard him say the words “I’m bored,” she would eat her sandals.
Doris rolled up her sleeves and got up from the table. Because her footwear would be staying intact for the day, she had to make something else to eat, both for herself and the family. This part of the day tended to be quiet, what with the other three out of the home. She didn’t mind it.
Times like these were good for reflection—not something she had a dedicated skill for, just nice to do with Advanced Cooking helping her along with dinner preparation. Following the rarity upgrade, the process of adhering to known recipes was easier than breathing, a benefit granted by years of leveling experience.
She had hours left until it had to be ready, and she was proficient enough to do it in half the time, but she liked to savor the moment or take small breaks in between to do something else. Switching tasks used to help center her if she couldn't get into the flow of work as a kid. In her adult life, she had adequate skills to ensure that didn’t happen anymore.
The habit had remained only because she found it useful to be adaptable after becoming a mother. Sometimes your child just needed you to be there immediately regardless of what you were doing, and she was prepared for that.
As the day passed, the ingredients for supper were chopped, washed and put to the side. She slung a towel over her shoulder and started getting ready to tend to the garden when the front door opened, a brown-haired girl clad in a colorful layered dress entering with a slight frown on her face.
“Junia!” Doris greeted. “You’re home early. Did anything happen at Henry’s?”
“He sent me home, said my head wasn’t in it and there was no point continuing,” Junia muttered, staring at the floor as she trudged inside.
Hmm, that was just the thing. Henry was a man who took his craft very seriously, so if his apprentice was distracted, he would rather they focus on his instructions or not pretend they were participating at all.
“What’s on your mind to make him say that?” Doris came around the dinner table to guide her daughter to the benches, one arm around her shoulder.
“Stuff,” Junia replied when they sat down.
“Does it have to do with Cedric?”
“Ma!” Junia covered her face with her hands, the tips of her ears going red.
“It was just a question,” Doris teased in a light voice. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Girls did develop earlier than boys.
Her eldest shot her a pouting expression. “No, it’s not him. Really.”
“Well then what is it?” Doris pressed. She was willing to be patient, but with this girl you generally had to dig a little to get to the bottom of what she was feeling.
Junia sighed as if she’d been carrying the world on her shoulders and not just made a trivial mistake while sewing clothes. “It’s nothing.”
A clear deflection. “And it doesn’t have to do with your Classing?”
“...No,” she said in a tone that definitely meant yes.
“Dear, you are not too late. Everything is going to be fine,” Doris soothed, pulling her into a hug.
“But what if I don’t get the right Class?” Junia whispered.
“You will, I believe in you. But if you don’t, so what? Do you think every working adult in the village has a job that fits their Class exactly?”
“Guess not,” her daughter answered as she snuggled closer, the words muffled.
It went without saying that the village infrastructure didn’t depend on a specific Class in every necessary field in order to function. Otherwise, the local economy would collapse after the death of one person whose role had been vital to their welfare. In larger settlements like towns and cities, that tended to not be an issue due to the much larger population and selection pool; those places would have multiple people practicing each important discipline by default.
In Craswidge, there were plenty of cases of someone with a particular class dying and there being no obvious successors. Times where they had no dedicated Herbalist, Fletcher, or Stabler. When that happened, the individual with the most skill overlap would typically take up the position and the village would continue to function like normal. They always found a way to move on.
In fact, she had pitched in to help in the infirmary a few times before falling pregnant herself. She had been fairly new to the village back then, and the long nights had integrated her with the community to an extent she might not have if she’d stuck strictly to her regular tasks.
“It’ll make me worthless,” Junia protested. “Someone could do it better than me.”
“They could help you,” Doris countered. “And no, you won’t be worthless.”
Doris rubbed her back. “You have time. There’s no need to feel so pressured. You’ve been keeping pace with other kids your age.”
At that, Junia lifted her head and stared.
“I mean it. You are not your brother, young lady.” The subject was one that’d come up between them every once in a while, if Junia was stuck with something or needed help. Doris kept driving home the point: it was like comparing naqyattes and ashplums—again and again—till it got through to her.
And although Junia didn’t object to those words openly, she hadn’t accepted them. There would come a time when she would draw the comparison again, if the stress of growing up got to her. It was understandable, but Doris worried that it would strain the relationship between her children.
The age gap of six years already didn’t help any, as they were in separate stages of life. Heaping the added nerves of the last year before gaining a Class on top of that, it could escalate if they as parents didn’t keep an eye on it.
But who knew how life would shake out? Everything might turn out great. She couldn’t say her son felt as strongly about this. Junia annoyed him occasionally, sure, but he had no qualms about ragging on her in return. Doris could already imagine what he would be like at dinner tonight, sitting there with his smug little smile after trading jokes. Just another imbalance she would have to pay attention to, in case it got out of hand.
Real parenting involved a lot of such balancing acts. Being mindful of the dynamic you had with your children and the ones they had with each other. Right now, the latter needed to be addressed. “Do you think he can sew his own pants?”
“Huh?” Her daughter’s mouth hung open, thrown off by the question.
“How long do you think it would take him to learn all your skills?”
“Not that long?”
Doris pursed her lips. “Is that right?”
“I uh… I don’t know. Why would he want to do tailoring?”
“He doesn’t,” was the simple response. “He has his own strengths and likes, just like you.”
“Okay…” her daughter said, clearly unconvinced.
“On his Classing day, he’s going to need his ceremonial garb. Someone has to make that. In ten years or twenty, where do you think I’ll have him look for wedding clothes?” Doris asked, inclining her head.
“I didn’t really think that far,” Junia admitted.
“That’s fine. You aren’t that far. Just keep practicing one step at a time. When you look back, you’ll be amazed at how much you got done.”
Thankfully, Junia seemed to brighten at the encouragement. Doris smiled, knowing her job was done. In time, she hoped Junia would one day be able to do the same for her children, leaving Doris the role of grandparent. Because her own parents never got the chance.
The royal family had seen to that.