On a cool winter morning, with nowhere to be, and nothing to do, Jacklan ran. He realized that typically, when someone runs they are often running to somewhere, or away from something. Jacklan ran for different reasons than everyone else. The way that the cool mountain winds ran through his hair, the way the mists felt when you breathed them in. He ran in a way that the world around faded away, and there was nothing except for his thoughts. As he left the village behind, he made the looping climb up to the local peak, switching back and turning around. He felt the path give way to dirt, then untrodden grass. Darting between the pines, he slowed down as he came to the edge of the clearing.

  From here, Jacklan could see his entire world. The small village of Brun down below, the place where he had lived since he was born. He could see the meandering path back down the mountain, where once a year merchants would make the steep climb up to the village. He could see the uneven peaks, which had surrounded him his entire life. Brun’s placement up in the mountains didn’t seem odd to Jacklan, but he supposed it might to others. Shrum, the village elder, told him that the village had been there before empires, before kings, before cities, and before writing. Brun had always been a hidden wellspring tucked in the high spires, and that generation after generation had farmed the same land, tending crops that could not grow in the rest of the world. To Jacklan, the rest of the world might as well not exist. Occasionally, an individual or family would leave the village, looking to cross a vast ocean or find another place to call home. Jacklan didn’t quite understand why anyone would leave this cradle that the world had created for him to live in.

  Wandering around the lush clearing, Jacklan searched for certain plants and herbs, as he did every morning. The winter had come at the perfect time, Jacklan’s supplies of snowleaf and firethorn were running low. Before winter gave way to bright spring, he would need to gather another year’s supply. Jacklan crouched, pruning a small snowleaf branch of leaves, and putting them into a small pouch on his waist. He saw a few leaves that had been eaten away by rabbits and insects. Those he left, continuing his search. Once Jacklan was satisfied with the amount of snowleaf he had acquired, he repeated the process with firethorn. This process took longer, as Jacklan had to be careful cutting the springs, cautious to not get stuck by the thorns adorning each branch. After gathering enough firethorn sprigs, Jacklan went back to the cliffside overlooking the village.

  Sometimes, he wondered what it was like beyond those mountains. Perhaps it was something better than his corner of the world. Jacklan doubted it though, perhaps it was simply better to never know. The merchants that came to the village each year would usually bring some news of the outside world. While the rest of the continent was under the rule of the Empire, they hadn’t bothered to go north of the mountains centuries ago. The merchants would land north of the Empire’s borders, and make their way through the mountain passes, bringing goods and information. Often it wasn’t much. The Empire was increasing tariffs, or at war with some small country that had disrespected the crown. Jacklan did want to hear about more of the world, but often was left without satisfaction. In that way, he supposed that tariffs and wars were the entire world to those merchants, the same way that the mountains were his entire world. Reluctantly, Jacklan made his way back down the mountainside, this time at a leisurely pace.

  By the time he returned to the village, most people had awoken in the cool misty morning. Garetta, the village cook, was making a large stew that Jacklan could smell coming down the mountainside. Children scampered through the streets, playing whatever new game that they had invented the week prior. The pathways through the village were downtrodden dirt, with lush grass and small trees growing between them. Water slowly dripped from the roofs of each building, the dew and morning sun slowly sifting the snow off the surface. Small barrels sat underneath each corner, collecting the water. With little rain this high up, it was used for many purposes. The village itself wasn’t terribly large, just a few dozen homes and several other buildings used for various trades. Jacklan obviously didn’t have much to compare it to he realized, but he had seen a few drawings of other places.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The few drawings he had seen of cities in the Empire seemed entirely strange in contrast. Vast swaths of towering buildings, as far as the page reached. No trees, plants, or animals, except for an occasional garden or horse. It seemed to Jacklan so limiting, and confined compared to the world that he had known his entire nineteen years. A voice broke his focus as he made his way back to his home.

  “Find what you need, Jacklan?” the voice was firm, but amicable as Shrum walked up to him. Jacklan nodded to the older man, who was clothed with layered robes, and leaning on his walking stick.

  “I did Elder Shrum, thank you. It seems that winter has come in full. I should be able to gather a very good supply in the coming weeks. I know Garetta will be glad to have some new spices to use.” Shrum smiled contemplatively.

  “Yes, I think she will. She always grumbles on and on about how she can’t ever meet her own lofty standards, and how she doesn’t believe that we still enjoy such similar meals at the end of a season. Personally, I’ve never eaten better food in my life.” Jacklan smiled back warmly. Shrum didn’t seem like much to those that visited the small, frigid village in the mountains. Unknown to them, he was the greatest source of warmth you could find in the snowy peaks.

  “I also think that I should be able to gather enough to try to brew some new remedies.” Jacklan continued. “I almost ran out of some things this last year, but everything seems to be growing very well this year. There are a few ideas I have, mostly from the back pages of father’s old research. I haven’t had much of a chance to continue it these last few years.” Shrum nodded solemnly.

  “I think it’s rather admirable how you carry on your parents’ memory that way. I know that to a young man like you, it seemed like an assumption you’d always grow up to be the town apothecary. There were others who could’ve taken up the role instead of a headstrong fifteen year old boy. They just weren’t nearly as good as you at any of it.” Jacklan laughed, remembering the first time he had tried to brew a firethorn elixir. He had almost burned down the apothecary hut. Coincidentally, this was also why it had historically been located in the far corner of town.

  “You couldn’t have stopped me, Shrum. While it was the best way to help the village, it’s always felt like my calling. That notebook is both filled with my father’s notes, and his father’s. I can only hope to add as much to it as he did. I can tell that he was on the verge of discovering something, but never quite found it. That’s the only thing I’ve spent time researching since.” Shrum gave him a pat on the back. It was rather awkward given that Jacklan was quite taller, but calming nonetheless.

  “You will succeed Jacklan. I have no doubt. I have never seen a man in this world as single minded as you fail in anything that they set their efforts to.” Jacklan thanked the Elder, then departed to the corner of town, where his home was.

  The apothecary was among the smallest buildings in town, and set further from any other building. Jacklan’s parents had lived in town, and simply worked here. Jacklan simply preferred to live there. Shrum had protested at first, but Jacklan knew that the town didn’t have the resources at the time to build a full home for a single man. It wasn’t as if Jacklan needed much space either way. Most of what he owned were instruments for distilling herbs and brewing medicine. The few possessions that he cared about, he kept in a small stone container, under his bed. Should he actually burn down the place, he didn’t want his parents’ research to be part of the loss. He had grown much more skilled since then, but still suspected most people thought him mad for sleeping in the same building that he brewed in. The building was well ventilated, his workspace sealed off from the bedchambers. Perhaps, they would think that the man who brewed elixirs and medicine for a living was mad regardless of how he carried himself. Smiling as he entered the study, Jacklan pulled out a copy of his notes, and started his work the same way he did every morning. Running towards his father’s memory.