Willowshade was, in Arin's opinion, almost an exact copy of Silvershade.
So similar were they, that he might've even believed their couple-hours' walk had been wasted, and that they'd somehow lost their way and circled back to where they'd started from, when they first arrived.
The same rolling terrain, the same bright structures, and even the same silvery willow trees lining the settlement's borders. Even the village square and marketplace were located at about the same distance from the entrance.
They were like sister villages, if the sisters were actually twins, and were situated a mere few miles apart.
Of course, there still remained one glaring difference between the two – something Arin found himself extremely thankful for.
Willowshade was normal; its people were awake.
Crowds of people were bustling about, and calls, cries, and laughter rang out from all directions. Different voices and noises blended into a raucous, yet organized sort of chaos; a woman in the distance haggling over the price of some fruit, a few men conversing as they led donkey carts down a path, children shrieking as they chased increasingly distressed hens by the gate. Loud. Alive.
'Oh, I beg your pardon,' said one of the boys who'd been running, having barely avoided a collision with Siel.
'No trouble.' Siel offered a friendly smile, and the child returned it, before racing away to continue on his mission of terrorizing the poultry.
Besides this brief interaction, no one else in Willowshade spared them a single glance. It was quite apparent that the village was frequented by traders and travelers year-round, to the extent that new faces drew no curiosity or concern.
As they walked deeper into the village, Arin sighed in relief.
This was how things should've been. Everywhere.
Well, it probably was how Silvershade had been, until just a few weeks ago.
…
In the meantime, Siel had scampered ahead to speak with one of the few people within sight not already engaged in conversation; a man standing to one side, packing up his cart of onions.
'Excuse me, sir. Would you happen to know where I might find some – '
'Onions?' The man interrupted. 'Why, right here.'
'Ah…' Siel blinked. 'No, well – '
'Just having a bit of fun, boy,' the man laughed. 'Speak. What are you looking for?'
'We've just arrived from the east – from Silvershade.'
'Hmm. Terrible business, there…' The man immediately sobered up a little, shaking his head.
'So you know of what's happened?' Siel asked.
'Folks here heard of the trouble, and did what we could to offer help. There were rumors of starvation at first, and even I sent off cartons of my onions to go with other supplies. It was all returned… untouched.'
Lowering his voice, the man continued, 'Then, we learned that the folks there are indeed starving… as they sleep.'
'Yes, they are. And that is why we must work swiftly! I was wondering – '
'Oh, is that what you are here for, then. I did hear that they'd handed it off to the authorities, once all else had failed! Are you a tower magician?'
'We are. And that is why – '
'And you've already been to Silvershade. Have things been resolved? No? But you must have your guesses; tell me, what do you think – '
'We're seeking someone familiar with the head family of Silvershade,' Arin interrupted curtly.
The man stopped mid-sentence, mouth hanging open as he looked past Siel and up at him for the first time.
Not used to being the one who gets interrupted?
'A record-keeper, the relative of a maid – anyone, who might be informed of the family's recent circumstances,' Siel added, smiling up at the man politely.
The man blinked, looking between the two of them. Then, he nodded slowly. 'Yes, well, there is an elderly maid who lives on the weaver's lane. In the house furthest to the back.'
The man scratched his neck thoughtfully. 'I remember hearing she'd served as a nursemaid there, a long time ago. Here in Willowshade, we have a number of people who are familiar with Silvershade, through trade or otherwise. But if it's knowledge of that family you seek, I'd wager she'd have the most.'
Siel beamed. 'Many thanks!' he exclaimed.
'Much obliged,' Arin added, relaxing his brows in what he hoped was a pleasant expression.
'Naught to it,' the man responded with a wave of his hand. He was still looking a little crestfallen at having been interrupted in the middle of making his own interruptions.
A few minutes later Arin was walking down the central path, holding a small, bulging sack in one hand. Next to him was Siel, temporarily rendered untalkative by the large, round onion he was currently biting into.
For some reason, he'd decided he wanted to thank the man for his help. He'd done so by buying a bag of his produce.