But Augustin looked so different on the battlefield, the sharp, dark expression on his face when he executed a powerful spell, the boundless laughter in his voice when he brought the two of them soaring through the clouds. A wind wizard was meant to howl like the wind and fly through endless sky, not fill bottles in the corner of a quiet craft shop.
Braiden hissed as the Mothergoat wool singed his fingers again. He brought his hands away, shaking off the pain, glancing woefully at the redness of his fingertips.
This stuff was too hot to handle, much less wear in any garment. Even finding the right way to store it had been achallenge, so afraid Braiden was of accidentally burning down the entire shop.
In the end, he’d settled on his biggest pot, cleaning it thoroughly and keeping it by his bed so he’d have it close by in case he needed to act on an emergency. It turned out to be wonderful for heating his bedroom, better and potentially safer than a fireplace.
He’d heard that phoenix feathers had similar properties, their crafting use more appropriate for battle than comfort. He’d read accounts of innovative sorcerers turning them into elegant hand fans or stitching them into blazing, feathery tiaras, using them to augment their mastery of fire magic.
But this stuff was too precious to sell. And gifted to him by a Mothergoat, too! He wondered if cinderling silk would be just as challenging to handle. Perhaps he’d need to knit a new pair of gloves, fingerless ones to preserve his dexterity, but woven through with a moongrass enchantment meant to dull the effects of fire.
And then he realized that he’d considered the possibility of delving the dungeon at all. Braiden wrinkled his nose, sucked on his burned fingers, then went back to the business of spinning.
The shop door suddenly burst open with a clatter, the doorbell ringing in an uncharacteristically aggressive tone. Warren walked in dragging a struggling Bones behind him.
“But I don’t wanna!” Bones cried out.
“You have to,” Warren said, tugging on the skeleton’s coat. “I’ll be damned if I have to keep living with your awful smell.”
Braiden thought it was awfully endearing how the two had started developing a friendship, especially when Warren had been the most suspicious of the skeleton at the time of his resurrection. He knew roughhousing and teasing were part of it, but somehow, this seemed different.
Craghammer and Elyssandra perked up, finally seeing some excitement in the shop. Augustin put down his elixirs, stepping in front of the counter as though to protect the delicate glass from what could potentially become a tussle.
“What’s going on here?” Braiden asked as the shop door shut behind the wrestling pair with a clink.
Warren dropped his arms in frustration. “Elyssandra and I have to spend more time with Bones than anyone else, and it’s becoming very difficult now that his coat is starting to stink.”
“It’s a hoodie!” Bones whined. “And I don’t see how that’s possible. I don’t sweat. I have no sweat glands.”
“And you don’t have nostrils, either,” Warren said, throwing his hands up. “This isn’t about sweat. It’s about all the food and drink you keep spilling on yourself.”
“He has a point, Bones.” Elyssandra wrinkled her nose. “You spilled some milk on yourself at breakfast yesterday. You’ve been smelling a bit sour for a while now.”
Braiden sniffed at the air, wondering how he hadn’t noticed sooner. A quick glance confirmed the hoodie definitely looked grubbier than when he had first gifted it to Bones.
“Listen, Bones,” Braiden said. “I think it’s very sweet that you’re so attached to your hoodie.”
“So sweet,” Bones said. “Super sweet.”
“But we can’t have you wandering around smelling up the place.”
Craghammer crossed his arms and nodded enthusiastically. “Even the sweatiest warriors of my tribe know the value of a good wash. Can’t be noble and majestic when you smell like the wrong end of a wild boar.”
“Fine, fine!” Bones shouted, yanking the hoodie off and dropping it onto the floorboards. “How do you like me now, you perverts? I’m naked again!”
Elyssandra wordlessly unclasped her hooded cloak and draped it around Bones, pulling the cowl over his skull and patting it gently.
“See? Good as new. Remember when I used to lend this to you? You can borrow it until the hoodie is clean.”
From his counter, Augustin sighed and strolled over, collecting the fallen hoodie in one smooth motion. “I’ll take care of it,” he said.
Braiden clasped his hands and smiled after him. “Thank you, Augustin. You’re the best.”
The faintest hint of a smile flickered across Augustin’s face, like the sun peeking out from behind a sky full of gray clouds. He’d shown them this spell a few times now, something he used on the road when he needed a set of clean clothes.
Braiden would have offered his own laundry spell, but Augustin had already taken the initiative. Besides, it was a bit of harmless entertainment for everyone, now that they had downtime in the shop.
Augustin fetched a metal bucket from the back, filled it with water, added a measure of soap, and plunged the hoodie in. With a whisper and gesture, he cast a spell into the mixture, funneling it into a small whirlpool.
