Part 6
426 Words
SIX
"Are you sure you aren't coming? This could make our fortunes, you know," Father said, hefting another chest into the already full cart.
And make shoes for the rest of his life? George shook his head. "I'm sure, Father. I want a chance at adventure. If I fail...well, I will know where to find you, to ask for a job."
Father patted the horse as he passed. "Of course you will. This Shoetown is where the forest meets the desert, far to the south. In a land where the court ladies dance through a pair of slippers each and every night. A land where a shoemaker might fancy himself a king."
George laughed. "Where you will make yourself as rich as a king, you mean. The rest of it – the business of ruling a kingdom and keeping the neighbouring kingdoms from invading – is more trouble than it's worth, I'm sure."
Father rested his hands on George's shoulders. It rankled that George wasn't as tall as his father yet, and might never be. "Some might say the same of an adventurer's life. Slaying monsters is more trouble than it's worth, as you've already learned."
George's heart sank. His father had been strangely silent about his battle with the dragon, though he had to have heard about his crushing failure. The whole city and surrounding countryside knew. Still, George summoned a smile. "What is it you and Mother used to tell me when I was small and learning to make shoes in the workshop? Your first attempt will fail. Yet I had to keep trying until I succeeded. No matter how many times I failed. Because it's about learning to do it right, so you don't fail any more."
Father's smile looked just as forced. "Just as long as you live long enough to keep trying until you succeed. Shoes are not as dangerous as dragons."
"I know." George met his father's gaze without flinching. His resolve didn't waver, despite the ache in his heart at having to farewell his father.
Father climbed onto the cart. "When you have slayed the beast, come and find me. I promise to make you boots from the beast's hide."
If the dragon didn't make a meal of his own hide instead. A lump formed in George's throat. His father had more confidence in him than George had for himself. "You can count on it," George said.
They exchanged a long look, where not a word was said. Least of all the fateful farewell.
It only ended when Father tapped the horse with his whip, urging it forward. The moment shattered, and they parted ways, perhaps for the last time.
- Writer
