“One plus nine is ten, ten minus seven is three, three plus three plus four is ten again,” Pail sang to himself as the horses trotted down the road. Norman had told him to memorize addition and subtraction for the number ten before the day was over. He had told him that he would get a few coins to buy something for himself if he did. “Ten minus two is eight, eight minus five is two,”

  “Eight minus five is three. Try again and count on your fingers, but scoot back a bit first so you don’t fall off.” Norman corrected him, putting on his best teacher voice. Though his teacher voice was identical to his regular voice.

  TEACHING SKILL (LVL 1) OBTAINED

  Norman was less surprised about gailing the teaching skill and more surprised at how long it had taken. He held class for the kids and Rowboat at least once a day, teaching them basic life skills. Teaching a giant woman the same time as a tiny girl was an experience, to say the least, but neither of them could write. He spent an extra hour every night after the kids went to sleep to teach Rowboat more about reading. Reading was a rare skill to have in this world, but Rowboat was determined to learn.

  “Ten minus two is eight, eight minus five is three, and three plus four plus two is ten again,” Pail continued, stopping to count on his fingers whenever he was unsure about the answer. He found learning to be really fun and wanted to learn more things whenever he could. Primrose, though, was less enthusiastic.

  “Is all fo Pimme,” She answered confidently when Norman asked how many pebbles she would have left if she gave one away. Why would she ever give her pebbles away? This was obviously a trick question.

  “Okay. What if you put one pebble in your bag and one of them in your hand? How many pebbles would you have left in your hand?” Norman put one of the pebbles in front of them in Primrose’s little (empty) coin satchel, making sure that she understood what he was asking.

  “Kyeepin in baggy is goode idea! Kyeep safe!” She liked how her papa was thinking. If she kept her pebbles in her bag, then she wouldn’t lose them. She gently picked up the second pebble and put it in her satchel next to the first one. Then, she looked up at her papa with eyes that shone with expectant praise.

  “Right. We keep precious things in our bags so we don’t lose them. I did tell you that.” Norman sighed in defeat. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, but he couldn't. He did tell her to keep her things safe inside her bag, and she did. It would rub him the wrong way if he faulted her for that. “Good job.”

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  The group had stopped at a rest stop to eat lunch and go through their daily literacy class. They sat on logs lined up by a communal campfire meant for travelers while they snacked on sandwiches from the inn. Afterwards, Primrose went to play nearby while the rest got into the lesson. Norman used a stick to draw a letter in the dirt that Rowboat and Pail copied with their own sticks.

  “I’ve shown this one before, but what is this letter?” He asked while tapping the ground with his stick. It wasn’t the best teaching method, but it was the best he could do without a paper and pencil. “It would be even better if you could also sound it out.”

  The rest of the lesson was much the same. Memorizing letters, sounding out words, and tracing words Norman had written out on the ground. Primrose didn’t understand what they were doing beyond drawing on the ground, so she grabbed her own stick to draw with. She drew herself in the middle, surrounded by her family. Norman had squares on his face for glasses, Pail had wonky-looking wings, and Rowboat was twice as tall as everyone else. She even drew the horses for good measure. They were part of the family, too.

  “Baba, Beebo, Aanti, Baabi, Kick, Pimme.” She pointed to each of the figures while she described who they were supposed to be, showing it off to the worm she kept in her pocket. She had two in there, but Papa made her throw the other one in a bush when he saw it. He would probably make her throw away the second one if he found out she had it.

  After a while, Pail joined her doodling, having been excused while Rowboat asked a bunch of questions. He also drew their family but added his friend Serena and her grandmother on the side. “I wanna learn math soon so I can be useful to Papa. If I knew money, then I could do errands by myself.” He never called Norman that when he was in earshot of the adults, but he let himself use the term when he was talking to Primrose.

  When Primrose didn’t respond, Pail continued his venting while he doodled absentmindedly, “I hope he wants to keep us and be our real Papa instead of our pretend Papa.” His eyes drifted to the adults before his gaze settled on the ground again. “You’re lucky, he gave you a name and everything. I want a name, too. I want to be petted on the head and told I’m a son to be proud of. Serena’s dad did that, and I was so jealous I almost went and cried.”

  Pail was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice when a sudden torrent of rain hit them or that Primrose was already in the carriage. His drawing spot was hidden from the perspective of the carriage, and he completely tuned out the sound of the adults calling for him. “He feeds me and buys me the things I need, and he even teaches me stuff. He doesn’t know anythin’ ‘bout the world, and he speaks real weird, but I don’t want him to leave me. I don’t wanna be alone again.”

  “PAIL!”

  The shout brought the boy out of his daze, and he realized many things at once. It was raining buckets, and he was soaked to the bone. He also realized that the equally soaked man in front of him was the person he was venting about. Before he could speak, he was quickly lifted up in his arms and given a proper scolding.

  “What were you thinking? You need to come when the adults call you. What if you got lost or injured and we couldn’t find you?” Norman sounded as monotone as always, but his words came out much quicker and louder than intended. He was mad. “Don’t do that again.”

  “Sorry…” Pail sniffled, burying his head in the wet fabric of Norman’s shirt. He didn’t mean to disobey; he was just too distracted to know they were calling for him. If mister was mad, then he would leave him, he would drop him off somewhere and never return. Pail was sure of it.

  “I was worried about you.”