The next several days sped by in a blur, with Aven having trouble catching up. He’d start his day leading the golem around town, asking it to do various tasks. One day it was chopping logs and stripping bark, while the next was corralling sheep and goats. His construct acted much the same as any other of the tribe’s creations when asked to do a complex and dexterous task - poorly. However, while it struggled with every new task, it profited from the experience on subsequent days. Especially if Aven or another tribesmen designated as it’s Creator demonstrated for it.
This progress in learning was not matched in their exploration of the village’s vicinity. Every new lookout was met with the same, stony stare, so Aven mainly spent that time observing the village. While it had not changed, the tents the same tanned beige and the people milling about in an ever chaotic flow, it felt a bit off-putting. Instead of a well-worn toy that could only be appreciated fully with an analysis of its wear, now it felt like the forgotten plaything of a child that was no more. What did the old women, mounted upon her wooden golem, tell of the village’s history? Or the lumberers that cast aside their tools to relax within the shade as beasts of stone broke the foundation of their backs hauling the felled logs?
“If even one other golem can learn like you,” Aven began, sat huddled with his head between his knees, “what does this treatment tell them? What conclusion do they come to when they see the heads of their predecessors swept aside by the arms of their successor?”
His golem had faced his brilliant blue gem towards his Creator as the latter spoke, only facing the village in the distance once he finished. The magical construct gave no answer, other than a dip of its head as a bird alighted on it.
What he could not get used to was his parent’s kindness. Each day, when he and his golem would return to their homes, both his mother and his father asked him how his day went. What new things he learned in service of Creator Fernon, or skills that his golem had picked up. Meals were now a family affair. Instead of the forgotten leftovers his mother carelessly left out for him, now his mother bartered with the shepherds for choicer cuts of meat that she then prepared with sweet-smelling sauces and vegetables. His father made sure to never leave Aven out of the conversation, circling back to his opinion where once it was understood that the grown-ups were talking and children should listen quietly. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Afterwards, they were quick to give him and his golem space in the outdoor workshop, which really meant watching from the opening of the hut. At the very least, Aven did not have to worry about disappointing his parents as his golem proved more and more handy as the days progressed. Where once it had difficulty sawing through the boards, leaving jagged cuts and splinters along the path of its blade, now it was shaping the wood with ease. What was previously a plank of wood became dozens of long, square shafts, before it took a file and plane to round out the edges into proper arrow shafts.
It had reached the point where his construct was rivaling his own ability, so he asked his parents to demonstrate creating and applying fletchings and arrow tips. The flint and stone triangular tips were sharpened to a wicked degree, and it took careful movements to not cut oneself. Or, as it turned out with excessive force by the golem, blunt and chip the head’s edge. Aven’s parents just brushed it off, not caring about the small mistake in the face of all that his construct could and would accomplish going forward, while a small part of Aven was relieved.
It was decided that the golem would focus on shaping the arrow shafts, while the adults and Aven would handle the arrowheads. The day finished with another family meal, and he went to bed wondering how long it would last. His parents love had shown to be transactional, and now that he was producing results the well was overflowing. But he couldn’t help but fear the day it dried up, and the two biggest sources in his life decided their time was better spent with the machines than him. He turned over in his cot, watching the silent form of his golem. The humanoid construct remained still, but the blue lines that ran the length of its body ebbed and flowed in strength. Aven recalled his masters words, and as he fell to sleep, he dreamed of a pit in the ground. The only thing that stood out in that void were veins of blue, circling the edge all the way down.