“The winds have finally changed,” Creator Fernon remarked, resting on the stool provided by his personal golem. “The Northern cold has begun its slow journey South, and we will not see another fortnight before it rears its ugly head. Has your family begun to prepare, Aven?”


    He had only just encountered Creator Fernon on a trip back from the well when his mentor requested a moment to talk. Aven bid his golem to wait with the bucket of water as he took a seat on a second stool provided by his Master’s golem. “Yes, they have been stockpiling wood since spring and got ahead on arrows this last season. The latter should sell once the tribe’s hunters begin again in earnest.”


    “A warm hearth and full coffers are a start, but what of winter clothing and food?”


    Aven thought for a moment, trying to remember what his mother had prepared. “Two slabs of boiled meat, maybe less, and some yoghurts and cheese. My father mentioned trading for some dough once the season grew colder, and my mother always freezes a goat with one to spare. Why do you ask?”


    In all the time that Aven had known Creator Fernon, his master had always limited talk of private matters to the bare minimum. Discussing plans for the coming winter was as foreign as a chicken learning to talk.


    “What your parents are attempting, and truly, what all the tribespeople are similarly doing,” he said with a wave towards the throng of villagers going about their business before them, “is preparing. Either from experiences that one has lived through, or the conventional wisdom passed among the populace, human beings attempt to lessen future suffering. This can be done in a number of ways, for an even greater list of reasons, but the single truth amongst it all is that if one can act now to save themselves hardship later, what is the benefit in staying their hand?”


    Aven nodded along, agreeing with the sentiment. Before his parent’s recent change of heart, he would always take care of his washing before being yelled at to do so. More often than not, this led to his mother finding other grounds for a lesson. But without an easy example to point to like soiled clothing, it was just as likely that she would forget to scold him in the first place.


    “So the tribe is preparing for the cold season, a time when food is harder to attain, by stockpiling beforehand.”


    “Correct,” Creator Fernon said, retrieving his pipe from the folds of his robe and bringing it to his lips. There was no fire nearby, at least the Aven could see, which made him question how his mentor was going to light his tobacco. As if answering his thoughts, the Master Creator simply mimed the action of smoking, inhaling and exhaling nothing before stowing the pipe away. Having finally noticed his student’s attention, Creator Fernon sighed through his nose as he turned his head. “And something I may need to keep in mind for the future when I look to take a puff.”If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    “But enough of that,” he continued, a stern glare trained towards Aven as the latter quieted a chuckle. “What I am trying to explain, and which is the main reason why I stopped you today, is that you must take precautions as well. I have heard from others that your construct has been made useful by contributing to your home’s craft. That is a wonderful boon for your family, I am sure, but you must not forget my earlier warning.”


    Aven felt his abdomen grow colder, like ingesting ice water. “Do you think something may happen when it’s working?” Aven glanced at his golem out of the corner of his eye before turning to his master, searching his face for clues. “Should… should I keep it from our tools?”


    Creator Fernon shook his head. “Nothing like that, but as I mentioned we do not know when it will begin to fail. It appears to function today, but the same may not be true tomorrow or a cycle of seasons from now. We also have to take into account its initial refusal to follow orders. How has it been as of late?”


    A breath escaped Aven that he didn’t know he was holding in, the worry of a saw-wielding golem pushed to the back of his mind for the time being. Aven looked at his golem again, this time taking it in from the tip of its gem to the bricks that formed its feet. “At the beginning, simple phrases were all that it would understand. However, after completing a request a number of times, it has an easier time noticing requests. Now, I can command it to ‘walk in a circle three times,’” Aven explained as his construct completed the request, a slight bit of water splashing out of the bucket it carried in the process, “even in the midst of a different discussion.”


    “Good. That will bode well in the coming weeks,” Fernon stated, drawing a confused look from Aven. “The Chieftain, among other Master Creators, will be convening within this season to determine the fate of your golem and it is up to you to plead your case.”


    Aven was shocked, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he began to voice a protest. His Mentor silenced him with a hand. “Your construct has done nothing to warrant this scepticism while under your care. I understand that, and I also realize that I was the one to tell you that the golem was your responsibility. You must understand that this conference can be solely attributed to the unusual nature of its creation, and that this conference is just that - a meeting for discussion. It is your chance to display your control over the construct, its control over itself, and with any amount of good fortune, your decision of when you must take a trip to the Graveyard.”


    A storm of questions and objections raced through his head, but Aven managed to forget them all when a hand was placed on his shoulder. Creator Fernon rose to his feet and, with a tightening of his grip, gave Aven one last piece of advice before shuffling off.


    “Ensure that your golem remains in good standing, at whatever cost.”