So, the months and years passed. I really don't know how many. After a while, I lost track of time. It was a joyful time for me. Yelwa was away quite often, but whenever she returned, we would stay up late into the night talking and playing together. When she wasn't home, I usually played with Aiko and a few other children from the slums. At first, I was a bit afraid of them, but over time I realized they were just ordinary kids who wanted to have fun just like me. We did all sorts of silly things. We jumped across rooftops, fenced with wooden swords, played tag and other games. Sometimes we went on raiding missions into apricot and plum orchards. The best times were when Yelwa joined us. Though everyone in the slums respected her, they also liked her. Deep down, she was a regular, playful girl like us. She fit right in with us, despite the age difference. That was the side of her I loved the most. She wasn't a grumpy, serious adult, scolding children for every little thing. Quite the opposite. She would play with us enthusiastically, as if she were still a child herself. She laughed and acted silly. She was up for any mischief. Life had never been easy for her. From a young age, she had to fend for herself, but she never grew bitter. She didn't turn away from the world's evils and suffering but instead chose to uplift the simple happiness found in little things. That's why I loved her so much.
I think those happy years began to slowly fall apart the moment Aiko died. The dog was already quite old when she found me crying by that river. I had noticed how she started to limp on one leg and her eyes had become cloudy. In the end, she spent most of her time curled up in a ball in our shelter. Yelwa and I tried to help her as best we could, but you can't outsmart death, no matter how hard you try.
Aiko died peacefully in her sleep. One rainy morning, she simply didn't wake up. Yelwa, who had just returned from some night job, found me shaking the dog hysterically, trying to wake her, sobbing uncontrollably. It took several hours before she could convince me to let go of the dog. She tried to stay calm, but I saw the tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. After all, she had spent way more time with Aiko than I had. She told me she had found her as a stray puppy.
That same evening, we wrapped the remains in a piece of cloth and set out to bury her. It was still drizzling, but that didn't stop us. We just wanted it over with. We couldn't bear to look at that lifeless bundle of fur anymore. We chose a nearby little valley, covered in moss, for the grave. Normally, it was a cozy and pleasant spot, but now the dark cliffs loomed ominously above us and the sky poured thousands of raindrops onto our heads. I tried to shield Yelwa, who was fiercely digging the hole, with a worn-out, holey umbrella, but I wasn't very successful. I only got in the way, so I stepped aside and sat down on a moss-covered stone, now soaked through. I didn't mind. I needed to sit down—I felt faint. I stared at the bundle of coarse fabric lying not far from me.
Luckily, Yelwa finished digging the grave quickly. Together we laid the dog in the hole. I picked some violets growing nearby and placed them on her. There wasn't much else we could do. For a while, we stared silently into the grave, holding hands. Maybe I imagined it, but I think Yelwa whispered:
"Thank you for finding Esme, Aiko."
She gently pulled her hand from mine and began covering the remains. I watched silently, drenched by rain and tears.
From that moment, everything started getting more complicated. Much stricter order was introduced in Pox, and being a thief or smuggler became truly dangerous. Pox had once been known for its criminal underworld. But that changed. Even at night, the city swarmed with patrols, and public shaming and executions became almost daily occurrences. Even in the slums, a gloomy mood prevailed. Those who had a chance to switch to a more honest trade did so, but those who didn't had no choice but to continue. They had to make a living somehow.
Yelwa didn't give up thieving. She didn't enjoy it, but she didn't know what else to do. Even though she tried, at my urging, to limit her activities, we desperately needed money for food.
Every time she left, I trembled with fear that she might never return. What if they caught her and I was left alone? What would I do? I tried to explain it to her. I always clutched her sleeve at the door and felt like crying. She would stroke my hair and reassure me: "Don't worry, Esme. I would never leave you alone. I promise. I'll be back soon."
When she said it, I believed her. I believed she wouldn't lie to me, but even so, I felt my heart tighten with fear. I begged her so many times—though it sounded foolish—to take me with her. I felt awful, sitting all day in our shelter, waiting for hours and hours that dragged endlessly. I felt so useless. But Yelwa always firmly forbade it. I had no choice but to obey.
Usually, when she returned, her face was tired and worn, and she went straight to sleep. Gone were the days when we used to play with the other children in the meadows. But one day, she stepped into the dim shelter with a cautious smile on her lips and a sparkle of excitement in her eyes.
"Esme, I just came across something that could change our lives," she said enthusiastically.
I ran to her, my surprised expression urging her to continue. She knelt and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"The offered me a job. It's from an old acquaintance—nothing shady. It's about picking up a shipment of spices from Xiang Han, and there's a lot of money in it. This could be our ticket out of Pox. With that money, we could start somewhere new. Maybe in Virsel or Callkacci."
Her excited look faded slightly when she saw my hesitant, suspicious expression. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be thrilled. This could change everything."
Nervously, I stammered, "But isn't it dangerous? Doesn't it seem strange to you that they're paying so much for such a simple job?"
"Well…" Yelwa dragged out, "spices from Xiang Han are pretty rare goods. They just need someone reliable to make sure nothing happens to them. It's quite a responsibility, after all."
I still wasn't fully convinced, but I accepted the explanation. Still, I couldn't sleep. I was nervous about the whole thing, but I knew I wouldn't be able to talk Yelwa out of it. So, I decided I had to help her. It was a stupid idea. Naively, I thought I would be helpful, but the truth is that the only thing an untrained little girl can do on such a job is get in the way and ruin everything. But that's not how I saw it at the time. I thought it was a brilliant idea, and despite the danger, I was nervously excited.
First, I suggested it to Yelwa, without any real hope—of course, she immediately shot it down, which I had expected. But this time, I was determined to help her whether she wanted it or not. I felt like I had to do it.