The boots were simply wrought in dyed green suede. Fashionable straps crisscrossed the back, closing around the sides through the use of hidden catches adorned in lighter suede the color of a fresh-cut dandelion stem. Inside was a lining of fiergin fur dyed an off-white, eggshell cream with a sprinkling of cinnamon. Cigen pulled them on slowly and redid the catches. To his surprise, they fit his short and wide Taircan feet perfectly. Usually, boots this fine were reserved for the sleeker feet of Nasdria. In the cold winters of northern Mercadar, they were a welcome gift. Looking up at his mother, he smiled gratefully.
“Ta’alya.” Thank you.
She returned the smile and patted one snugly wrapped foot awkwardly before gathering up the wrappings. Creara, the transmutation of waste into fuel for tineira, would take place tomorrow morning, and Cigen knew his mother would never miss anything that could be taken. After she left, Cigen got to his feet, reveling in the slow-burning fire that wriggled between his toes; courtesy of the fur lining. Fiergin were difficult to use for that purpose, but when the fur was treated properly, it would remain warm even when drenched. Flexing his toes experimentally, he made ready for his journey to the Bastzashaba, or the “Castle in the Shadow of the Mighty Mountain.” Technically, the full name was Bastzaanyashayy-atyabundamyst, but never appeared anywhere but the royal decrees of Mercadar.
