“Francesco Bernardone will you awake for me now, else you clot with the cold?" a voice yelled fiercely, sounding genuinely troubled, and almost frantic.
The figure on the ground had all the appearance of one who was dead. Francesco was already much leaner from his forest fasting. His form was shrunken - elderly - lying there amongst the leaves, in an open hut, undressed, with only the warmth of the wolf that lay there beside him.
The young monk Tobias, had only now found Francis after months of searching for him, and was deeply concerned by what he saw.
He quickly loosened his outer cassock and shrugged it off. It was not unusual for the Brothers to wear two layers in the colder months. He picked his rougher tunic up from the ground and placed it thoughtfully over the dozing man.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances
As a youth he [Francis] grew to be exceedingly tall - and became the largest man in the county - his magical ways sun-struck the adolescent girls, who would compete to bring gifts, laughing with a nervous melody - each girl wearing their finest dress, braiding their scented hair, trying persistently to win his attention.
Groups would gather outside his father's house, until the late hours, just on the off chance that he would come out of the villa to greet them.
Some men were intoxicated by his handsomeness also - which did not go well, or unnoticed. The only person to whom this was unbeknown to was Francis himself, who, with very little vanity, took all friendships with a casual and unquestioning acceptance.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances
“It is very strange that he should sing as he does” - the village had said with criticism. And it was strange - almost beguiling.
He was not simple minded, yet held little concern for wealth or future prosperity. No sooner had he coins in his purse, he would give them away to whoever might ask him. And, there were so many in need, who did so ask.
Often, when sent to the market, Francis had returned with the produce, and no change from the purchase left over. His mother was constantly making excuses for their narrowed budget.
Francis, had thought nothing of giving away all that he had in the moment, as charity came naturally to him.
He would save scraps of cloth from Pietro's weavery for the poorest families, to help wrap their infants and their bread. He even brought leftovers from his own table down into the streets below, leaving them on the bottom steps for the beggars and the birds.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances
Francesco was given many free hours to play - unlike the children of the village who were conscripted into their parents' trade, to work away their young nights and days.
His eyes were bright and his body was strong, with the resilient health of one well cared for.
The boy never guessed his true parentage being that of Faerie, however the villagers did think him to be exceedingly queer.
They talked often about him with suspicion: sharing their observances, placing a dark light upon his virtue, giving grief to his outgoing cheerfulness.
Young Francis would often be seen in the uppermost bough of the grandfather elm that stood in the village centre, where he liked to spend time looking down over the town, delighting with its comings and goings.
“The boy is witless”, they had said disapprovingly.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances
The name he preferred for the child was: Francesco, which meant ‘Frenchman’. This pleased Pica well, for she took this to say that the baby looked more alike to her, than to him. Pica had been born in France. It also told her that Pietro approved of the infant, and that he could stay to be raised as his own child.
And so little Francis was to become a cloth trader’s son.
The fairy-child grew up as any mortal of wealth might do - content.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances
When a weary Pietro returned home his beloved wife presented him joyfully with the newly-born child.
"The heavens have brought us a great gift my dear Husband", she had said importantly - then holding her breath, eager with the hope that Pietro would accept the boy as his own, without question.
"What is this one's name?” her husband asked, looking down at the button-nose dribbling snot.
"He was baptised Giovanni, this Sunday past”, Pica answered quietly, still waiting for his approval.
“I am sorry you missed his Christening”, she hurriedly added.
Pietro sighed deeply.
"I choose to call him Francesco" he then said tenderly, as though enchanted with the child all of a sudden - stroking the soft golden hair that grew all fluff and curl upon his tiny head.
He pondered to himself how the rest of his offspring were hitherto olive skinned with chestnut down … until now, but then soon forgot this question.
- Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances
