Jon had dreamt of finding this tree ever since his pa had told him the story of it - and for a metalsmith, this would be the prize of all prizes to own and to smelt.
Oh! he had thought many times what he could do with these leaves if he could but find one.
At the fireside where the three men sat, Zithia, without warning, handed Jon a small silver leaf. There could be no mistaking - its markings were similar to that of the fabled Argent Ash, and its metal was radiant - glittering crisply in the night light.
Jon could not help himself, he let out an audible gasp, and all three strangers looked to see what it was that Zithia had handed to him.
“Child, do you have more of these tokens?” the earless stew-eater urged.
“My God”, said Jon to himself, and to it truly was to God he appealed, for Jon feared an uncommon interest was arising from this revelation.
He thought quickly.
“No my kind man, this is the only one I have, it was sold to us at the Maundy market - at Blair’s end … there is an old trader who has a bag of such leaves and is charging but a ha’penny a piece.”
The three said something in their own dialect and after their conference, they gathered up their mats and bags.
“Will you sell us your token for that which you paid?”
“Surely yes”, replied Jon, relieved that they had bought his story into the bargain.
And so the commercial travellers left and Jon was satisfied with his finances improved. He could not afford to be sentimental about the leaf itself, or be glum that he missed the chance to study it. He did not even wonder where his little companion had got it from, but as usual Zithia spoke nothing to him, although she did manage a small smile, as she well understood her part in the ridding of this questionable crew.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series
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