A few hours later, Lucen was in the backroom of Liam's shop, begging him to man up.
"You're almost fifteen and still scared of your mom? This generation…"
"Shut the fuck up," Liam hissed, eyes darting to the front of the shop, where his mom was working.
They were sitting on stools, sifting flour for the week's batch of white bread. Sweat covered Lucen's brow, his back creaked slightly from the hour of intensive work. He poured some grain into the mill's hopper and began turning the heavy stone.
He had avoided using magic to train and temper his body, but the task was becoming unbearable.
"We could have left today without you," Lucen grunted, turning the shaft one more rotation. "I don't know when we'll go, but tomorrow is most likely if the weather's good."
Liam smoothed the flour falling into the trough beneath the mill and handed Lucen more bushels to grind.
