Always so many this time of year. They were but infants, some with horns and tails, some with halos and wings. Some ordinary human, but born abnormal, some from other races. Left out on snowbanks, frozen middens, on game trails, or just sitting in frigid confusion, too cold and tired to cry anymore.
With magic and love, she brought them into her traveling tower. She was a harvest maiden, and she harvested the discarded and unwanted. Her family, formerly discarded, helped her raise her harvest, her beloved little seeds of life. So they could go out and harvest themselves, there's a reason so few abandoned died these days in this world. But it was a sad harvest indeed. -- Anon Guest.
You may know the rhyme: There was an old woman who lived in a shoe... The boot, once worn by a Giant, was just a starting point. A gateway to a portable tower. The chicken legs were a necessary addition to keep it moving between destinations. After all, only Giants are capable of easily moving their own shoes.
As for what she does with it... witness.
The small hours of the night, when such wicked deeds are wont to happen. A desperate figure, hunched over a bundle in their arms. Scurrying between places of cover, or veering away from any other signs of conscious life. All with one goal in mind - to find somewhere they could leave that bundle behind.
The local midden, some neglected corner of the woods, or into a basket and then to the river. If the bundle is supremely lucky, it gets left on a doorstep, but it is not often lucky. Not in that way.
The shoe was already on its way, silent as a breeze. With the old woman in question using the laces like reins. Perched on the tongue as if she were driving a coach. Guided by an amulet pointing the way to the next new soul in need of rescue.
There's something about the nature of things that makes the hunched figure place their burden down before they scurry away. Considering what they're doing, it may be kinder to be rough or negligent enough to end such an unwanted life. Perhaps there is guilt enough in what they're doing to need some small amount of deniability. Their unwanted newborn may have a chance, no matter how small, and that is enough for them.
That figure has enough grace to flee before the shoe is in sight. They rarely look back, eager to get away from the scene of their crime.
They're allowed to escape. They've been through enough. The important part is the small bundle left behind. Intercepted by the old woman. Often before the newborn can start crying.
They're all Unwanted in one way or another. The Hellkin, Hallobloods, and Halfbreeds are all self-explanatory. Few, without good reason, want to live with the societal shame. Some are evidence of affairs. Some are the unfortunate consequences of unwanted interactions, to put it mildly. Some are the evidence of a later-regretted encounter. Then there are those born... different. The ones with a malformed limb, a hare lip, a twist in their spine or even a strawberry birthmark... they're less understandable.
They should not have to pay the ultimate price for their perceived sins.
So in the middle of the night, a shoe walks to where a new soul is experiencing the worst thing to happen in their short lives. It crouches on its chicken legs, very carefully, to allow the old woman to descend and scoop up a tiny new person. Bringing them inside to a space unlike many ever seen before.
There's thousands of children inside. Hellkin, Hallobloods, and Halfbreeds, certainly, but there are those with twisted limbs, twisted spines, a hare lip or a head too small to be considered 'normal'. They're all there. Hale and hearty. The larger ones looking after the smaller ones while Grandma Welcome does her nightly duty.
The portable tower has accommodations for everyone. For those who cannot climb stairs, there are ramps. For those who are cold, there is warmth. For those who are hungry, there is food. For every need, there is something, somewhere, to fill it. Especially for those taken in who grew to a point before they were cast aside. There are plenty of spaces to hide for anyone who feels the need of them.
Those who've been there the longest know what to do. Those who are new... learn.
Some hours after dawn, the shoe comes to a halt somewhere out of the way. Settles down to rest, and Grandma Welcome puts down the reins to come inside. She's a busy old lady, and as kind as her name suggests. Grandma Welcome checked the newborns first, making certain they were clean, fed, and comfortable. Then from most urgent to least, checking on the children.
Grandma Welcome did have a lot of children, none of her body. The rest of the rhyme is so very, very wrong. A kind heart and a gentle hand are the rule in this house. Shoe. Portable Wizard tower. It's all rather confusing if you're looking for a precise definition.
It's possible for a tower inside a shoe to have infinite bedrooms, all numbers of bathrooms, and a garden capable of feeding everyone, and the goats that live there. It's chaos, but happy chaos.
Some there, are children for all of their lives. Living in the extended shelter of their traveling home. Working to the best of their ability to help the others.
"Five new ones," reported Grandma Welcome. "Not as many as it could have been. It's nice to have so few."
One of the younger sort, prone to following Grandma Welcome around, asked, "You don't want more family?"
"It's the circumstances of getting more family that makes Grandma sad," she said. "I love all of my children, and want them, but... I only take the unwanted."
"All over the world?" said the young one.
"No, dearest. I can only save those my house can reach. It's not a fast house, and I can only reach so many. Grandma can't save them all..." One of the new babes started to fuss. She moved to pick them up and kiss their brow. "But I can save these ones." Gentle pats and aimless humming soothed them. "Have you heard the story of the starfish on the beach?"
[Photo by Pedro Lastra on Unsplash]
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