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> A person finds Wraithvine and friends. They present hir with boots made especially for long, hard, wearing, with spells embedded in the boots to boost longevity of the materials, though they were well made to be proofed even against mud and water. Also new clothes also made for centuries of wearing, and a brand new heavy winter clothing. The same person made clothing and new footwear for hir friends, and even a little winter jacket for Lilbit, though was unsure how to make footwear for kitties. -- Anon Guest

[AN: How to make footwear for kitties - _don't_. If you're concerned about your kitty's paddy paws, maybe carry them]

There is a saying: _What goes around, comes around._ And it generally means that if you spend your waking hours choosing to be an arsehole, that arseholery will come back at you like the forgotten boomerang of fate. For those who spread kindness, it certainly feels like _only_ the assholery gets to boomerang. For them, it feels like kindness is soaked up by the dry ground of the universe, never to be seen again.

The _real_ test of charity is to keep doing it.

There are _some_ benefits. And some of them take a very long time to occur. Such as... an Elf who once swore on a God's heart to make the world better before ze died. An Elf who helped others and _kept_ helping. Century after century. Eon after eon.

Sometimes, the kindness came back in small amounts. The most two hands could do at the time. And on one occasion, feet. Today was vastly different.

The young Gnome was not yet fully grown, and should have been bent double under the parcel on his shoulders. Gnomes, like all the smaller intelligent creatures in the world, had _leverage_ on their side. "Wraithvine! Wraithvine, wait!" When he caught up to the Wizard of legend, the top of the parcel almost met the Elf's eyes[1].

"What _is_ all of this?" ze asked, trying to find a polite way to talk to someone barely up to hir knee.

"Gran'da," panted the young Gnome, climbing up the parcel to sit on it. "Gran'da sent me. He's... been working on this... most'a his life."

Wraithvine poured the lad a cup of water. "Take your time. Lilbit, no..."

The cat had _also_ climbed the parcel and was creeping up on the boy. Sniffing.

The kid hissed at the cat with practiced ease. "You saved... Pelanorel. Gran'da was just a little kid when you were there, but... he remembered you were cussing about a hole in your shoe."

"Oh, _that_," said Wraithvine. "The thing with the cloud of evil and the cursed mirror and the sleeping dragon's curse. Yes. I thought having a D'varuv shoemaker might help, but... even _they_ have limits[2]."

"Yeah. You said. Name's Thatlad. Gran'da's Khokni Boldirkrak."

"I remember the family," Wraithvine smiled at the memory. "Gikka, leave that boy's pouches alone. Don't steal from children. Besides, he's gifting us with something if I guess correctly?"

"You do. Gran'da put his life into most of these. Some are last minute, but they're easy compared to what he made for _you_." Now, without much ceremony, Thatlad cut the string holding it all closed.

Clothes. Wizards' robes, trews, shirts, and boots, and a peculiar woven ribbon of seemingly odd gemstones.

"This is for your hat, sir. So it can resist damage. Maybe help you patch it less. Gran'da figured you were attached. A Wizard and their hat are rarely parted."

"You have that right. There's not a thread in there that it started with, but I do have a habit of using old robes to patch it with."

"May not be happening so much in the future." Some filing though the pile. It _looked_ like a Wizard's pocketed coat, with every colour of the rainbow somewhere in the stitching and fabric. The backpiece immortalised the deed that saved Pelanorel. "No gems in this. Gran'da said you never like bits falling off. This is all imbued with a spellwork of Self Mending. Depending on the damage, it should grow itself back from environmental materials in... a week at most. Of course it repairs the spellthreads first. And you might have to feed it hemp, wool, or other fibres while it does that. Don't feed it rock wool[3]."

"_And_ it has lots of pockets," smiled Wraithvine. "With room to charm them[4]."

Thatlad did an imitation of an old man. "Never mess with a Wizard's pockets. They all have their own ways of doing things."

Strodius picked up the other one. Much plainer in make, but not in magic. "These are some hefty protection spells."

"You're more allergic to death," said the kid. "There's a Cloak of Obscura for your Rogue--" who already had it, "These boots are for you, sir. If they wear out, it'll be because all magic in the world has died, Gran'da said. Aaaannnd... this is a rush job, but nobody goes away with nothing." It was a cat-sized vest. "Protection from cold and heat. Not that that fluffball has much need of protection from cold. It also has a homing spell on it, so it returns to the owner. That's you, sir. Without you, none of us would be alive today. Thank you. For everything."

It was moments like this, and gifts like that, that made the constant effort feel a little more worthwhile.

[1] It must be noted that the tallest Gnome ever recorded barely reached three feet in height. A genetic abnormality amongst Gnomes. The aspirational height for a Gnome is closer to two feet, six inches. That's for adults. This was a _teenager_.

[2] Lifetime guarantees don't include immortals.

[3] Another name for Asbestos.

[4] Never try to pickpocket a Wizard, their revenges can range from subtle to gross.

[Image by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@joannakosinska?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Joanna Kosinska</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/gift-sack?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a>]

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