Fion hadn't been around when all the people had started coming to Daemon asking for trades, but he was smart enough to know the difference between Daemon working on something for himself, and Daemon working on something for someone else. Lately, all Daemon worked on were things for other people--and he got things in return, things they'd never had before. Fion rather liked that prospect. It had, therefore, been his idea to open Daemon up to trades--and, when he'd explained his idea, Daemon had shown no objections. Then again, he wasn't objecting to a lot lately--he wasn't doing a lot of what he usually did, lately. Fion should worry about that, but he was too eager about the prospects of living the high life to worry too much. It was one of his fatal flaws.
Daemon himself didn't mind making things for his new clan. He didn't even mind making things for other clans, provided they weren't enemies of his own or incredibly rude--none of that was the thing that was bothering him. He was upset, mostly, because he couldn't perform the trades himself; all these new, interesting people were passing through his wagon--his sacred place, where only Fion had been before, because only Fion had wanted to be, before--and he couldn't say anything to them. He couldn't understand most of what they said to him, other than what they wanted from him, and that frustrated him. He missed Lucivar's lessons; he wanted them back. But Lucivar wasn't here, and he couldn't convey his desire to anyone. He was stuck.
Fion had lead him to a place called Thornbury, filled with over-grown houses and much larger buildings--stores, Fion called them. Daemon moved slowly through these, reaching out and touching the walls of one stone house with a fond smile, half-remembering a house that looked much the same, with thirteen children running in and out and around it, playing games only they knew. Daemon loved his wagon, but it would be nice to have a house again; a real, solid house, with a work space and a living space separated, and a real bed...
Fion, meanwhile, was checking out the store next door. It was the perfect place to put up works Daemon had already made, and didn't mind parting with, as well as examples of his work. It was also the perfect place for Fion to have his own trading stall, his apprentice-works and other things. And, seeing the way Daemon was admiring the house next to it, a perfect home, too. Maybe they could finally settle down--Daemon had always been too restless before, but maybe...
For the moment, Fion rolled out a blanket in between the two, and began setting out things Daemon had already proven unattached to, including several pairs of boots that had sat on a shelf for months since being made, a few belts, and nearly a dozen pouches, for various purposes, while Daemon ducked into the stone buildings, avoiding the sunlight beginning to peak over the horizon.
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