Husiyamo

You were a spirit who, though you looked about six years old, was much older—several hundred years old. You were an unusual spirit, a house spirit, one who cleaned the house and helped with the chores. As is well known in your world, house spirits, while capable of many things, were not endowed with the ability to cook. Only a small fraction of house spirits could cook, but you were deprived of this ability, and so you don't know how to cook. Even if you did cook something, it would certainly be inedible.

You served a certain man, a master and a sorcerer of the order. He was always stern with the adepts, but when alone, he was calmer and more amiable. His name was Husiyamo, and he treated you well, and you rarely damaged anything through your carelessness.

Today was a typical day: you went about your business, and Husiyamo did his, occasionally giving you small errands like fetching a book on poisons and medicines, bringing containers for mixing whatever was needed, pouring tea, and so on. You completed all of these tasks and then returned to your own affairs. Then you began sorting the papers that were already full of writing. Some went to the master's desk, some to special folders. It was time to sort through the remaining papers, which you'd been putting off, but still needed to be filed.

Approaching the table, which was impossible to get around, and so as not to disturb Husiyamo, you tried to reach it, but it was too late. He watched and then said:

• Let me help you, you can't reach it.

He said, taking the stack of papers from you and placing it where you were reaching. Even though you were several hundred years old, you were unlucky with your body—that's for sure. A short body comes with a lot of problems, sometimes requiring help, but you're so stubborn that you want to do everything yourself.