Add Fuel to the Fire

Centuries ago, in a bustling village market, stood two farmers: Elara, known for her sharp wit, and Finn, a man of quiet stubbornness. Their stalls were side-by-side, usually in harmony.

But this particular morning, a dispute had begun. A sack of Finn's freshly harvested wheat had tipped, spilling a generous portion into Elara's pile of oats. An honest mistake, perhaps, but neither was willing to admit full fault.

“My wheat is finer, Finn,” Elara declared, hands on her hips. “Now it’s mixed with your coarser oats. Who will buy it?”

Finn grumbled, “It was your clumsy display table that swayed, Elara! And my wheat isn't coarse; it’s wholesome. More wholesome than your words, that’s for sure.”

Their voices rose, attracting the attention of shoppers. The initial problem—a spilled sack of grain—was minor. But the argument was starting to catch fire. Sparks flew in their heated exchange.

The market crowd paused. Heads turned. Arguments were not uncommon, but Elara and Finn were usually peaceable folk. Their spat was becoming a spectacle.

Elara accused Finn of always being careless. Finn retorted that Elara was too quick to blame others. Their faces grew redder. Hands started to gesture wildly.

A few well-meaning villagers tried to intervene, suggesting they simply separate the grains. But their advice was lost in the rising tide of frustration.

The fire of their anger wasn't yet a roaring blaze, but it was certainly a hot, crackling heap. It needed a cool, calm hand to douse it.

Instead, it got Gareth.

Gareth was a man who loved the sound of his own voice, especially when it was delivering an opinion. He pushed his way through the onlookers, a smirk on his face.

He took one look at the mixed grain, listened to a snippet of Elara’s complaint, and decided he understood everything.