He had left The Wolf’s Wood some time ago. The trek through Kanaka lands had been easy if not sparse. vast fields of pristine gold and purple petaled wildflowers stretched as far as he could see for the first hour or so before being joined by the same bright red bushes found in The Wolf Wood and tall yellow hanged men stretching five feet or more toward the sun. The plant got its name from the way they would droop and bend over after the tops had filled with rainwater.
Another hour of walking and the vivid colored fields faded behind him to give way to tended fields full of tall stalks of barley and rye. His first sign of civilization since entering the Wolf Wood a day ago. He passed several small stone buildings, smoke rising from the chimney in many of them but did not come across any of the people who lived in them.
He pressed on despite the ache in his legs and a growing thirst. The sun had hidden behind a curtain of low gray clouds when a sharp cold breeze blew Declan’s hair into his face. He brushed the disheveled strands from his eyes and the first few flakes of late summer snow fell from the sky, melting in his beard and on his face. Cold enough to fall but too warm to stay. He looked to the sky, mouth open catching a few flakes on his tongue. Standing amongst the falling snow, it hit him that he was truly home. Not just back on Islimore or in the Wolf Wood but Home.
The land of his father and his before that for a thousand generations. The lands where he learned to hunt, where he got in his first fight, where he won a fight for the first time, where he had first kissed a girl, where he had first kissed a boy. The lands he had sworn to give his life for, where he had first split his skin. The lands that he had abandoned first through no fault of his own but after he was free, he hadn’t come back, not for years, not until now.
His pace had slowed considerably, his travels made more difficult by aching legs that struggled, even more, to fight through the river of mud the snow had changed the road to but still he moved ever onward, squishing, squelching, and shivering. On the horizon at the top of the hill he was struggling to climb he saw a much larger plume of smoke than those that had been coming from the meager farmhouses.
Once at the top he found himself looking at a sea of color. There was still barley and rye planted in the fields but also rows and rows of fruit. Great big trees with apples the size of a baby's head and strawberries as big as a man's hand. a field so full of blackberries it seemed the great North Sea had been planted there. Another field was aflame with brilliant red raspberries and the sky had fallen on a third so full it was of blueberries.
The fields all came from a farmhouse larger than all that he had walked past before, yet larger still was the enormous circular stone structure that was sending up the large plumes of smoke. This was Kove’s farm and his brewery. Declan had spent hours running, hiding, and stuffing his face in the berry bushes when he would come down from the keep to visit Malinda
Finally, his aching legs and thirst got the better of him, that or he wished to look upon a familiar face. He tried to open the door to the brewery, a place that often served food and drink to many a weary traveler. Oddly, the door was locked, Declan could not remember a time that Kove would’ve locked up during the middle of the day. True, the man had not been young even back then and would be even older now, perhaps he didn’t have it in him to open the brewery to the public anymore, especially if his daughters had married and left the home.
Smoke billowed from the roof of the farmhouse so Declan tried his luck there, maybe Kove would be kind enough to spare a drink and a spot to rest. He knocked a few times and received no answer, though he was sure he had heard movement inside. Deciding it wasn't worth it to keep knocking or to keep walking, Declan took a seat in the dirt propping himself against a fence post, and closed his eyes. After no more than a handful of minutes, he could hear the whine and grind of engines coming his way. He looked toward the sound and a cloud of thin snow-covered dirt flew behind three swoop bikes.
Declan got to his feet as the swoops stopped a short way from where he was resting.
There was a man on each swoop, all were dressed in double-layered riding leathers, swords on their hips, and a blaster rifle slung over their backs.
“Ho, there!” One of them called removing his helmet to reveal a cascade of long black hair and a thick black beard covering a copper-toned face. Declan was struck by the smell of lavender hair oil and instantly was transported back in time to his last night at home. He was storming out of his father’s long hall and headed to The Wolf Wood and he had run into his little brother. Dorian who was eleven years old would always oil his hair with lavender-scented oil. It had driven Dec, who hardly oiled his hair at all if it were not a formal occasion, crazy at first.
“Where are you going?” His little brother asked, hoping he could follow.
“The Wolf Wood.”
“We aren’t allowed there!” Dorian told him
“No. You aren’t allowed. I’ve had my change, that means I get to see The Gods.” Declan told him
Declan could see that answer did not make his brother happy. Dorian hated not being able to follow Declan.
“I’ll be right back Dorry.” He had told him twenty years ago
“Dorry!” a now-grown Declan shouted in the present.
“D-Decky?! Declan!”
His brother’s voice was strained with confusion and emotion but it took no more than a second for the two men to break into a run to close a distance of no more than fifteen meters.
The two men embraced in a hug so hard and so fierce, twenty years apart melted away like summer snow. Declan pulled his brother in tighter as Dorian’s shoulders shook and his chest began to heave. Fat warm tears fell from the corners of his eyes mixing with the melted snow. After a long needed moment their embrace ended, Declan, perhaps making sure Dorian was truly real, took his little brother by the shoulders and held him an arm’s length away. He could not bear for him to be further. Both men were red-eyed and smiling like fools.
“I told you I’d be right back, little brother,” Declan said unsure of what else there was to say
“I never doubted you,” Dorian replied and Declan knew he meant it.
Another hour of walking and the vivid colored fields faded behind him to give way to tended fields full of tall stalks of barley and rye. His first sign of civilization since entering the Wolf Wood a day ago. He passed several small stone buildings, smoke rising from the chimney in many of them but did not come across any of the people who lived in them.
He pressed on despite the ache in his legs and a growing thirst. The sun had hidden behind a curtain of low gray clouds when a sharp cold breeze blew Declan’s hair into his face. He brushed the disheveled strands from his eyes and the first few flakes of late summer snow fell from the sky, melting in his beard and on his face. Cold enough to fall but too warm to stay. He looked to the sky, mouth open catching a few flakes on his tongue. Standing amongst the falling snow, it hit him that he was truly home. Not just back on Islimore or in the Wolf Wood but Home.
The land of his father and his before that for a thousand generations. The lands where he learned to hunt, where he got in his first fight, where he won a fight for the first time, where he had first kissed a girl, where he had first kissed a boy. The lands he had sworn to give his life for, where he had first split his skin. The lands that he had abandoned first through no fault of his own but after he was free, he hadn’t come back, not for years, not until now.
His pace had slowed considerably, his travels made more difficult by aching legs that struggled, even more, to fight through the river of mud the snow had changed the road to but still he moved ever onward, squishing, squelching, and shivering. On the horizon at the top of the hill he was struggling to climb he saw a much larger plume of smoke than those that had been coming from the meager farmhouses.
Once at the top he found himself looking at a sea of color. There was still barley and rye planted in the fields but also rows and rows of fruit. Great big trees with apples the size of a baby's head and strawberries as big as a man's hand. a field so full of blackberries it seemed the great North Sea had been planted there. Another field was aflame with brilliant red raspberries and the sky had fallen on a third so full it was of blueberries.
The fields all came from a farmhouse larger than all that he had walked past before, yet larger still was the enormous circular stone structure that was sending up the large plumes of smoke. This was Kove’s farm and his brewery. Declan had spent hours running, hiding, and stuffing his face in the berry bushes when he would come down from the keep to visit Malinda
Finally, his aching legs and thirst got the better of him, that or he wished to look upon a familiar face. He tried to open the door to the brewery, a place that often served food and drink to many a weary traveler. Oddly, the door was locked, Declan could not remember a time that Kove would’ve locked up during the middle of the day. True, the man had not been young even back then and would be even older now, perhaps he didn’t have it in him to open the brewery to the public anymore, especially if his daughters had married and left the home.
Smoke billowed from the roof of the farmhouse so Declan tried his luck there, maybe Kove would be kind enough to spare a drink and a spot to rest. He knocked a few times and received no answer, though he was sure he had heard movement inside. Deciding it wasn't worth it to keep knocking or to keep walking, Declan took a seat in the dirt propping himself against a fence post, and closed his eyes. After no more than a handful of minutes, he could hear the whine and grind of engines coming his way. He looked toward the sound and a cloud of thin snow-covered dirt flew behind three swoop bikes.
Declan got to his feet as the swoops stopped a short way from where he was resting.
There was a man on each swoop, all were dressed in double-layered riding leathers, swords on their hips, and a blaster rifle slung over their backs.
“Ho, there!” One of them called removing his helmet to reveal a cascade of long black hair and a thick black beard covering a copper-toned face. Declan was struck by the smell of lavender hair oil and instantly was transported back in time to his last night at home. He was storming out of his father’s long hall and headed to The Wolf Wood and he had run into his little brother. Dorian who was eleven years old would always oil his hair with lavender-scented oil. It had driven Dec, who hardly oiled his hair at all if it were not a formal occasion, crazy at first.
“Where are you going?” His little brother asked, hoping he could follow.
“The Wolf Wood.”
“We aren’t allowed there!” Dorian told him
“No. You aren’t allowed. I’ve had my change, that means I get to see The Gods.” Declan told him
Declan could see that answer did not make his brother happy. Dorian hated not being able to follow Declan.
“I’ll be right back Dorry.” He had told him twenty years ago
“Dorry!” a now-grown Declan shouted in the present.
“D-Decky?! Declan!”
His brother’s voice was strained with confusion and emotion but it took no more than a second for the two men to break into a run to close a distance of no more than fifteen meters.
The two men embraced in a hug so hard and so fierce, twenty years apart melted away like summer snow. Declan pulled his brother in tighter as Dorian’s shoulders shook and his chest began to heave. Fat warm tears fell from the corners of his eyes mixing with the melted snow. After a long needed moment their embrace ended, Declan, perhaps making sure Dorian was truly real, took his little brother by the shoulders and held him an arm’s length away. He could not bear for him to be further. Both men were red-eyed and smiling like fools.
“I told you I’d be right back, little brother,” Declan said unsure of what else there was to say
“I never doubted you,” Dorian replied and Declan knew he meant it.
