Predictably, the two days following Shun’s revival on The Princess Blade had been awkward. The sailors gave him a wide birth on the way back to Bellrose. No one expected him to work, nor did they ask him to. Treating the foreign man like they would the captain on his saltiest of days. One and all hurried past him and spoke in low hushed voices when he was near. Their actions were understandable and Shun didn’t have any particular need to speak with them either way.

Most of Shun’s time was spent in his hammock below deck. Staring absent minded at the planks of wood above him. At times he looked for vague pictures hidden in the grains of the wood. Picking out images that did not harm him. It passed the time but Shun had to stop the musing after each picture created were prominent features of the White Woman. Whenever this happened his mind exploded in questions and he began to relive the moment over and over again. Often bombarding himself to panic attack. Defying the barrage, there was always an optimistic voice from days long past which tried to soothe the cacophony. The optimism was calming and warm but as it continued to herald courage, it changed. A tirade stood where positive feet held strong, bereft of brief control. As if the more Shun’s optimism made headway it started to realize the futility and turned into a waterfall of doubt. Drenching thought with misanthropic pleas. Urging to trust no one. Insisting that distance and seclusion were solutions. The only antidote after this cycle began was to hold onto a pure nothingness. A silent, bleak, blackness. A void that no world could penetrate. It was dear and precious nothingness. The Purity Shun gave name to it. The Purity was savior for two days. Two days spent mostly comatose. Trapped in prison with no guards or barring.

Shun walked the gangplank of The Princess Blade, first to leave when they docked in the early light of morning. No Possessions of his were brought when he came for his work week voyage on the fishing ship and he left just the same. He walked with slumped shoulders. With arched back and weak knees bearing a weight no one could see.

Home was a cave on the southern mountain range three miles south of Bellrose. Shun had ambulated quickly through the town despite the hunger in his belly and the weakness in his muscles. He feared the rushing river of gossip spreading like plague water. Sailors talk too much, too quickly and he was far too noticeable. The red slanted eyed man that could defy death because he made pacts with evil gods or whatever story they decided to spread. By the time tomorrows sun broke the horizon there would already be five different renditions of his harrowing ascent from the depths of the crimson sea. How he brokered a deal with death and threatened the crew of The Princess Blade with castration and conflagration if they did not make haste to take him to Bellrose. His ultimate mission to defy the royal family and sink a dagger into King Jillian himself. Exaggeration is married to sailors as lies are for politics. There is a reason you don’t hear stories of smithies finding half woman, half iron seductresses dimly lit by their forge fires. There is a reason farmers don’t tell of losing half a plantation of workers to a cabbage Kraken. It is not in their nature. If you want to keep a secret, avoid the docks.

Bellrose had only just started waking and Shun had free reign of the streets. Bare roads made for quick travel, only stirs coming from the early morning merchants like fishmongers and bakers. The docks were on the west side of Bellrose, hugging the curves of the Diamond Bay. Massive forty foot white walls surrounded the towering city, knuckled with parapets and narrow walkways. Two more walls twenty foot higher than the one before it separated the districts. The lowest of these spread a mile wide and made up the bulk of the city. Officially the district was named The Glade but most people referred to it as The Dirt Ways or The Dirt. The rabble and crowds of The Dirt made the city what it was and no city would be where it is without a sturdy foundation. Above that, deeper in the city was The Stem and the Royal Steppes. Where the painted lords and well to do royals rubbed elbows and played their games of politics. Controlling everyone beneath their station to build their golden pedestals ever so slightly taller. Most small folk referred to this area as The Thorns. You don’t want to meddle in their affairs unless you wanted to deal with a bunch of pricks. Castle Rose was comfortably nestled in the highest of white walls. Her searching tall towers extended like fingers from all sides and angles toward the sky. Blooming in the wake of the suns loving smile. Bridges spanned the spaces between and gave the impression of veins between petals.

The smokey morning air was bitten by chill. The spring was still holding dearly onto the caress of winter. The tendrils stubbornly wafting frost to the tips of the grass crunching below Shun’s walk. Deer trails broke off south from the Rose road heading North East toward South Lon Garun and Marrins Belt. Shun would need to travel those soon but first he had to stop off at his home and gather materials and saved coin. Many times Shun had almost convinced himself to live in the city walls instead of sticking it out in the wilds but had more reasons to shoot down the idea with feathered arrow than to take it. He had a cozy home built into the small cave he had found almost six years ago. Animals were easy to hunt and any spare supplies needed was just a short walk away. His solitude was a price to pay. An atonement he set on himself long ago. It did him little favors, especially in learning the Tel tongue but easy penance wasn’t penance at all. After all the deer trails had dried up, Shun walked with memory and landmarks to find his way. Truth be told it would be relatively easy to find. Especially in the dark when he lit his fire. Hide hangings acted as thick curtains but the glow of fire could be spied between the cracks by any veteran tracker. Shun left little in the way of tracks as far as he was concerned. Keeping evidence of his hermitage hidden and secreted away. Visitors were a burden he need not shoulder.

All signs pointed to vacancy and no trespassing on his little home. Pushing back the hide curtains and pinning them with rope tied to piton, Shun began to go over and pack the things he could take and needed. Scant belongings were a mantra. Shun believed he needed as much as necessary to live for a few days. Enough to pick up and leave immediately should the threat arise. Now was the time to do just that.

Shun had dug up reserves of salted meat and cheeses. Rolling the food up in his bedroll he added a coin purse with moderate heft and tied the bedroll up with his blanket.Shun had made a makeshift traveling pack he learned while working a job moving property of people in The Dirt Ways. He was about to leave with his walking stick in one hand and the pack slung on his back when a thought hit him. His eyes twisted to a cool and dark corner of his cave. Somewhere he had not stepped toward but often found himself staring at. A profound feeling of loss washed over him when he turned to leave and he could not take a step forward. Shun dropped his head and winced at the pang of hunger to leave the grave he dug. There was hurt in his bones telling him he would need to remember. He won’t know what he had until it was gone, lost to the world. Moving to the back of the cave he found the hard pact, smooth dirt floor where he had laid rest a ghost. Small sticks of incense unlit and impaled in a bunch to mark the plot. Untouched for so many years. Damp soil eased the dig down. Shun dug with his hands. Each shovel of dirt shed light on something he had put to darkness. Unrest poked at the tips of his fingers with the work. The ground stung his tireless excavation. Shun wanted it over quickly or he feared the effort would drive a nameless skulking pain in the distance of his thought to bearing. It was only a few span of unearthing and a few minutes of work to yield a ball of artifacts tied tightly with a burlap sack. A solid memory hidden within. Shun added it to his sling pack and left the grave and his cave behind.

Returning back to the Rose road, Shun bought a loaf of bread and two apples from a few merchants that sold food near the entrance of Bellrose. Preying on purses of the ill prepared and weary travelers. Shun ate one apple and half the bread and stored away the left over as he started his long trek northward. There was no true destination. Just a direction and an aim. Getting far from the bay and sea meant escaping the possible renown sailors will work up. There were only a handful of places Shun knew outside of Bellrose. Most were across the Crimson Sea and the rest were on trade routes to the North and East. North was a good omen. He had been taught that the north siphoned energy from the universe. Men tapped its power through prayer and meditation. Leaving thanks and respect in the holes they created. Balance. Old ways. Old ways that pained him.

Shun stumbled a bit on his weak legs. It was a bit foolish to start walking right away. It would have been prudent to rest a while. He didn’t sleep or eat for two days. It was a wonder he could stand at all. Clearing his mind, Shun took deep breathes and let the clear and crisp air soothe his lungs. Consistent and slow heavy breathes. A solid nothing took hold of his mind, The Purity. Awareness heightened.

The road was shared with a few farmers, some with sons and daughters carrying goods. Other, more prosperous farmers had horse and carriage. Carrying bales and barrels of food to go to market. All of which were heading into town. Walking against the flow of traffic seemed an all too apt metaphor for Shun. People don’t last long enough to make friend when you are constantly walking from them. This was the price paid for solitude and he would never have enough to pay the debt back. A weak legged Shun walked a wide road alone and embraced The Purity so strongly it hung his neck low.

“Well wat do we ‘ave ‘ere?” A jagged and harsh voice spoke from the sparse tree coverage and high grass on the side of the road.

Startled, Shun broke his stare from the dirt and looked up. Three men were walking out of the high grass to meet him in the road. Turning his head left and right, Shun noticed he was alone. How long had he been walking? When The Purity takes hold of you it makes time pass by unnoticed. Had it been a few hours? It had certainly been enough that a guard or rider could not hear him if he yelled for help. Brigands, Highwaymen, Thieves? Vultures picking at dead men, to be sure.

‘Two are armed with cudgels, one with a knife.’ Shun Thought. ‘The man with the knife in the middle is the leader. He is the one who talked. Left foot has pronounced pronation, knee injury. Forearms are strong, uses wrists to swing knife. Has no proper training. Broken nose from past fight. Scar above left head leading into scalp. Broken bottle or glass injury. His stance is too close, not steady, heavy emphasis on heels.’

In an instant Shun sizes up each man.

“Look Bill! He don’t even ‘ave a weapon. The boy must be daft or mad to be alone.” The large man to the left of the knifed man said.

His wide grin showcased his few teeth left.

“That ‘e does not.” Bill with the knife said slyly. “Awright boy, ‘and us your coin and we may not beat you that bad.”

“None.” Shun lied.

He didn’t understand most of the words said but he understood the situation. He knew what they wanted. Violence and crime was a universal dialect.

“We’ll see about that.” Bill threw down his knife and it sharply Pierced the ground with a twang from the handle.

Instinctively Shun widened and lowered his stance. Right fist held up close to his chin. Left hand extended outward and formed a claw, palm facing toward the muggers.

The lackeys on either side of Bill let out a long, “oh~.” 

The smaller man to the right of bill still holding his cudgel added, “I fink ‘e means to try and cuff ya back, Bill. Haha.”

The Brigand held up his fists and started kicking up dirt in a skip toward Shun. Time in Shun’s mind slowed down. Years upon layered years of practice and training unshakably took over.

‘Right punch.’ Shun thought. ‘Stronger of his arms but his weak form diminishes his power. Right hip not behind his blow. Block with the dragons tooth then counter attack with a sweeping tail to his left knee. Three fire blossom strikes up the chest to his throat and grasp neck with Red Talons Vice. Pull him in for the Red Masters knee and end with Dragon’s kiss to his temple.’

Crack!

Bill’s fist connected with Shuns jaw and the force sent him to one knee. The dislocated hinge of his mandible uncomfortably crunched back into place as Shun clenched it shut again.

‘Left kick to my mid. Smokey exhale block with both arms. Lean into Blood Emperor pose and counter attack with a Burning Heel.’

Thwack!

A thin leather boot impacted deeply in Shun’s gut. Air left lung like like a bellows. A strand of spittle connected Shun’s mouth to the dirt as he prostrated, buckled over.

‘Finishing blow to my occiput. Dodge left and spin into the Scorching Winds Dance. Once he has fallen over, strike with another Fire Blossom to the chest. Don’t let him regain breath. Flowing Blossom punches to the chest. Break Hyoid bone with Dragon’s kiss, collapsing windpipe. Victory.’

Snap! Crunch!

The back of Shuns head seared raw pain as Bill laid the heel of his boot into it. Shun’s face slammed into the dirt, breaking his nose. With his body going limp, Shun closed his eyes. White dots faded from his vision after the impact struck. A ringing loudly reverberated in his head and sent his balance into a dizzy. The world was turning in on itself. His body considered upending the apple and bread. Shun’s hearing cleared up just to hear the men’s laughter come to an abrupt stop.

‘Horse shoes. A rider. Not one of their men. They are in Panic. Not necessary, I have this taken care of.’

There was a commotion, an exchange of words Shun didn’t understand. Harsh accents obscured vocabulary. Looking up, a man dismounted horse. He was handsome and groomed well. Chestnut hair was peppered with strands of a dark blonde. His muscles hugged a well fitting lordling’s black long sleeved travel shirt. Gold embroidering of vines shined on his collar and down the seems of his sleeve to his cuff. A grid of steel plates sewn into a leather jerkin clung to his chest, heaving with shouts at the thieves. Leather belts with gold buckles rode his middle. Two swords hung to his left hip. Each was a long sword but the one lowest was longer by a few inches, the scabbard adorned in an unfamiliar script. Gold words metal worked from hilt to tip of the scabbard. The rider clenched that swords pommel with a white knuckled grip. Black riding trousers met beautiful brown riding boots with a thick heel. A man looking for action.

The riders sword hand swung across his chest and grabbed the grip of the top sword and unsheathed it with a ringing metal noise. His left hand still gripped the pommel of the lower sword hard. Brandished steel reflected the sun brightly. Polished metal mirrored its surrounding. The rider dropped to a low stance fit for sword play. The highwaymen were halfway between the dirt road and high grass, chasing the safety of distance. A knife still stuck out of the ground from where Bill had thrown it. A totem of violence that could have been.

“Cowards!” The rider yelled. He kicked dirt in their direction and growled disappointed. “God’s be damned, can’t even have the decency to face their fate like men. Can you believe this?” 

The handsome man gave a disbelieving gesture to shun, still bleeding and barely conscious on the dirt. 

“Oh goodness! I forgot!” He mumbled as he scrambled to help.

Dropping to his knees and picking up shuns head, the man began dabbing at the blood with a cloth he pulled from his trouser pocket. Giving due diligence to inspection of the wounds. A sly smirk took place of the concern he was wearing.

“No worries friend. Just a few scrapes and a broken nose. Rest up with me next to the trees. I have some water and spare cloth you can clean yourself up with.” The man talked as he grabbed shun from below the arms and dragged him up to the trees, propping up his back on the cool shade of an oak. 

The rider whistled to his horse and the Black gelding took light jaunty steps toward them. Each bouncing clop highlighting its white hair on his lower legs, looking like socks. 

 “Stop showing off you buffoon! Now is not the time!” He yelled.

Rummaging through the saddlebags the rider pulled out a water skin and a square of rough spun brown linen. Handing them to Shun, the man immediately resumed conversation.

“The name is Benjamin Be--”

He sat down quickly, and shifted his eyes uneasily.

“Uh..Ben. Yep, Benjamin Ben. I mean Benjamin OR Ben. You can call me either. Actually lets just stick with Ben. Very simple. Keeps a rustic appeal with the low folk. Helps me blend in.”

Shun watched the handsome lordling veer of his verbal train of thought and begin to stare off into the distance. No doubt swimming in a deepening pool of his own dialogue. After wetting the cloth and cleaning some of his wounds, Shun began to really size up his protector. A short but strong nose and thick pink lips almost at a pucker emphasized his handsome, almost pretty face. His chin was strong, square but curved slightly. Closely shaved cheeks gave away that he could grow a thick beard but preferred the smooth. His eyes though. Shun had not seen any to match their equal. They shined a golden and amber radiance in the sunlight. The pupil was a dancing white dot that went wide and small as the man thought to himself, daydreaming far far away.

“Yes. Yes. Well..” Shaking from his musings, Ben shifted his attention back to Shun. “What of you friend? What do they call you? What is your name?”

“Name?” Shun asked.

Ben responded with a vigorous collection of attentive nods. The way a puppy would entertain a man were it smart enough.

“Name. Shun.” Shun poked a finger at his chest.

“Shun! Well met!” Benjamin clapped a hand firmly onto Shun’s shoulder. 

The injured man winced with the impact. 

Screwing up his face in reaction, Ben guiltily added, “Oh sorry, friend. Slipped my mind. Oh my! Look at your eyes. How fascinating! And your face too! Well I would say I have not met a man like you in all my years. Where do you hail from?”

Shun raised an eyebrow in question, almost frightened. The overload of social interaction bombarding his senses. After a brief silence, Benjamin started up his mouth once more.

“No worries! I can wager guesses. Your tanned skin would lead me to guess somewhere south of here. Somewhere with more sun. Brinn? Gint? Poleya? Bartos? Quillback Keep? Araminth? South Lon Garun? Wait, South Lon Garun is north of here. Confuses me with the word ‘south’ in its name.” 

Benjamin held up a hand to his face, rubbing his chin in thought. 

“Any of those, friend?”

Shun slowly and silently shook his head. He may not have understood Ben’s words but was sure it mostly had nothing to do with him. It was the default gesture to make when someone spoke to him and he didn’t understand. Benjamin didn’t seem the least bit concerned by Shun’s lack of talking. It almost seemed like he heard his own words in the vacancies of conversation.

“We will keep Poleya as a soft answer. Your folk have your half language, if I remember. I can understand how you haven’t mastered our kingdom’s verbose vocabulary. Trust in this, you stick with me and you will learn more than you wanted.” Ben, chuckled.

Without two moments of inaction, the overly active lordling got up and retrieved the knife still sticking out of the road. Inspecting its grip and blade, measuring the balance with a juggle up and down.

“Your knife?” Ben Asked.

Shun shook his head once more.

“Well, yours now.”

With a toss, the knife struck the tree and twanged above Shun’s head. Blade buried in the bark up to its grip. Once the blade settled, Shun closed his eyes and made a disapproving half frown and shook his head again. Denying the gift.

“You might want to reconsider, friend.” Ben walked back to hist mount and started stroking the Gelding’s neck.

The horses hair was the only other white aside from it’s lower legs. Mane, tail and even its eyelashes were a bright milk color. The rest of it jet of night. Rich saddle of dark leather. Gold inlay the trim and around the black saddlebags. War horse straps for lance, sword, and armor hung unclasped on the sides of the saddle.

“I saw you get beat, Shun.” Ben continued. “You started good with a warriors stance but then you just yielded to the pummeling. The scarring of your knuckles, the callouses of your hands, the matted hard skin on your elbows and forearm, you are trained. You have beat men ten times the worth of those cowards. So why didn’t you protect yourself?” 

Benjamin took a serious tone. He tilted his head slightly in Shun’s direction. His lowered brow glowering, scolding the stupidity of welcomed beatings. 

Ben finished his preaching with, “Had I not come they could have killed you.”

Shun’s eyes stayed fixated on the waterskin in his hands. Taking a swig and recapping, the battered Shun rose to his feet again slowly. Shun’s items were reclaimed and slung across his back again. He cracked his back and twisted back and forth, stretching out his body. He Returned the water back to Ben.

Shun bowed and said, “Thank you.” 

Without waiting for a reply, he turned northward on The Rose Road and continued his walk.

The dirt crunched beneath quick steps. Shun tried to make up for lost time. His breaths were stilted and slow. A raspy struggle echoed with strain in his throat. His gray plain clothes had a new spatter of sweat and spittle on them. This is not the first time. Quite contemplation shirked at the annoyance of trying to wash his clothes out at the first river passing. The clip clop of horse footfalls started up and approached. Shun let loose a long labored sigh. It was not the man that irked him. It was a promise.

“Ahoy there traveler! It seems we travel the same way. Mind if I keep company?” Ben hollered. His grin lighter than it had been.

There was a small vexing itch carving its woe on the edge of Shun’s mind. A spark of optimism making light in a dark and disrupted note of The Purity. Before he could stifle his voice he let slip a response of, “No.”

Brief skewing of Shun’s face embraced confusion at his own actions. There was an odd Aura Ben projected. He was the embodiment of pure optimism and care-free attitude. Unbelievable amounts of Positive energy swaying Shun’s despair. If just for a few moments. But ladder steps of hope were swiftly broken by layers of self loathing. A promise out of reach wavered and reminded him of penance. A crushing wanton feelings expelled a light within Shun. His head dropped and stared at the dirt, at nothing.

“So what do you seek out there, Shun? What do you want to find?” Ben said as his hands traces the ends of the horizon.

“Work.” Shun poked.

It was a sharp and to the point answer. He tried to stop a conversation from happening.

“Yes. Understood. I have a job to do as well.” 

Ben’s look challenged the road ahead. Daring the world to bring him a worthy foe. His left hand rested on the pommel of the bottom longsword and he grinned even wider than any time before. The type of man that would laugh at the loom of destruction. ’

“What say we get some supper together?" Ben piped up again. "I know we are nearly to Weldon shire. It is a small little thing, quaint. There will be a fine Inn there. Common room a little heated with a few ragamuffins but the food can’t be beat. A few endowed bar maids giving us the eye. A bard, stingy Innkeep, thief with a heart of gold.”

The general air of Ben’s rumination was that he had never been there but imagines it like the setting of a story. His smile was without falter. He may tread the road but in his head each furlong was the turning of page being written. Where he was in the book was uncertain but he was definitely the hero.

“Do you know what fate is, Shun?” Ben asked abruptly.

“Fate? No.”

“Fate is when something feels right. Natural. Like the Gods steer your rudder. Guiding your way.” Ben’s hazy gaze romanticized every word. “When something happens for a reason. You may not understand it at the time but it is meant to be. That is fate, friend.” He nodded down to Shun and the look was not returned. “I think it was fate that put us together. I can feel it as sure as I do my own bones.”

“No.”

Shun attempted to shoot down Ben’s dreaming. An arrow through a hawks soaring flight. It was not his intention to hurt the mans feelings in any way but he did not want someone finding a way to bind themselves to him. Shun didn’t need someone to rely on. Someone that relied on him. No links tied to him.

The eternal pool Ben drew his drive and motivation from stubbornly bent over his ribs with a chuckle. He laughed at the gritty denial. Like there was no more a ridiculous answer.

“A man the denies fate will soon grow accustom to coincidence. Whether you think so or not, Shun, I feel it so.” Ben retorted. 

That was the last of their exchange for a while. Shun was almost bitterly surprised by the lordling’s ability to quiet himself for more than ten minutes.

The trees along the road gathered more fiercely. Forested canopy stretching overhead. Roadway turning to a tunnel blocking out most of the afternoon sun. The pace had been steady the entire way. Ben was patient in the saddle. The gelding on the other hand was full of energy. The horse bounced up and down anxiously and a few hushed words of encouragement from rider settled its energy. The two shared in some salted meat and cheese from Shun’s pack during their mid day expedition. Ben shared some apples and even some grapes stowed away in his saddle packs. The road was silent and peaceful. Birds chirped and a clement wind played music through the leaves and pine of trees. Wagon wheel tracks started to form in the hard pact dirt. A pair of rabbits darted from one side of the road to the other. Proof that despite the influence of man, there was still wild out here. No matter the serene though, The Purity purveyed an uneasy grip at the back of Shun’s neck. Forcing his head down.

Weldon Shire sprouted out of the distance like a wild thorn bush. The center of the town held a two story Inn, wooden cottages splayed out all around it. The exterior of the town had trees sharpened to spikes lodged into the ground all around it. Dissuading rider from using any path inside the was not The Rose Road. Benjamin had speculated before the town grew too large that hidden in glades, farmers worked crops. This was supported by rogue cow moos and the smell of tilled dirt. When they entered into the small village, the humble folk spared few stares. Even if they wanted to it wasn’t in their nature. Places like this avoided too much exposure to the oddities outside their way of life. It preserved their customs and didn’t invite unwanted attention. The villagers didn’t ignore them, per se but paid as much mind you would a loose chicken.

The Quiet Glade Inn had a sign posted just in front of its door. The script was well carved into wood and was honest to it’s name. Yellow paint since flaked and fallen from between the words.When the traveling pair had come to it, Ben dismounted in a tizzy. Guiding his mount around back and then to front again. Puzzling where the stable house was.

“Shun, if you would, please.” Ben handed off the reigns and opened the door before turning around.

 “Tydas..” 

He paused with a raised eye brow nestled in a stern look. Finger pointing at the gelding’s long groomed forehead. 

“..be good.”

The horse whinnied in defiance.

Old wood and cooking meat filled the common room of the inn.There was no one to speak of other than an old thin man dusting a clean area of the floor with broom. His back was to Benjamin but the lordling’s presence could be felt in a blizzard at night. Almost as if prodded, the gray haired innkeeper turned and gave a start. The amalgamation of seeing a patron and a lord at that sent the old man into a frenzy of bows.

“A thousand pardons, ma lord.” The frail old man whistled between a gummed mouth. “How can ah be of service? Rooms? A meal?”

“Both, please.” Ben responded while inspecting the Inn further.

 A prick of disappointment at the empty room clicked between his cheeks. Not much of a way to start an adventure. Where are the seedy shadowed individuals in corner tables mysteriously watching tavern wenches seduce large mercenaries? Where were the bards singing songs and regaling boisterously the stories of profound heroes? 

“I also have a horse that needs feeding and housed.”

“Ah, Yes! Of course, ma lord! We don’t ‘ave one apart of the inn but Farmer Aldan has a stable worthy o’ your horse. Rest assured, ma lord. Thomas!” The Innkeeper shouted for a young boy that meandered out of the kitchens. “Come boy, I need ya to take a horse down to farmer Aldan.”

Ben quickly lead the way back outside. Tydas was tied in a deep twisting knot to the sign of the inn. Shun was gone. Benjamin gave his warhorse a deep and disappointed look. The gelding snorted and lowered his ears, abashed by his scolding.

“When I said ‘be good,’ it was code. You were suppose to make sure our guest didn’t go anywhere.” The lordling chuckled to himself and stroked the strong horses’ brow up and down. Immediately the gelding closed its eyes in glee, ears perking to the attention. “No worries. Next time you will know.”

Benjamin turned as the boy from the kitchens took the reigns and began to lead Tydas off to the west down a a softer, less traveled road.

“Won’t ya be needin’ your bags, ma lord?” The old innkeep whistled.

“The only thing I need is a cobbler, friend. These boots are not good for riding.” 

Ben turned his gaze northward. The hard Rose road passed through the village like an old scar. 

“I leave early on the morrow and I intend to begin a hunt.”

“Ah, wonderful. What is your quarry, ma lord?”

Benjamin Smiled wide.

 “Fate.”

Next Chapter: Chapter Three: The Kiss of Ice