Ragnath of Eldrad, Son of Songren, pushed his way through the underbrush. From what he could see of the sky through the treetops, there was only an hour or so of daylight left, and he wanted to check his traps and get back to his campsite before darkness fell. This forest was still unfamiliar to him, and it was never a good idea to wander around unfamiliar territory in the dark.
Ragnath's name had come from an ancient word describing tree trunks, and the name fit him perfectly. His hair and eyes were both tree-bark brown, his skin tanned, and his beard had gotten scruffy from days of neglect. He was tall and stocky, a mass of farm-raised muscle, built for hauling livestock and pulling plows. He wore simple clothes of undyed cloth, with a long hooded cloak and worn leather boots. The cloak was the newest article of clothing he owned- a gift from his mother on the day he'd left her house. She'd embroidered a pattern of leaves and branches across the shoulders, marking it as his. He'd had to repair his clothes a few times during his travels, and unfortunately, his skills as a tailor were nowhere near as honed as his skills as a hunter. If one hand, he held his walking stick, in the other, his bow. He had a knife attached to his belt, and a quiver of arrows slung across his back. A pouch hanging from his shoulder held his catch for the day- two fish and some edible mushrooms. It wasn't much, but he was hoping there'd be some rabbits waiting in his traps. Rabbits were tasty, and with luck, he'd be able to sell the skins for enough to buy a new pair of boots.
His home town of Eldrad had once been one of the most fertile areas in the land between the great rivers. He remembered one, when he was a boy, there were corn harvests even taller than him. However, that was no longer the case. Two summers ago, soldiers had marched across the land, turning Eldrad into a battlefield. Dark magic had followed them. He didn't understand why, but when they finally left, the land remained blighted. Rain refused to fall, crops refused to grow, even wild game seemed to stay away. They had nearly starved, that winter, only surviving by eating much of their livestock. The Elders were sure life would eventually return to the land. The oldest of them, old Merinnen, told of this happening before, and when the land recovered, it was even more fertile than before. Perhaps they were right, but it was not going to happen quickly. They'd been able to grow some crops, this year, but there were still fields that seemed to have all life sucked out of them. And with the livestock herds decimated, there simply wouldn't be food for everyone. Some of them had to leave, so that everyone wouldn't starve.
It had seemed obvious that he should leave. He was the only one of his siblings who was both of age and not married or betrothed. Besides, even back in Eldrad, he had preferred hunting to farming. Farming required a patient temperament. His older brothers had been blessed with that, but he had not. Although he missed his family, he had come to enjoy the freedom of living in the woods. He'd found an abandoned cabin that made a good campsite. If this forest turned out to have enough game, perhaps he would stay here a while.
But, he probably wouldn't stay too long. Before leaving, his mother had made a request of him- to find out what happened to Kelba. Kelba was his youngest brother. His name had come from the the word for sapling, and it had suited him as well as Ragnath's name suited him. He was small and slight, unsuited to farm work. At a young age, he'd discovered a talent for magic. He'd run away with a merchant caravan, hoping to make it to a city where he could find a teacher. Half a year later, more traders had arrived in the village, bringing news that the caravan had been killed by foreign soldiers. Had Kelba still been with the caravan, or had he left before the massacre? He wasn't sure where or how to look for answers, either, aside from trying to follow the caravan's path.
As he got closer to where he'd left the traps, he heard movement. It looked like he'd be feasting on rabbit! But then he heard a voice. That wasn't a rabbit, that was a person. Someone was tampering with his traps! Well, he wasn't going to give up his feast, that easily. He drew an arrow and charged forward, his bow drawn. "Who are you and what are you doing?" he demanded.
But the demand died almost as soon as he'd said it. This… didn't look like a poacher. It was a woman, dressed in fine clothes. "Who… are you…," he repeated, lowering his bow.
Aqutalion Community Member 
|
|
