When Hargitt was growing up there wasn’t much time for stories. Usually by the end of the day the children were so exhausted from tending to the herd that they fell asleep easily and on those rare instances that sleep evaded them the boys would play tricks on each other. Occasionally, however, his eldest brother would impart him with some ‘wisdom’ to keep him thinking.

Merritt was, and always would be, the most exuberant of Anora’s sons. He was four years older than Hargitt with a temper as hot as a white flame and a stubborn streak so vicious that not even Delwyn could take him. Still, that didn’t mean he was a slacker and Merritt pulled his weight around the house. He was a good brother who always made sure his younger siblings were tended to before inevitably going on about his day. While Silas may have been the kinder of his two brothers, it was Merritt that Hargitt aspired to be more than anyone else. In his eyes his older brother was the epitome of strength and one day he hoped to be that cool.

An illness spread about the village in their youth and Anora had been pregnant with Yrine at the time. She’d been too busy taking care of her youngest two, Devos and Tevra, to worry about the older three. Delwyn was laid up with the very same illness as well as doing his best to keep the family afloat. In Anora’s eyes they were old enough to care for themselves even though Hargitt was barely old enough to shoot a bow on his own. Silas was the needier of the three, clinging to Merritt every chance he got especially when his fever was high, and Hargitt…well, he was okay on his own.

At least, that’s what he’d said. He was fine and he could handle it. Merritt checked in as often as he could, but as one of the few who hadn’t been hit so hard it was up to him to make sure those that suffered the most were cared for. So, of course he didn’t keep as keen of an eye on Hargitt, especially not when his younger brother was so keen on telling him he was okay. He lied about his fever, about eating his meals and about how much he slept. Everything hurt and he could barely stomach the brother Merritt left him with. Worst of all Hargitt just wanted someone by his side and when the tears inevitably came in the night he did his best to be quiet about it so as not to upset his mother.

He remembered waking up one night to a cool compress on his forehead. Another damp cloth was being stuffed under each arm pit with another two being shoved under his knees. At first he fought against the sudden onslaught of cool, but soothing coos kept him still. When he opened his eyes he saw Merritt. The older boy had deep, ragged bags under his eyes and his cheeks were flushed with a fever all his own. Still, he worked and the expression he wore broke Hargitt.

“I’m so sorry, Hargitt. I didn’t know it was this bad,” His voice was soft, but sorrowful. What did he have to feel guilty over? Hargitt was fine. He ached, but it was okay. Merritt was busy, they needed him and – “You needed me too though, didn’t you?” Oh. Did he say that outloud?

When it was obvious that the fever wasn’t going to allow either of them any rest Merritt wiggled his way onto the bed and pulled his little brother to him. He started to mumble about a paladin of Chi who garnered as many followers for her as he did enemies. Sometimes Hargitt would fade in and out of consciousness, but Merritt kept it up. He said that the man’s service was repaid with a row of feathers that grew down his scalp like a bird’s crest. At the time he hadn’t been able to tell if he was making it up or not, but that night Hargitt dreamed of the feathered man.

He saw him as a great, mighty paladin of the mountain goddess with plumage that could rival any kinfa. It made him an obvious target for those who wished him harm, but the way Merritt spoke about it was as if the villagers saw it as a blessing. A sign that he was clearly favored by the spirits themselves and that…was actually pretty cool. For a good few weeks later Hargitt would wear his hair with feathers in the braid, sporting his dedication proudly, until his Uncle would inevitably rip them out. It was still something, wasn’t it? Thinking that even if no one else saw the hard work and suffering you went through that the gods were watching…

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