The Tale Teller

Ch 32

 When settled for half a winter in a cottage of his own, Vaun had expected to accumulate more things. Here he stood though, with a season's worth of life in his bag. A few pots and pans hung from it, fine rope tying them to the strap where a cup also joined them. This was Vaun's sole processions, all gathered up in a rush, now in a bag upon his shoulder. He hadn't much to show for his years upon this land, but there was a fire inside yet to be snuffed out. It brought with it a pride for the fights he had stood for and survived.

Vaun could still smell the smoke, though the air around him was as clear as mountain-air could be. His eyes still stung until each step before him was blurred. His hands burned from where the string of his bow had sliced and the firey arrows had heated his fingertips. The battle had left a physical reminder as well as a mental one.

Along with the villagers of Brinevalleybell, he had been able to hold back the guards until they had given up. A cold wind had begun to blow so severely that a few of the guards had fallen from the force of it alone. They had tripped over the stony banks at the side of the path to the village, tumbling down a hill where a blow to the head was inevitable. As the men fell, the command had come for them to retreat, but not before Carp got an arrow right through the shoulder of the guard giving the said commands.

Who he was, Vaun didn't know, but he had stood tall with an air of importance. The arrow had been dipped in wet manure, sure to infect any wound it created. With the man's chest and arms armoured, his shoulders free for mobility, Carp had hit him in the perfect place. He would need to be treated and healed before he could command his army forward once more, which was just enough time for Vaun to dart across to Clearwater to make sure the neighbouring village knew of the events.

When asked to go, Vaun had made his intentions clear. He would go, but he would do his best to not return again. There had to be another way to survive this land, and the time had come to find it.

No matter how much he searched his thoughts, no safe hamlet or village came to mind. All that did echo between Vaun's ears was the constant repeating of the bard's words in Faydura. Go West. It was easier said than done.

Though west was exactly where Vaun was heading. He had just passed through Clearwater and delivered them the latest news from Brinevalleybell. From their reactions, it seemed a long-awaited truce may just be possible between the two villages. They were willing to unite as comrades to protect the mountain life they both loved so dearly. Vaun had done his job, and now he was left with no direction and nowhere to go.

He had kept walking until the village was behind him and all stood between his feet and the West his own tales had spoken of so often, was a few farms and shepherds huts. Often he had heard it said that the mountain paths grew narrower, steeper the further west one went until they disappeared into a cliff face so straight that no one dared climb it. It was so high the air seemed to thin and the visibility turned dusky as if one was inside the remnants of a cloud. Vaun wasn't sure why he had never walked far enough west to see the sight for himself, but it seemed like the perfect journey for a man with little else left in life to do.

He had loved and he had lost, he had found shelter and he had fought for those who had gifted it to him. What more life was left in him? What more exploring was there to do when all he really wanted was to be back with Celise?

There was nothing stopping him from turning back to the east and making his way to Cragbarrow, but an urgency was there for solitude and space to think. Vaun knew he couldn't stay in the mountains for much longer when spring was soon to come and the guards would return with it. It was time to go, and a pull was taking him in the other direction from where his heart was sure he would be drawn to.