The Trouble with Relatives

[Kratos Leatova]

Kratos was still reeling from it all. His home, everything he had known, gone, and nothing but the hope of some family in a far away nation of which he had only heard. Kratos hoped he had learned enough of Sacae from his mother, he had never figured on living there. Now, he was four days from Araphen, somewhere on the borders of Bern, perhaps even in the country for all he knew, heading to an unknown farm praying he would actually find it and a home there.

"pfbbbbbbbb"

"You've got that right, brother," Kratos said, scratching Pharsa on the withers. "Who knows, maybe there will be something there for us. I hope that someone can at least tell me where the ranch I'm looking for actually IS in Bulgar. Mom used to tell me about how she grew up there."

Pharsa's head jerked up, his ears perked forward. Kratos strained, listening. He was glad for Pharsa's awareness. Kratos kicked himself silently for losing himself in thought whist alone on a road with a war on.

Just around the bend, Kratos heard the snapping of branches. Great. Just when things were going smoothly. May as well see what it's about.

[Kratos Leatova]

The deer had been nothing to be worried about, though Pharsa certainly was curious about them. The stud was rather playful with anything that he met, a trait that had given Kratos loads of fun, and no few swearing fits, over the years. Kratos sighed, relieved. The sounds had brought him back home, for a minute, to when he was young. His father used to tell him stories about the bandit war, and the chaos of traveling on the road. Great scarred brutes leaping in ambush on the unwary traveler, taking them for anything and everything that they may have had. Enormous lazy sods, Kratos thought them, except when it came to taking from others.

Kratos shook himself again. Stop it. You're not some brooding fool, like old Cenn, sitting in the tavern corner and growling at any moving thing within six feet. Think on happier times. World's got enough bloody troubles on its own. Kratos turned his memories away from the deeper waters, to Cenn's not so old daughter Rita and a time with her at the river, before her family had moved off. The memory made him smile.

Looking at the sun, Kratos decided to make camp. He was still accustoming himself to being so close to the mountains. The light here faded much earlier than it did back home. Kratos figured that it was just the mountains blocking the light, but it was later in the season than when he had left home. Was it past summer solstice already? He couldn't really tell anymore. Strange two weeks, these last.

Pharsa munched on a patch of remarkably nice grass and clover, Kratos being content to ground tie the grey while he set up his humble tent and bedroll. That task done, Kratos tied Pharsa to a low branch, earning a weak nicker of protest.

"Come on now, you know that I'll be back, and there is forage right there at your feet!" Kratos told the horse. Pharsa blew out in response, trusting his companion to return before full dark.

Kratos was able to find several rabbit warrens, and having set his snares, returned to camp, started his fire up, and had dinner for himself and the horse (grain and oats for the latter) ready within the hour.

[Kratos Leatova]

Kratos silently thanked the heavens for his mother's teaching of her hunting skills as he untied Pharsa from the branch and let him wander the small meadow. The grey would probably not lie down all night, but Kratos knew that Pharsa wouldn't wander away from the safety of their little herd.

He had grown up learning the arts of tracking and woodsmanship. Though the understanding of archery had always eluded him, (how the hell did anyone figure where that blasted pointy stick would end up?!?) Kratos was a tracker of fair skill. He knew well the signs of animal trails, so setting snares was easy work, and he usually had dinner in his pack when he was away from home.

Tonight's cuisine consisted of roasted raccoon and a potato baked on top of a flat rock. Combined with a few berries made in to a sort of sauce to eat with the meat, it made remarkably edible fare. Off to the east off the camp, Kratos heard some thundering buffoon who may have been trying to hide his or her presence. Poorly. The sound faded, perhaps the person had found a path. Pharsa inspected the sound briefly, favoring it with a solid blow from his nose before returning to the clover he had found.

"By my stars and garters!" came a voice not long after, deep and rich, like Kratos had always imagined the great kings sounding. Kratos glanced lazily toward the path that had led him to tonight's respite, wondering who would use such a curious exclamation.

Kratos' eyes were greeted by a man of rather enormous proportions. Dark, short hair covered the man's head, and he wore a faded red tunic with black pants and a belt. Thickly calloused hands the size of a colt's head hung from arms roughly the size of Pharsa's neck, which in turn were held together by a chest comparable to the hindquarters of any good draught horse. Completed by the generous girth of a man who was important enough to be well fed, Kratos surmised that he was looking at a blacksmith.

"Now what might you be doing in these hills so late by yourself, boy?" the man inquired, inviting himself to the fire and eyeing the meal pointedly. Boy?

Kratos sat up, pulling his sword near by the crossguard, freeing it from the leather sheath affixed to a log by the belt. Away from the camp, Kratos heard the squeal of some small animal, probably caught in one of his snares. Pulling his legs underneath him, Kratos came up into a crouch, next to the stranger. "I might ask you the same thing. Might rude to invite yourself to a man's fire and stare at his dinner like a lost pup, without so much as a 'How do?' now, isn't it?" Kratos made a little effort to moderate the heat in his voice. A little.

"YEA HAHAHAHA" the man erupted, a hearty laugh that was remarkably disarming for Kratos. "'How do' indeed! I like you, son, ye remind me of m' kid back home!" The man stroked a small pendant he wore. Kratos hadn't noticed that before. "Boy made this, two matching copies fer me an' the wife. I were barely able to afford the wedding, years ago, an' she wanted something proper to wear to symbolize it. Name's Theran, I live in Bulgar, a ways east of here, should be."

Really now? The man may have something to say about this ranch Kratos was supposed to be finding.

"Well, Theran, I'm Kratos and that's Pharsa," Kratos gestured to the horse. Pharsa popped his head up at the sound of his name, looking at the pair by the fire. Kratos held out his hand, with some of the berry sauce he had made on his palm. Pharsa came over, and licked at it, then inspected the grass by Kratos' boot, away from the hulk over there. "How about you go see if you can find the rabbit trail over off that path you to me on," Kratos said as he handed Theran a torch from the fire. "Follow it to the right, and your dinner should be there for you. We can talk and you can tell me about your home, huh?"

The man took the burning brand. "Deal," Theran said with a smile, and turned to seek his supper.

[Kratos Leatova]

The rest of the night had gone surprisingly well. Theran voraciously tore apart the rabbit that he had found in Kratos' snare, which he had reset for Kratos, evidently. It turned out that Theran actually knew the areas around Bulgar fairly well, as he sometimes had to deliver horseshoes, tools, and other equipment to the various farms in the area. He was only away on account of some personal business in Khathelet. Evidently, some family member or other had recommended him for the making of a new signet ring for some low-level lord or other.

"Don't know what it's about," Theran said, "But I'd be a stone-blind fool to skip a two-month journey that could feed my family for a year. I'm jes' hopin I can manage alright, never made jewelry before, not like m' son."

When Kratos had asked him about the farm of his family, Theran perked up, happy to be of help. The place was actually about three miles outside the city, maybe a mile off the road that lead up to the southern gate. "Folk' been havin' some sort o' trouble out that way, Theran informed Kratos, "Bandits or summat. But, ain' e'rebody these days?"

"I guess so, Theran, I guess so" was all Kratos had replied. That had been just before he turned in for the night anyways, so Theran didn't take offense. Kratos hoped that the trouble out that way wasn't like home. The very idea nearly had him jump to a gallop, for as long as he could, straight to the city. He still hadn't resolved THAT mess, though he had heard a few stories in the taverns, mostly he had taken those for drunken nonsense.

The pair had taken their respective leave fairly early that morning, Kratos anxious for his family and Theran anxious for his prospective coin. Kratos was a bit sad to see him go, the older man reminded Kratos strongly of simpler times and simpler people. Country people, folk that lived hard and laughed easy. Kratos could only hope that it was a life he could return to when he found his family. For find his family he would.

[Kratos Leatova]

Now this was a bit of a quandry. Kratos was SURE that he had turned right, then left, then another left, followed by a right, a left, a pair of rights and one more left when he started following that deer trail off of the main road. Or... was the third a right?

"BLAST IT ALL TO THE DEPTHS!" Kratos yelled, jerking Pharsa out of his own reverie. They had come to an end. A dead end. The path had cut off, a steep grade, almost a cliff, came out of nowhere. Kratos could see where the land had broken loose, and the shale underneath had given way, allowing all the dirt to slide down, probably into the river at the foot of the hill. On the other side of the river, the road again. "Figures. Go looking for water, get lost, and find water only to see that it would have come to you all the time, if you just stayed on the road," Kratos muttered to himself, "Nooo, noo, you just haaaad to go looking for that drink. You clearly are still back home, there's not a thing in the world to be worried about. Nope, you're fiiine.

However, berate himself all he would like, Kratos would do no good standing atop this grade staring at the road. He hopped off of Pharsa, earning a quick nosing from the horse, and walked to the edge. Loose. Much of the rock was broken off and loose, practically dust and pebbles. Pretty steep, though. Steep as the pitch of the roof on the barn, back home. Kratos set his boot on it, cautiously. It held for a moment, then began to give way. He could get down, on foot, but the ground wouldn't permit the horse to just walk down, or up for that matter. It wasn't a far tumble, but plenty far enough to break a neck, human or equine. Kratos turned to his steed, and back to the hill. If only...

The ground broke loose, and Kratos broke loose with it. He jumped as hard as he could, hoping to make it back to the solid ground, but to no avail. He landed on his backside, and slid to the base of the hill, Pharsa, his sword, and his camping supplies still at the hill's crest. GREEEEEAAT.