Teon smiled at the familiar musk and whinnying of horses as he approached the stables. He stretched his hand out as he walked along, brushing his fingers along the manes of each of the horses, stopping finally at the last horse. It was a tall, jet black stallion with a brown mane. His oak colored eyes blinked in recognition as he huffed. “Zephyr, how are you, boy? Are they feeding you enough apples?” Teon asked as he scratched the war horse's head.
Zephyr harrumphed and shook his body in annoyance as Teon laughed, reaching into a basket and grabbing an apple. “Here, an apple for my favorite horse,” he whispered, patting Zephyr's mane as he fed him the crisp apple, its juices leaking from the horse's mouth. Zephyr let out a soft whinny, a look of satisfaction in his eyes. Teon sighed, speaking tenderly, “I wish I could take you out on a ride. Just ride off, away from Manton, away from my father. It's only a matter of a couple more years before we will be free to travel. Just you and me, facing peril, earning glory on the battlefield.”
Zephyr nudged Teon's chest with his head, stamping a hoof softly. “I know, boy. Besides Baldwin, you're my one true companion in this life.” Teon stared into the distance, a feeling of nostalgia washing over him. He'd been friends with Zephyr ever since he was a small colt. Teon smiled, remembering how he used to chase Zephyr, the wild urge to run free too strong for the young horse to contain.
After moments of silence passed between the boy and his horse, Teon finally spoke again, clearing his throat, “I'd best be off. Can't avoid going home forever, can I?” Teon gave Zephyr one last apple before lumbering off away from the stables and barracks towards the lines of shops, taverns, and houses. Manton was no small town, yet not a fortress either. Tall, thick wooden stakes lined its outskirts with a gated archway at its entrance. Teon gazed upon the stuffed boar's head mounted above the gate nestled between two spears as he often did, imagining what life must be like for those lucky to join King Varden's Black Boars in Edenbury. A life of glory, wealth, and danger. Especially danger as mother would always warn, Teon thought, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
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Teon passed the rows of houses and market stands to the wealthier, more solitary homes to the northern side of the town and crossed the lawn to his home. He took a deep breath as he approached the thick walnut door, bracing himself, before pushing it open. The first thing to hit him was the sickly sweet stench of mead in the air. Teon scrunched his nose, covering it with his hand as he stepped inside. A tall, broad-shouldered man with disheveled hair resembling a mop sat at a table, hunched over with his hand gripping a still half-full tankard and mumbling incoherently. The floorboards creaked under the weight of Teon’s footsteps. The man sat up, fully alert, and hurled his tankard at the boy, the mug glancing off of his shoulder. “Oh…it’s only you. Bring me more mead, boy!” the man spat, his words slurring.
“A pleasure to see you too, father,” Teon mumbled as he rubbed his shoulder, gingerly picking up the tankard by his fingertips. Ever since his mother died, his father, Dreng, had taken to spending every night with his drink, remaining clothed in his armor. The ghost of a symbol of a boar’s head with crossed spears is all that remained of Dreng’s past life.
“Where the hell were you, eh? Weren't off getting yourself killed were ye?” Dreng chuckled and belched, the stench in the air growing stronger.
“I was off at the barracks,” Teon replied curtly, avoiding his father’s gaze.
Dreng stared at him for a few brief moments before letting out a thunderous scoff, “Stupid fool! Still dreaming about joining the Black Boar’s, are ye? Come, pour me some more mead!” Teon hesitated for a few moments, his mouth opening to respond, before thinking better of it and begrudgingly pouring the drink from the large barrel that sat by the window. As he returned and set the tankard down on the table, Dreng shot his hand out, gripping the boy’s tunic and pulling him close, his breath singing Teon’s nostrils, his voice dangerously low, “When I give you an order, you obey. Thought you’d have at least learned that much while you were out playing soldier.” Dreng shoved Teon backwards and turned his attention back to the mug, taking a big swig of the drink. “What are you looking at, eh? Off to bed with ye!” Dreng waved his hand dismissively, not even turning to look at Teon.
Teon balled his fists, but simply nodded, “Good night, father.” He stomped up the stairs, slamming the door shut before collapsing on his bed. Just you wait, father, Teon thought as he muttered a curse under his breath, tears welling up in his eyes. If only you were here, mother. If only you could come back to me.