Within hours of his march across the Yarges, Earon’s feet already ached, but he forced himself on. Thankfully, he had managed to trade the rusty chain shirt for a waterskin, otherwise, he probably wouldn’t have been able to make the journey.

Hours passed, and Earon was forced to take shelter within a cleft not far off the road. His muscles ached and his eyes grew weary. However, sleep wouldn't come easily as howling woke him several times in the night, reflexively gripping his spear. But no danger had come to him.

Even rationing his stale bread, Earon had already finished well over half of it. Eyeing the fist-sized loaf, he grimaced. The Spruce Gale was still some way off, and he would need all the energy he could get.

The sun sat high by the time Earon reached the Gale, and he was beyond thankful for its shaded canopy when he finally reached it, with only a mouthful of water remaining in his waterskin.

Earon wouldn't consider himself at home in the Spruce Gale, but it did share most of the same fauna and wildlife that the Ryeland did, and finding mushrooms and clear streams was trivial for Earon.

Raw mushrooms and pepperberries were hardly the most pleasant meal, but nonetheless, it wasn't long before Earon felt in far better shape than he had trekking through the barren Yarges.

The howls and roars that echoed throughout the Spruce Gale were of far great concern. And within a couple of hours, he spotted grey forms following him through the trees.

Wolves.

For a while, they seemed either hesitant or perhaps just curious, as the pack kept their distance. However, peace likely wouldn’t last long, and soon Earon noticed they had spread out, following him from multiple directions and closing in.

Something would need to be done, if their confidence grew, Earon would likely end up as dinner.

Doing his best to appear unbothered, Earon continued, carefully glancing over his shoulders on occasion. Even if they didn't consider him their usual prey, overconfident wolves could be dangerous, especially if they were hungry.

If he moved too early, the beasts would likely be discouraged, but not frightened. Whilst that might be enough, there was the possibility that they would continue to follow and regain their confidence with time. Earon had to battle his own growing anxiety and wait, wait for them to get closer.

Nearing, the beast's silhouettes lined the edges of the treeline. Suddenly he spun toward them and stomped his spear against the ground, roared, and made himself as big as he could.

Scuttling paws sounded through the forest, and Earon sighed. It had worked. But not well enough, for only a few hours later they had returned.

For three days the wolves followed him on and off, but they kept their distances and watched curiously as he reached the edges of the Gale.

Exhausted, he wondered how he managed to survive Spruce Gale, but reward did come when you pushed yourself, and Earon had gained the skill survivalist as well as points in navigator because of it.

There was still over a day’s march to Ryewood, but once he was in the Ryeland, there were people he knew.

Ryefolk rarely asked favors, not because they were unwilling to help one another, but because they hated to be an inconvenience. So, when you did ask, it was generally believed it was for good reason, and so Earon received brimming smiles and bowls filled with tender mutton when he sought out a meal from farm homes along the road.

By evening, Earon had taken to sleeping in the barn of Galli Rans, cousin to Ralli Tad, just north of Ember’s Ridge. And when he awoke at daybreak to the squawks of a rooster, Earon felt more rejuvenated than he had in days.

From there, it was only a few hours to Ryewood, and morning’s cool breeze and mild sun still held sway by the time he reached the outskirts.

As expected, his arrival didn’t go unnoticed, and at just about every homestead either the entire household or at least one or two people came to greet Earon and check to make sure he was okay.

They asked about mages and why he had left, all of which he expected, but something seemed off. There was a gloom to their tones and sorrow on their faces, and no one seemed to want to hold Earon up too greatly, saying their goodbyes and sending him on his way.

Comforting relief filled Earon and an unbreakable smile creased his face as he finally came within sight of the Valdora homestead.

It was just as he remembered it, flowering vines tangled through the fence palings, rows of oversized vegetables drooping to the sooty soil beneath, bringing their green branches with them, and a stream of smoke billowing from the chimney.

Donald Gravelly came waddling from the front door as Earon approached, his cheeks already colored in the red hue they held after a few drinks.

Earon’s brow raised; Donald wasn’t someone his mother would usually take for a guest, but she no doubt needed help with the garden, and it wasn’t unusual for townsfolk to help where needed.

“Earon!” Donald gasped as he gazed upward and marched forward with his arms extended.

Earon caught the embrace, patting his back and holding his breath against the fumes of plum wine.

“Earon?” another voice called from within the house, and within seconds Ralli Tad appeared.

Red hung on the normally cheerful man’s eyes, and he quickly closed in to embrace Earon.

“Gone too long, my boy,” Ralli said, tightening his embrace.

“Me ma?” Earon said, a quiver creeping into his voice. Something was off.

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“Come in boy,” Ralli said, guiding Earon inside with a sunken head.

Earon’s eyes locked on the chair where he almost always found his mother, it was empty.

“Where’s me ma?” Earon repeated, his tone growing frantic.

“Sit down lad.”

A tremble crept across Earon’s hand, but he obeyed.

“Boil us a pot," Ralli said, turning to Donald, then back toward Earon. His fingers tapped against the table, a tell Earon had long known since watching Ralli play cards as a child.

"Me ma, Ralli."

Yes, about that." He hesitated. "You done with that pot already, Donald?" Ralli shouted.

"Ralli!"

"Sorry Earon," Ralli glanced down with a grimace. "You deserve answers, but there’s no easy way to say this... It wasn’t long after you left. I’m sorry.” Ralli Rad said, shaking his head. “I saw you leave with them mages and went straight to her. She was already looking mighty sick. White as a ghost. She worsened that night. We made her favorite beetroot soup. The old girl went to bed with a smile, and never woke up in the mourn.”

Earon’s heart thumped and his stomach dropped, but he remained silent.

“What are ye saying, Ralli?” Donald interrupted from the doorway, pot, and mugs in hand. “The old girl was calling for Earon all night long.”

“Shut ye drunkard mouth!” Ralli shouted, bouncing to his feet with a fury in his eyes none had ever seen.

Blushing and muted, Donald stared back, slowly giving a sober nod. “Sorry,” he muttered barely audibly as he sulked away.

“Don’t listen to that drunkard.”

Earon forced his lips up for Ralli’s sake.

“Take yer time,” Ralli said, inching forward to pat Earon’s shoulder. “We’ve still some beet soup, it’ll warm you up.”

“It's fine, I’m not hungry... Can I see her?” Earon whispered.

“Aye. Of course, ye can, lad.”

Maggie lay peacefully beneath her favorite blanket, eyes closed and hands across over her chest.

Earon sat in silence beside her bed for hours, and Ralli had to force him away to eat.

No sleep came that night.

The next day Maggie was put to rest in a grave by a sapling only a few meters from her home. A ceremony to earth god, Jorral was conducted; Rye folk from around town brushed their fingers through the top layer of broken soil covering Maggie's grave, crying as their tears dripping on the soil were seen as blessings for Jorral.

When Earon took his turn, his eyes remained dry. He wanted to cry, but the tears refused.

Earon barely spoke a word the entire day, and finally entered a deep sleep after drowning an entire bottle of wine after the ceremony.

It pained Ralli to look on, but he understood the pain Earon felt. It would pass, he told himself, and supported the boy he saw as a nephew, as best he could.

Waking in the middle of the next night, Earon crept into the yard. “Jorral, forgive me.” He whispered, speaking to the ten-headed ghost ryefolk prayed to.

It was said Jorral walked at night, weeping for the dead and leading their spirits back into the soil – his magical tears giving life to the garden, and Earon didn’t want to interrupt that, but he needed a moment.

Picking up a towel, he dug at some soil and collected seeds to plant. His mind was blank. How deep, should they be spread out, or if they should be seeded in a wet cloth? It was all lost to him.

Sat on his knees, Earon let the tears flow. He wasn’t a farmer any longer and didn’t know if it was worth the effort trying to relearn.

What point was there in staying in Ryewood now? Ralli Tad was more an uncle than a friend and lived two hours away, over in Ember’s Ridge, not to mention he had his own family to care for. And Earon had always been short of friends ever since Alyssia left. His mother had blamed it on his aloofness and told him it made people uncomfortable. Like he didn’t care for them, and when people read that on you, they usually end up feeling a similar way toward you.

Earon had tried to be friendlier, for his mother’s sake, but it never really worked. Everyone felt a little distant, and ultimately, he gave up, focusing on life at home.

Wiping the tears from his brow, Earon walked over to the sapling. “I don’t know ma. It just doesn’t feel like home anymore,” he whispered on his knees. "Who needs me here now? I mean, I'm not even a farmer anymore. Perhaps Jorral has forsaken me."

Earon starred up at half-moon and the sky filled with stars. There was an entire world out there, whilst sorrow ruled here.

Two days went by before Earon finally woke with enough energy to dress himself properly and met Ralli Tad for breakfast.

“I’m leaving.”

Ralli’s brow raised. “Leaving?”

“The Rye.”

Ralli wanted to ask the boy if he had gone mad, but decided to hold his tongue, and instead held a cautioning gaze on Earon.

With a deep breath, Earon finally explained what had happened with his class, and why the mages had taken him.

“I see,” Ralli nodded. “I had wondered what could possibly have caused Spiral Tower mages to abduct you but figured you would tell me when the time was right.”

“I thought the potion would save her.”

“Potion?”

Earon raised his head, studying Ralli’s expression. “The potion I sent her.”

“We never received any potion, lad.” Ralli grimaced.

Earon felt an anger for the mages swell. It was intoxicating for the moment it lasted, and far more enjoyable than the numbing sadness he felt for his loss. However, he knew there would be little he could do about it now, and let the feeling drift away, unclenching his fists, only then realizing they were clenched to begin with.

“So, you’re really leaving then?”

“I have to. There isn’t anything left for me here now.”

“Can’t say I don’t understand.” Ralli’s gaze turned to a window that looked out across the garden and toward the sapling. “We’ll look after her, the house that is. Should you ever choose to return, and I hope you do. This house will always be your home; you know that right?”

A croak tingled at the back of Earon’s throat, threatening to bring with it tears. He could only nod in response. Fearful that if he spoke, the tears would come and might not stop.

There wasn’t much to inherit besides the house, Maggie had owned a few pieces of jewelry, but they wouldn’t earn much. Earon kept her simple silver wedding band and sold the rest. He had felt guilty about it, but Ralli insisted he would need a horse and some real supplies if he planned on leaving; reminding him that they hadn’t been of any significance to Maggie and that she would rather they go to a good cause.

With the little he had left over, Earon also managed to grab a simple brown robe and Ralli had a carpenter fashion a proper pole for his spear, whilst he himself brought the spearhead back to a metallic, sharpened gleam.

On his way to leave, the militia led by Captain Rindle handed Earon a simple round shield with a green rye kernel painted over it. It was one of their own, marked by the symbol of Ryeland.

"Hopefully this will keep you safe out there."

Earon nodded. "Thank you, Rindle."

He clasped hands and exchanged hugs with several folks he rarely shared words with on his way out. Today was different, and previous familiarity seemed to mean little as the townfolk all gathered like an extended family to wish Earon luck.

It was then Sigwin’s turn, who nudged Earon on his way out. “It’s no spear, I know that.” The boy said, placing a thin metal stick in Earon’s hand, which was bent in the middle. “One of them sell-swords up from Caedstad sold it to me. Said it was a skeleton key.” Sigwin emphasized, nodding as he spoke with high brows. “Said it’d open anything. Hard to see it go, if I’m being honest, but I guess you’ll make better use of it. Only bought it because I wanted it to catch a peek at Charlie May, anyhow. But old Donald Gravelly said that was ungentlemanly. Now I’m not sure I even have a use for it.” Sigwin shrugged.

Earon nodded, realizing what it was as he stowed it away in a pouch.

Riding out on Dotty, his new mare splotched in white and brown to the waves of dozens of Ryefolk – Earon looked like a proper adventurer, clad in his brown cloak and carrying a decent, albeit plain-looking spear, with the shield at his back.

He still wasn’t entirely sure he was making the right decision. Staying would require starting from scratch, but so would leaving. However, at least the road offered a change, and most importantly, a chance to forget.