“Harrien! Harrien! Where are you, it’s not fun anymore, I don’t want to play” shouted Nimeria, raising her hands to cup around her mouth, all of the shouts were making her hoarser by each “Harrien” she uttered, she was ready to pack it in and blast it if he got himself lost or hurt.
“Harrien! Come out, I don’t want to play no more! Harrien, it’s your last chance” said Nemira, granted this has been the 5th last chance, yet she was sure she meant it this time.
- break -
Harrien shifted realizing his back had become as stiff as the great oak branch he was lying on. At this rate he thought Nimera will find him growing roots and sprouting leaves from his nose. She was never any good at seeking Harrien mused as his name was carried by the wind in the distance “Harrien! Come out..”. It sounded rather close by now. “Darn it” grumbled Harrien as be began hoisting himself up higher, the branches losing their bulk, he stopped at a medium sized one that depending on it’s mood might just decide to give Harrien a fast return to the ground. “That ought to do it!” Harrien wheezed with triumph his leather tunic was scratched but compared to his bracken brown hair now with a full crown of leaves, he wondered if Nimeria would not confuse him with a sapling.
With the sparser leaves Harrien had a better look, and what a look it was, despite being crouched in what was a rather uncomfortable position, he had the prime view of LoftenHeights as well as a promise of a sliver of the boundary watchtower. Just as the fancies of being allowed to enjoy the view the watchtower would offer, Harrien’s head was ripped out of the clouds by a hurricane composed from his namesake!
“HARRIEN, gotcha!” Nimeria’s voice pierced from directly bottom of the tree, startling a few birds that Harrien hasn’t disturbed with his ascension to his own watchtower.
“NIMERIA, in all that Lima hold’s dear, I told you, you have to say the seeker’s phrase and not go shouting my name, I could have fallen and cracked my head!” which was not strictly true Harrien thought as his leg were firmly locked in the medium branch he had allied himself with, in which case only a powerful gust could have gotten Harrien from the tree; with one leg less.
“You always say my name when you find me, because you know it’ll make me jump!” said Nimeria who was now half heartily kicking the bottom of the trunk. That part was true but it was a habit he picked up while playing with Mirrelia, who always insisted everyone address each other by their proper names.
“I forget, now move to the side unless you want to make my landing softer” said Harrien who saw Nimeria dart back from the trunk, she took things very seriously, like the time when he convinced her that he and the architect’s son and him traveled to the Darmen Peninsula and fought against Fox, Hare and Boar Knights. Granted she was only 5 of name then but the punishment set by his father stopped him of even thinking of the word “Knight” for a year.
Harrien was gripping the bark coarse, which was biting into him when he slid down and hopped off from the last half length off the tree. Harrien rubbed his hands to get rid off the trees barky remnants that left red marks. Nimeria gave him a slow clap, “Graceful as a Swan Knight Harrien, truly, now can we go, I remember Pap saying he’d be back earlier today” said Nimeria, her pink and yellow patched dress despite many alterations looked well with her brown hair and blue eyes, she always was able to make everything she owned look stately or at the very least clean, a talent that Harrien could use in abundance.
“You right, let’s get going, I wonder if he’d been able to get rid of the fleeces he had gotten last season” said Harrien, walking through the long grass path that led him to the oak in the first place, Nimeria right behind, seemingly leading the way.
“I doubt it, he always said that the Olmwell folk make enough on their own” said Nimeria, placing her steps onto Harrien’s.
Having reached the fence, a fence in name but a collection of posts that may have once had the determination to fence something out perhaps in his father’s day. The pair approached their house which sat atop a hill. It wasn’t a grand thing but the Dormy’s, Harrien’s father said had had it for over 90 years a fact which was hidden well by the white-washed walls, hiding it’s age quite well. Harrien was often reminded of an older lady from the Reaches who’s age was often plastered beneath layers of power and rouge which made one pretty, but given a second glance accentuated the age. The Dormy’s House was much the same, a patched roof there, a window crack here, an uneven space under the squeaky door that needed replacing, more than another layer of paint and tufts of grass which sprouted around the edges of the garden, giving the hill an impression of a balding dome that held on to hair, crowned by a sturdy wooden fence, a project of the past Summer Harrien and Nimeria were particularly proud of assisting in; the painting of 5 of the posts and observations of Ranes’ father’s men, were among some of their most profound contributions.
Closing the front gate behind them, followed by a another crescendo of wooden squeaks, the front door opened as the pair made it halfway through the packed earth pathway leading up to the porch.
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A wood on wood clunk clunk greeted them before Taryon’s face, he was an old man, even by Loftheight’s standards, an old man who was never slowed down by his age and the wooden leg acquired during the last Harvest.
“Has the wind taken the pair of you away to Estriana?” said Taryon, a smile already creeping up on his face. The old man Harrien knew, could not harbor anger, something to do with “life of hardships” said Nimeria, but Harrien thought it was just how his old man was. However, although anger never had much living quarter’s when Tayron was about there was certain things he was most serious about, things that to Harrien and even Nimeria who was a stickler for rules, seemed odd. Tayron impressed on them that they should avoid all men or women who don’t give you their names and most odd of all those who don’t have color to them, Harrien though that last one was a joke, probably Tayron forgot what a ghost or an Erukan was, but given his repeating of the same warning Harrien was on the fence on whether to take it to heart.
“I was thinking of turning the fleeces you have Pap into a quilt!” said Harrien as he said at the rickety table in the dining room with Nimeria. Tayron was taking out identical bundles of bread and cheeses wrapped finely in brown parchment paper and handing them to the pair.
“With such a quilt there would be no need for as much firewood come the cold..and.” said Harrien, racking his brain for more solid points that would support his fleece claim. Nimeria was very much supportive on the idea and nodded with enthusiasm as she ripped another pieces of bread in between nibbles from a rather greasy cheese. Primarily as it was already agreed between them that she would be in charge of any patterns that were to be had.
“Well you two little mice will be disappointed to hear that the fleece and all my stock had been successfully sold” said Taryon, still rummaging with his back to the pair who froze their bread devouring pursuits. Taryon always found a way to make ends meet with his trading routes and odd jobs but if truth be told it was never enough, as the trade routes often lost more than they yielded but without them one would not be able to pick up the odd jobs along the way.
“You’re kidding, Pap, no!” said Harrien, now on his feet, the fleece scrubbed from his mind as if it never schemed itself into existence there for the past week.
“That’s wonderful, how, who bought the stock?” said Nimeria, beaming at Tayron’s back.
Tayron turned around, and to Harrien’s and Nimeria's surprise he looked grim, his eyes the same grayish-green of Harrien looked drained, not of energy Harrien though disturbingly, but of hope if that can be said of any eyes, but the rest of Taryon’s face left no room for what Harrien glimpsed in his father’s eyes.
“Some mercenary folks, the word around the town square is that our Crowned King Lauriel is looking to move men up North.. And” said Taryon in a flat voice, which was cut off by Harrien who blurted out.
“But North means the Knight Kingdoms, it means the Land’s End Plateau and the Peninsula and, and…“ raced Harrien, enthralled by visions of the Wolf and Fox Knights.
“And it means death, death and war and by Lima who knows what else” said Taryon with a sharp voice, placing a hand on the table, partly for support and to add weight to his words.
“Then it must mean a Comet is on the way then Pap” said Nimeria, who among all the local children was something of an authority on Comets and cats. The former Harrien always pointed out came from a learned by heart 3 page pamphlet which listed each known Comet and their notable associated events, the latter came from the elusive stray which Harrien believed was a figment of Nimeria's imagination until he stepped on something in the kitchen one morning that resulted in a loud hiss, yell and a rather deep triple line cut on his knee.
Taryon said nothing but, maneuvered himself to a chair, green paint peeling but sturdy as ever as opposed to Harrien who wasn’t easy with ideas abouts Comets and such. Harrien gave Nimeria a glance that carried with it all the skepticism one can arrange with arched eyebrows.
“Well what else can it be, it said in my books that the Azure Comet resulted in the breaking up of the land connecting Merthia Major and Minor and that the biggest battles took place and..”
“What books? You just memorized that dusty old pamphlet we found in the attic last Winter!” said Harrien.
Nimeria was about to defend her source of knowledge which lay protected under her pillow, when Taryon spoke.
“That’s enough from both of you, I didn’t want to upset you, the most important thing is I don’t have to do any more trade routes for the rest of the season” said Taryon patting the pocket of his good leg which clunked with a healthy heft.
“Finish up with your food, wash and sleep, we’ll see about going into town for some supplies, stale bread won’t do us good for long” said Taryon with a dry chuckle, now picking himself off of his chair. Harrien wanted to argue but he knew that he and Nimeria will be the one’s getting the supplies tomorrow, whatever Taryon said. His father always put on a brave face, especially for Nimeria, but he knew what it cost him every time he went out on the road.
- break -
The creek of the wood rose and fell with waves of wind blowing through the cracks and crevices of Dormy House windows, with the occasional scuttle of moving things in the kitchen. Harrien who by right of conquest occupied the top bunk with Nimeria below, thoughts of Comets and sounds of winds filling her head.
Harrien was peering past the ceiling of their room musing about the stories of the Comet he heard from the old Bandon who lived on the outskirts of the village and placing it together with any piece he ever heard Nimeria proclaiming from her tattered pamphlet.
“Perhaps when a Comet finally appears it will be possible for him to visit the Knight Kingdoms” thought Harrien, reciting each of the Knight Chapters he knew and imagining the banners and sword hilts that marked out each, Hare, Boar, Wolf, Rooster, his thoughts trailing off to the market tomorrow and the long list that his Pap would entrust himself and Nimeria with. Harrien’s eyes lids began to slide and with a last fleeting thought he reckoned that if they were efficient in their market endeavor then perhaps Bandon might be available and then.. Harrien fell asleep, his thoughts giving way to a wind that began to rise, raising the sound of the wooden creeks that washed over the Dormy House.
Past the hills that rolled behind house two silhouettes stood still seemingly starting solemn towards the town, the figures turned leaving the wind behind.