When I told the world I counted all the mountaintops on the thousand top mountain range, and found out there were but a hundred-seventeen, no body cared - Sinda Bogglewoops

Sometimes one thing leads to another. We see this with lovers, criminals, students. How one step leads them further and further from where they started. The first eye contact, the first kiss, or the first lessons to the ceremony. Even the stealing of a loaf of bread, and eventually the jewels of kings. Unfortunately we didn't see any of it with Garvin. He mulled over what to do, afraid of becoming old. And also afraid of midsummer and the wedding that approached swiftly. 

One day melted into the next in a string of never ending sunrises and sunsets. Days were but a vague way to measure time, for nothing happened or changed. He tried to write, but he was blocked again. By his thoughts and feelings, by his restless legs, by the sounds of cartwheels on the sand. The forests were calling him but he was more afraid of going than staying. So he strayed in the little streets of his village by day. Though at night he wondered where Brand was, or the Dragonslayer. Maybe they met in the forest and a big battle occurred between them, the birds would sing of their duel. Or maybe they were friends once, and they just nodded and continued their way. But he didn't know. Garvin never knew. The questions were getting heavier by the day.

He thought of settling. He had his money, enough to spend the rest of his days in relatively luxury. No doubt someone would be attracted by that foresight. Someone he could spend the rest of his life with. He could imagine it already. His life happening in front of him, but he stretching to peek at what happens beyond. Thus missing both.

His parents left him with enough money. But that was the only thing they left him with. He tried to send them letters, but they were almost never answered. They travelled the world without him. He was almost seventeen, surely he was old enough to join them now. Yet no response ever followed save the little messages he kept on his desk.

“We are in Winterflare, soon we will follow the river and go north. We love you.”

This letter, more like a note, was send months ago. And it was the last thing he received. Had something happened or were they just tired of him?

His parents were cabbage merchants. They grew the only cabbages that didn't die in the frost. Over the years they added carrots to their repertoire, but the main thing remained cabbages. How was it even possible to make a living from selling vegetables? He didn't know, for he saw the struggles of other farmers who had less than he had. And every year, it seemed that they worked a little harder for less than the year before. He searched the map for Winterflare, and found it beneath the thousand-top mountain range. It was very far away. But everything always was. The closest city was Greed, thirty miles from this place. He decided to go back to the book store. He was going to return the book.

Alfred was reading a rather thin book close to the window. Sunlight shone on his neck and messy grey hair.

‘Careful you don't burn your books,’ Garvin said as he walked in. 

Alfred just smirked and continued to read. 

‘I don't know where to start,’ Garvin sighed as he sat down on a chair opposite of the storekeeper. ‘I don't know what I want to tell. Or what is even worth telling.’

‘Have you written about the, how is it being called here, The Battle of Brand?’

‘Well I have written about it, but nobody would like it.’

‘How would you know until someone read it? Do you have it with you?’

Garvin did. He carried the book underneath his shirt, corniced between his belt and stomach. He handed it over to the bookkeeper. Who read it silently.

‘Pretty decent, I would say. I can clearly see the influence of the books you read. Albyron is your favourite, isn’t it?

It was his favourite writer, the sagas he had told were legendary. If Garvin was born a few hundred years earlier, he would have murdered to be his apprentice.

‘Interesting that you didn’t antagonise the Dragonslayer.’ Alfred continued, stroking his beard.

‘I think there’s more to him than a criminal,’ Garvin said.

‘In life, things are rarely simple, or what they seem. Yet you show him mercy where no one else here would. Why?’

‘Like I said,’ Garvin said. ‘There is more to it than-’

‘But why?’

Garvin thought back of his mother and father, the stories they told. He had never shared this with anyone, like a hoarding dragon guarding a treasure, he latched on to his memories.

‘He once saved my parents from highwaymen. And the way my mother talked about him, it doesn't add up to what I saw back then. Something must have happened. And I want to figure out what and why.’

‘There we have it!’ Alfred exclaimed. ‘You look at him and see a childhood hero. An idea that has been forming in your mind since long time. But this encounter didn’t add up.’

‘Exactly. And the townsfolk were pretty harsh on him. Even though he did threw that cane away, it was only in self defence!’ Garvin quickly looked outside, suddenly afraid he would have been heard. The townsfolk unanimously agreed that the Dragonslayer was a bad seed. As they all agreed what he did was noble. It changed the way people looked at him, though he knew that would be eventually forgotten.

He wanted to say; I want to redeem him, to see him in his old glory. But there was no explanation in his head. The old man was right, the Dragonslayer was not the hero he hoped for.

‘I want a chance to find out who I am,’ Garvin said eventually. This was why he liked the old man. He was the only one that gave him time to think, and actually finish his sentences.

‘The life of adventure, huh? Going where the rules we live by don’t apply. You are what you act out you are. Thoughts aren’t important, nor are intentions.’

Finally, Alfred placed the book on his lap and looked at Garvin directly. Alfred’s eyes were scanning his. Garvin looked away.

‘What are you, my boy?’

‘Right now? Scared. I think of the future and see me either stay here, and fail. Or go and fail. So what does it even matter?’

‘Then you are scared. But that gives your choice more meaning, not less. It matters everything. Haven’t you read the stories you bought? You can meander as much as you want, but if you feel the burn, you have to go. It will destroy you if you ignore it.’

Garvin thought back at the stories he loved to read. About simple farm-boys going out in search of adventure. And coming back as knights, wizards or Palladinians. 

‘I think I understand what you mean. But I don’t know where to start. I just sit here, and as much as it annoys me, its also comforting.’

Garvin got up and walked to the door. Alfred stretched his arm, blocking him. He looked at him dead serious ,‘Don’t wait for the next heroes to come to town. It could be already too late.’

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Garvin tried to gather as much news as he could from the local tavern. He sat there, in the shadows, eavesdropping for any sign of hero activity. But it seemed his village fell off the grid once more. Perhaps a bigger village or city would mean a greater chance at meeting a hero. So he listened for news during the evening. At home he spend his mornings staring at the map of Ar’Moor. The closest city was Greed. Maybe he could find a hero there. One who he could stay with.

His parents didn’t send him a letter, whatsoever, so waiting for news became a more stupid option by the day. After a month of waiting and gathering courage, he finally decided to leave his village. Midsummer was but a few moons away, and he couldn’t bear to still be there. He couldn’t see Mathilda getting married under the old oak, in front of the whole village. He couldn’t see her kissing Darren one more time. 

On a grey and rainy day, he packed and left. He had some clothes, drinks, food for a week and of course his empty book and the map of the land. The rain meant less curious faces out on the street. He followed the muddy path westward, towards the forests that he had avoided since he was a kid. A few looked up from their chairs under the roofs. Some even greeted. Garvin nodded back but remained silent. He walked to the bookshop and entered.

Alfred turned around and words started to form behind his closed mouth. But he breathed out and nodded instead.

Garvin tossed his key on the counter. ‘I am leaving my home and books to you. I trust you take care of them.’

Alfred nodded solemnly. ‘I wish you good luck, young one.’

For a moment they both stood still, old man and young boy. He leaning against the door-post, Alfred sitting in his chair. Before he lost the courage he had been gathering for over a month, he turned around and left. On the sandy road he hopped to place his knapsack better on his shoulder, then continued westward.

Quickly he found himself covered by leaves and a gloomy shadow. Under the leaves of the old oaks, it wasn’t that bad, he thought. There was a different kind of life here, the habitants were not humans but animals. Birds were singing, though he couldn’t see them. He marched on, nodding to everyone he crossed. Hoping he wouldn’t encounter her. Soon enough he was farther than ever and surrounded by the forces of nature. The sun made his barely noticeable stroll from east to west, and Garvin realised how ill prepared he was. He knew nothing of finding food in the wild. He had never travelled before and he made all the mistakes one could make. It would soon be nighttime, and he didn’t have a place to rest. Eventually he just took off his heavy bag and tried to find some dry wood as the sun descended fast. He grabbed all the sticks he could find and tried to make a fire. For hours it seemed he stroke a piece of old iron against some flint, trying desperately to create a spark. But he came to realise the wood was too damp. He searched for grass, but in the dark he couldn’t move far. Eventually, he reasoned, it was better to sleep without a fire than break an ankle in the dark. He crawled against the tree and covered himself with all his extra clothes. Regretting his mistake, but not for leaving Woodholm. He felt more free than he ever did. But freedom had its downsides. He learnt that during the cold night. Scrambled up against the tree-trunk, somewhere between asleep and waking.

With barely any rest, Garvin got up at first sunlight. The weather was better than yesterday, at least brighter. Even though underneath a roof of leaves, he knew there were barely any clouds polluting the sky. It would have been nice to walk around the fields today. He shook his head as to disperse that thought and continued down the path.

When he found a clearing, he would let the rays of sun heat his stiff body. He noticed he moved slower than yesterday, straining his muscles with every step. He began to think it was all a bad idea, that he should have waited the merchants to arrive to town, and travel with them. It was safer to travel in a group. But that would have meant waiting until after midsummer. 

The muddy trail suddenly bent eastwards, and Garvin grabbed his map. He didn’t see any reason it should turn. There was no river nor hill or anything to avoid. On his map there was this small dotted trail that went straight trough. He stopped for a moment. Was it not better to follow the map? He wanted to be in Greed as soon as he could, so he chose the old route. He continued straight instead of following the trail.

Soon though, he realised why the road avoided this place. It was a swamp that seemed to stretch for miles. The smell changed from fresh rain to stale water. The reeds were taller than him blocking his sight. Suddenly he slipped and his foot dissapeared in cold, brown water. It was freezing cold and worst of all, his boot was stuck in the muck. He gasped for air, as he fell backwards like a plank. Crows cawed from nearby, as if laughing at him.

He cursed as he got back up. his heavy knapsack broke the fall somewhat, but he was dirty and smelled worse than a stable. Garvin crawled forwards and pulled out his boot from the mud. The leather looked terrible. Completely soaked and mud covered. Garvin cursed at the wind as he backtracked from the reeds, until he was back at the beginning. There he fell flat on his ass, leaning against the first oak he saw. Crows cawed in amusement. There, the last bit of courage he had left, dripped out of him like the smelly water out of his boot. 

‘I can’t do this,’ he said aloud. He sat there, at the edge of the swamp and  thought about what he left. And in that moment he thought of Alfred. “Its not about what you think, its about what you do.” 

‘Well, I'm doing great. Absolutely fantastic,’ Garvin cursed at the wind. After a while, his boots dried up and he scratched off the mud with a short branch. Inside it was still a damp mess, but he figured he couldn’t stay there until the end of times. The food he put in his mouth also made him think more reasonably.

By the time he was where he left the trail, it was almost time to make a fire again. This time, however, he managed to make one. And he could finally dry his boots. His feet ached terribly, like stung by poisonous ants. He didn’t even have the strength left to dream about what to do once he reached Greed. 

The next day he continued towards Greed with a bent back and a heavy cloud over his head. Finally admitting it wasn’t as romantic as he hoped. In fact, it was already not as the books he read. Why though? And an answer dawned him the next hour of walking. It was because those books would skip the boring parts. It made him feel even worse thinking this. But also he realised what being completely alone meant. He could break his ankle and not be found until next spring. Animals or bandits may well be hiding behind every ridge. But besides that, there was no company. No one to be annoyed by but yourself. The idea of talking aloud to oneself started to have a different meaning, out in the open. Both more natural as deranged.

His backpack started to weigh less and less, and the trail seemingly continued without an end. Garvin had no idea how far he was by now, but he imagined it couldn’t take too long anymore. And that statement seemed to hold some truths. Of a sudden, the path widened. And so did the space between the trees. There weren’t any bushes, nor low hanging branches. He had lots of visibility now, and could easily get off the trail. Clearly this was a maintained forest, which meant civilisation couldn't be too far away. This sparked some hope in Garvin, who upped his pace. If he had the strength left, he would run all the way to the centre of town. After an hour or so, the trees were getting smaller and younger.Then the forest stopped. 

Dark clouds greeted him, as he could see a large hill and a stone wall surrounding it. He could see plumes of smoke, and people. He never felt more happy seeing people. To the left of greed meandered a river, much bigger than the stream cutting Woodholm in half. Then he let eyes gaze over what was behind the city. He noticed the mountains. Far away behind Greed, enormous heaps of stone and earth and snow, higher than he had ever seen before. Ar’Moor was a mountainous region. Thats where it got the name Ar’Moor from. From the mountains, protecting the lands from the cold breath of the sea. Yet he never imagined them that large. The top of those mountains were shrouded in a thick blanket of mist.

Somehow this view made it all worth it. And Garvin smiled for the first time since the shortcut fiasco. 

Once he got on the main road, he understood how small his village really was. Here the roads were made of actual stones. He could barely believe people would haul stones from the river, half a mile away only to throw them on the ground. Horses pulling carts up the hill, filled with crates or hay. The click-clack of the hooves on the road had its own busy rythim.

Like a whirlpool, the city pulled the resources from far and wide to her. It even surprised Garvin that the people here had different accents than Woodholm. They sounded much like the merchants that came trough his village once a year. He saw groups of soldiers patrolling up and down the road but they didn’t pay him any attention. He was part of this pilgrimage towards Greed. Until he was at a great stone gate, where soldiers guarded with long spears.

‘State your name and business,’ a guard wearing a polished helmet said above all the noises of animals and men.

‘Garvin from Woodholm, sir,’ Garvin answered. The guard frowned, so Garvin quickly repeated, in a much louder voice. ‘Garvin from Woodholm, I come to visit this city for work.’

‘Then the entry fee is five bronze pieces!’ The guard said in a stern tone.

Garvin opened the pouch strapped on his belt and grabbed five coins. He let them fall on the open hand of the guard who glanced at them briefly. The guard nodded and as soon as he did, the other guards lost their attention for him. Garvin walked trough the gate. He was finally in Greed.