The ride he caught was with a grizzled boater who seemed very drunk but didn’t ask for much payment. Angus did most of the poleing up the stream, and didn’t ask questions about the bizarre cargo they were hauling. He didn’t know what gave off that kind of stench, and he didn’t want to know.

They camped that night under a beech tree—its thin branches reaching up toward a full moon. The old man didn’t say much. Angus realized he didn’t know his name. The man hadn’t asked his either, and he didn’t ask it now—just got out his bottle and stared into the flames, brooding.

Angus made up his bed, piled some wood near the fire, and slept under the sky. He’d forgotten how cold it could get.

He woke up in the morning with Anazeka’s tail wrapped around his face. She’d been quiet all of yesterday, unfazed by the boat and worried about the strange man. Her face was melancholy in the morning light.

Angus stroked her. “There, there girl. You’ll be just fine.”

“You got a girl in there?” The old man asked. He had red eyes and smelled of vomit. Soaking, he’d obviously just dunked himself in the river.

“No, fellow, just my dog.”

“Eh, bad luck for you. It’s Ruari, boy. Just Ruari.”

“Angus.”

“Good. Let’s get going.”

Angus scrambled up, packing his gear. He wondered why his mouth tasted like rusted iron, then remembered his bedroll hadn’t ever really lost its blood stains. He shuddered.

“Something the matter?”

“Er, no fellow—Ruari. Just my bedroll. Still has blood on it.”

“Ah, I getcha. Not a pleasant taste.”

“No.”

They got into the flat bottomed boat and Angus started to pole up the river once more. His muscles ached from yesterday, but they were making good time so he didn’t complain. The river had pretty gentle current anyway.

“That’s a smart dog you got there.”

“Hmm?” He’d forgotten Ruari was sober now. “Yes.”

“Real calm on a boat.”

“Mmhmm. Raised on one, really.”

“How much?”

“No,” he said, still absentminded. He was wondering if he could send a letter, now that he was on land. There had to be a way—his aunt had sent one.

“What?”

“She’s not for sale.” Angus glanced back. His sword was on his pack. He’d gotten out of the habit of wearing it on Kevin’s ship.

“By the Feroxes. You’re an odd fellow.”

“Am I?”

“Well, for going to Foinse you are.”

Angus laughed. “I’m going to Imeall, you old fool. I told you yesterday.”

“Oh. I didn’t hear ya.”

“I doubted you did.”

The man snorted. “Well.”

“Well?”

“Well, I suppose it suits me right.”

Angus laughed again. “You’re not bad for a drunk.”

“You’re not bad for an Imeallan.”

“An Imeallan?”

“Yeah. More backwater then rivermen.” He winked, “Dontcha know? Ah, yas. Savage. Bad as Legetas. Worse even.”

“I’ll have to tell my aunt and uncle.”

“Eh, I’m sure they’re bad’uns. Stay with ole’ Ruari. I could use a lad like you.”

Angus began to laugh, and found he could not stop. His bellows rolled out over the mild river, bouncing off the trees. Finally, he began to pole them forward, still chuckling.

“Eh, what are you, unhinged?”

Angus grinned. “Very.”

“Come off it, you’re just imitating us rivermen. Very respectable choice, laddie.”

“I’m sure it would be.” He was sincere, and that put Ruari to silence for a while. When chatter started up again, they talked of the river’s currents and how the tides affected it. They talked of an island just around the bend, and when it arrived, about its plant occupants. After a bit, Ruari took a turn poleing, and they competed for the title of most sore, and were generally quite comfortable with each other.

The peninsula Ruari pulled the boat up next to was made of rocks and pebbles. Now that they were closer, Angus saw it wasn’t a peninsula at all, but a man made barrier.

“This is where we split, isn’t it?”

“Ya. Be safe out there, lad. And if you ever need a job… well your dog is very fine, I’m sure we could work something out.”

Angus smiled. “Come on Zeka. You too, Ruari. Be safe.” He turned to consider the new terrain. Ruari sighed, shook his head and began to pole up the river. Angus prayed to Orpah that Ruari’s back wouldn’t ache the way Angus’ did.

He sat down with his map, scratching Zeka’s white spot absentmindedly. There was a valley between two of the Infans Mountains up ahead—it was probably why people stopped here. There was only one path, but Angus didn’t mind. Few travelled it.

The first stretch of journey was mostly uphill. Sore as he was, Angus found himself panting to a halt every few miles. The time on the ship had softened his endurance. Zeka was having trouble keeping up, too. He considered carrying her, but figured it’d do her good to walk.

Not that she didn’t enjoy herself. Despite her morose expression, at first, she was now very excited at all the strange smells and sights of the scraggly forest. She chased anything that moved, and caught a partridge their first night back on land.

“Drop it,” he told her. She begged soulfully, then dropped it. Ronan had been right, it was a good command.

The cooked partridge tasted amazing. Zeka agreed.

They traveled several days. Angus got his wind back, and Zeka began to gain hers. Hiking, he realized as he regained the skill, was a lot like dancing. In a couples’ dance, it was important to move gracefully so that your partner didn’t lose their balance. Hiking was like dancing with gravity and the sky and the wind.

At the end of the fifth day, they reached the pinnacle of the hill. It flattened out into a long, narrow valley the color of spring. Angus checked the map.

“This is it,” he told Zeka. She growled. “What?” She was looking behind him. Angus felt cold steel touch his neck.

“Orpah’s triste,” he swore, “I am such an airhead.”

“Chazo,” a voice growled. Or tried to growl. He couldn’t have been older than Angus. “Where have you taken me?”

“Fellow, I haven’t the faintest clue about your quarrel with me, but please don’t shank me.”

“You sure talk a lot.”

“Fellow, yes.” Angus eyed his sword—on his belt, now--- but decided not to play hero. “Please don’t kill me.” He added.

The boy behind him paused. His blade was unwavering and cool, biting ever so slightly into Angus’ skin. He wouldn’t mind if only it didn’t pierce him entirely.

“Do you want to fight single combat?” The boy asked suddenly.

“Wha—certainly.”

“This just doesn’t seem very sporting,” he explained, backing away. “I want my first kill to be sporting.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Angus warned, drawing his blade and turned to face his opponent.

It was a freckly kid, with a button nose that seemed strangely out of place on his strong face. He had obsidian black eyes, and was a good three inches taller than Angus, although at least half a year younger. Angus smothered a pang of jealousy.

They faced each other en garde.

“Ready?” Angus asked.

The kid nodded.

They both started with a brief engagement, then the kid feinted and attacked. Angus withdrew, and parried. The kid kept him on his toes, nearly hitting him once—twice, even.

The kid panted, more panicked then out of breath. He tried to score a stop hit, but Angus blocked him and launched his own attack.

It went back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth, with neither of them scoring or failing. The sun was nothing but a glint on the horizon when the first hit was won.

It was Angus’ hit, and he scored it more by chance than anything. The dark had disoriented them both, and they had sweat stinging in their eyes. He scored on the kid’s shoulder. To the boy’s credit, he didn’t cry out, just grit his teeth and counter attacked. The wound bled copiously, and that or the hour must have been getting to him—he was shaking from exhaustion.

Angus went on the defensive, watching the kid struggle.

“You’re good,” he told him. “Why don’t we make peace?”

“No.” The boy replied.

Angus hoped he wouldn’t have to kill him. He wondered if he would be able to.

“Look,” Angus finally said, panting. “Why don’t we continue this tomorrow? I give you my word, I won’t kill you while you’re sleeping.”

The stars were blinking overhead, now, but the kid shook his head. His whole frame was shaking now, and his hits were more dangerous to himself than to Angus. Angus stepped back to prove this point, maintaining minimal defenses. He knew, in the same way that he knew Bernek was a Horsk Lidi (that was the Rusticos’ real name. He’d asked Kevin.) that if it hadn’t been traveling for these last few months, he would have let the kid win. But now he knew that wasn’t an option. Angus paced himself, in a way the kid seemed incapable of.

The kid seemed to realize this at about midnight. He put his hands on his knees, almost sobbing for air. His face was pale, limbs wobbling. He looked as if it were difficult to stand. Angus was impressed.

“Do you admit defeat?”

The kid sobbed in earnest, now. “Yes.”

“Good.” He knocked the boy out with the butt of his sword.

Angus would have liked to keel over himself. But his new friend was now bleeding out. So, he tore his only spare shirt into strips and bound the wound. Then he curled up in the grass, keeping his sword out. He didn’t remember falling asleep, later, but when he woke Zeka was curled up next to him and the sun peeked above the horizon.

The kid was staring at him.

Angus felt sore all over.

“You’re not a Chazo at all.” The kid looked enervated as Angus felt. “Sorry.”

“Shred off.”

The kid tried to rise. “I’ll get you for that. Tomorrow.”

“Nah.” Angus yawned. “How’s your arm?”

“Not bleeding.”

“Good.”

They both lay half asleep in the sun.

“What’s your name?” Angus asked after a bit.

“Oakley.”

“Oakley.” Angus smirked.

“What? It’s a good name.”

“I’m sure it is, Popula.”

Oakley threw a clod of dirt at him. It had been kicked up during the fight, and was soaked in blood.

“Ugh. Gross.”

“Don’t be such a girl.”

“Don’t be such a Popula—I mean really, first kill?”

“It saved your life.”

“So? It’s stupid.”

Oakley threw another clod of dirt at him. This one exploded on impact, and kind of stung.

“Watch it.”

“Shred off.”

“I don’t think you know what that means.”

“Shred.”

“You’re such a baby.”

Oakley snored.

Angus stroked Zeka. “What do you think?” He asked Zeka. “Friend or foe?”

Zeka licked his hand.

After a bit, Angus got up, pulled Oakley over to a stream, and washed both the wound and the bandages. He sacrificed a sock to stop up the wound while the bandages dried. It was one of the pair his mother had darned.

“So,” Angus asked as he rebandaged the kid, “What are you doing so far west?”

Oakley blushed. “No reason.”

“Something embarrassing?”

“No.”

“Alright. None of my business.”

Oakley caved. “I got kidnaped by some Chazos. They crossed the Ble to get me. Came right into my camp—had me bound for days. I—I don’t really know where I am.”

“So you decided, first person I see, let’s kill ‘em!”

He scowled. “It was dark.”

“You Ippeis, you put a lot of stock in bravery, right?”

Oakley nodded.

“Well, I put a lot of stock in survival. You want to travel east with me?”

Oakley nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. How’s the arm?”

“Good enough to walk.”

“Do you have any supplies?”

Oakley looked at his feet. “I was going to steal yours.”

“Well you still will, vagabond. Let’s just hope Zeka catches something.”

Angus turned and began walking, dog falling in to trot beside.

“Hey,” Oakley said, also trotting. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Why not?”

The alpine valley was gorgeous. It was almost Fall, but that didn’t seem to faze the greenery. The grass was soft and pliable beneath their boots. The sky echoed its freshness.

“This must be a place free from Jokim’s influence,” Angus murmured.

“What?”

“Just talking to myself.”

“Hum.”

The dirt was black and damp, hiding beneath the grass like buried treasure. Redmond would have loved it.

The valley was bigger than it looked though. It took them a week to cross it, and Zeka only caught one rabbit the whole time.

“Must be the altitude.” Angus told her reassuringly. “Don’t take it to heart.”

“You’re weird.” Oakley said pleasantly.

“I return the compliment.”

Their food supplies began to run low. Oakley at least knew which plants were edible, which stretched them a bit. Angus began to make a lot of soup. The whole valley was perforated with tiny streams, so they never ran out of water.

When they cleared the valley, Angus’ bag was lighter than he was comfortable with.

They made camp for one last time at the end of the week, before Angus had to go north and Oakley south. The kid was clearly nervous about traveling on his own—although he claimed he and his family did it all the time. But Angus understood there would always be a difference between alone and with company. When one is alone the sky seems to press down, the terrain is more unfriendly looking, and shadows become thieves.

They broke into the cookies that evening. He’d made them on Kevin’s ship and saved them all the way up the river, and up into the mountains too. It felt good to have someone to share them with.

Oakley enjoyed them thoroughly, eating most of them. Well, half of most of them. Anazeka got the other half. Angus had two cookies.

It rained that night. They huddled under Angus’ tar cloth, shivering.

“Is it just me?” Angus muttered, “or is it colder up here?”

“It’s just you.” Oakley said through chattering teeth.

When morning came neither of them had gotten any sleep—although they had come up with some interesting tall tales. Reexamining the stories in the morning light, they tried to wipe them from their minds.

Exhausted, they thoughtlessly walked in the same direction. Angus thought it was north. Oakley didn’t care.

They made poor time, as the path began to slope uphill and wind whipped the damp and their warmth away. They were dry, at least, by nightfall. When they woke in the morning, it was with lucid relief that they realized they’d never wanted to part ways at all.

“It’s like this,” Oakley explained to Zeka as they walked along. “He’s fun to hang out with, and it’s a really long walk home, so I’d like to learn how to travel, on my own, properly. And maybe find a way to get my own pack and such— hey, Angus, do you think your uncle will employ me?”

Angus shrugged. “I don’t remember him very well.”

“Why are you visiting him, then?”

“Someplace to go. My home was… wearing on me.”

“Hya, that’s cold.”

“Not really. If I’d stayed, I wouldn’t have been me anymore, you know?”

“No.”

“What does that mean?”

“What?”

“Hya. The Horsk Lidi use it too, right?”

“I don’t know. Everyone I know uses it—Chazos, the Horsk—I know them too,” he said proudly, “They do their pilgrimage to Villa Moya. Pace goes up to trade with them sometimes—and he took me with him last time.”

“So, only those of Adnam don’t use it.”

“Yeah, I guess. Externi.”

“Popula.”

Oakley snorted. “Shred off.”

“So who’s Pace?”

“I’m part of his camp. My mom is too; they’re not married.”

“Oh.”

Oakley came from way south, near Sloupec Koure—by Angus’ estimation. His mom and he lived with Pace and his kids Branna , Oberon and Oili.

“They’re really great,” Oakley told him, “But their moms—”

“Moms?”

“Yeah, they’re always fighting. It’s super awful. Branna’s gonna have a little brother real soon, though, so that’s fun. Anyways, I’m the best fighter under Cato’s wings.”

“Under his wings?”

“We’re part of his larger camp, I guess.”

“Okay.”

“But they bagged me while I was sleeping.” He kicked a rock, then jumped on one foot. “Yowch.” He shook it off. “I didn’t get a chance,” He explained. “They had me tied up all the way.”

“Until you escaped.”

“I was alone then. It’s how I got out.”

“They just left you alone?”

“They were attacked by some other Chazos, I think.”

“Huh.”

“Anyways. Why can you beat me? No one else ever has.”

“Ever?”

He blushed. “Well, not recently.”

“There’s always someone better than you.” Angus sighed. “That’s what my mom says.”

“What’s she like?”

“My mom?”

Oakley nodded.

“Her name is Bronah—we live with Redmond, she’s a widow.” Angus fell silent, unable to describe his enigmatic mother.

“Hum, okay.”

Angus yawned.

They were dirty, tired and hungry before they reached Aunt Eistir and Uncle Garid’s house. It was a hut, really, but it was dry and warm.

Aunt Eistir was different than Angus remembered her. Her brown hair was now tied back in a tight bun, and her laughing blue eyes—so different and the same as his mother’s—were now sharp and a bit melancholy. They lit up, though, on seeing Angus.

“Angus?” She asked, “You look just like your father. Younger, of course, but…” She looked between them. “Who’s this?”

“Er, this is Oakley. He and I met on the road—he’s far from home. I was wondering, he was wondering, if this would be a good place to get work. Just enough for a good pack—he’d been robbed.”

“Oh. I’ll have to talk to Garid. Goodness, you both look weather beaten and exhausted. Come in.” She opened the door a bit wider, and stepped aside. “You’ve grown, so.” She said, tearing up.

“Hya, yes Eistir. I’m fifteen now.”

“Aunt.” She bustled over to the stove and gestured for them to sit down. “Call me Aunt—and that goes for you too, young man.”

Oakley jumped a bit. “Yes ma’am. Aunt.”

“Good. Now sit—go on.”

They sat. Angus studied his aunt as she made little wheat cakes. She had lost weight, too, and there were more lines under her eyes and on her forehead.

“How’s life east?” Angus asked.

“Hmm? Oh, good. These mountains have so much to offer.”

“Like what?” Oakley asked.

“Like, a gorgeous view, stark living conditions—”

“Such a blessing,” Angus interjected.

“It is—helps you prioritize.”

Oakley nodded as if he understood. Angus supposed that as a nomad he probably did.

“Also, more animals and more freedom—which was it for me. Best thing.”

“Ai,” Angus said, glad no one mocked him for the word.

“How was your journey, Angus? And yours too, Oakley, tell me after Angus.”

“No.” Oakley said. Angus kicked him under the table. “Ow.”

Eistir blinked. “Very well. Angus?”

“Oh, well, I left from Glenn, then I escaped a bunch of robbers—”

“You did what?” Eistir stopped her cooking for a minute.

“Yeah, so I did that. And then—”

“Not fair—” Oakley interjected. “Tell me about it.”

“Not fair?” Angus grit his teeth. “Orpah’s triste Oakley—it’s nothing like that.”

“Angus.” Eistir said, “Language.” She sighed and stirred the pot.

“Yes, Aunt. In any case—then I got on a ship—as a cook, oh, but first I got Zeka.”

“Zeka?”

“Yeah my—” There was a moment of horrified silence. Angus got up and went to the door. He whistled.

“Zeeekaaa!” he whistled again. “Zeka!! Here girl!”

Silence reigned.

“My dog.” He said.

“Oh,” Eistir said. “She probably ran off with the goats—she’ll be back.”

Angus stared at her morosely.

Oakley shifted in his seat.

“Angus, she’ll be back, I’m certain. Now come sit back down, she’s just a dog.”

“She’s not any dog,” Angus muttered, shuffling to a chair. “She’s my Anazeka.”

She blinked at him. “Anazeka—the Rustico folk tale?”

“Nah.”

“Angus, spill.”

“Nothing to spill.” He replied stubbornly.

“Fine.” She plopped down the food on the table. “Don’t tell me.”

Oakley looked very uncomfortable.

They ate in silence.

“Angus.” His aunt scolded. “You’re being a real butt.”

Oakley nodded. “Just agree with her,” he mouthed.

Angus ignored both of them.

She shook her head, and began clearing up. Angus stood to help her, but she waved him down.

“Now, you can go up the mountain—where I guarantee you’ll find that trouble dog, and ask Garid for some work. Git.”

They both stood.

“Uh,” Oakley muttered. “Do you—can you—”

“Where up the mountain?” Angus interrupted.

Oakley glared. “What I was about to say.”

“So?” Angus glared back mulishly.

“Boys.” They both jumped. “Leave your packs and hike that way.”

They nodded sheepishly and did as she said.

Uncle Garid was a tall, wiry man with hair like a bush. He was leading a herd of goats. Zeka was enthusiastically and clumsily helping him.

“Zeka!” Angus called. She ran over, wagging her tail. “You bad girl—” he said with zero emphasis, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Is she yours, then? She’sa pretty little thing.”

“Ai.” Angus picked her up and threw her onto his shoulders. She licked his face.

“And who’re you two, then?” Garid asked.

“Your long lost nephew.” Oakley said. “I’ve been traveling for ever—even fought off a horde of bandits.”

Angus elbowed him. “He’s Oakley. I’m Angus.”

“Ah. I was wondering when you’d show. Got some work for you—your friend, too if he wants. Just food and board.”

Angus looked at Oakley.

“Um,” Oakley said, “You wouldn’t know anyone who’d pay, do you?”

“I do, Lochlan’s looking for a shepherd.”

Oakley sighed. “Hya. Thanks.”

“Legeta?”

“Yeah.” He was a bad liar, but Garid didn’t press.

“Go south until you reach a single oak in the middle of a field. Then go east. Lochlan’s house is in a bit from there.”

“Okay.” Oakley said. “See you Angus.”

Garid chuckled. “Don’t worry, you two are both going to be shepherds.”

“Me too?” Angus asked.

“With a dog like this? It would be a waste if you weren’t.”

Oakley left, and Garid took Angus and the herd up into the mountains, where he taught him and Zeka the basics of herding.

“You’re a natural,” he told Angus at the end of the day. “You come with me tomorrow—up into the summer fields, and we’ll see how you do.”

They headed back as the sun dipped below the horizon. Angus imagined Cerias laughing and spinning in the golden glow, then blinked the picture away.

“Do you think Oakley will be alright?”

“Does he have a good head on his shoulders?”

“Sometimes.” It was a generous assessment.

“He should be fine.”

They put the goats to stable, walked a little farther down the hill, and ducked into the cabin just as dew began to descend.

“Took you long enough,” Eistir said with false sharpness. “Found your dog, Angus?”

“Was he fussing?”

“Like a baby.”

Angus blushed, but refused to take the bait.

“I don’t blame him, it’s a good dog.”

Angus sat, giving Garid a grateful look, and pushed Zeka off his lap.

“Well, he spoils her awful.”

“Truth. She’ll make a good herding dog, though.”

“Fair enough.”

She served the food. Angus cut into it enthusiastically.

“This is amazing.” He told her.

Eistir pretended to not be pleased.

They were halfway through dinner when Angus remembered his young cousin.

“Where’s Niall?”

Their faces fell. Angus’ heart slid to his feet.

“Dead.” Garid finally said, staring at the table. “The pox.”

Angus stared at the table as well. Eistir wiped away a tear. “He’s with Jokim, now.”

Angus had always thought of Jokim as a rather grim character. He hoped Orpah had gotten Niall.

“Ai,” Garid said.

“Ai.” Angus stared holes into the table. “Treasured forever.”

Eistir nodded. The men gave her a minute. When they looked up from the table, she was no longer crying.

In the morning, Garid took Angus up to the summer pasture. The next day, he had Angus take them himself.

“I’ve got better things to do.”

Angus just nodded.