“We need to get going.” Orn awoke to his father gently shaking his shoulder.

Orn mumbled something unintelligible and sat up rubbing his eyes. Half asleep he got up and took the clothes his father handed him. Orn placed them on the bed and realized he did not recognize them. The pants and shirt were dull green with off color splotches. He was about to ask his father about the clothes when he saw that his father was putting on a similar set of clothes.

Once dressed his father handed him a pack with his bow and hunting knife. “I will carry your sword, but you might as well get accustomed to carrying your bow and knife.” Then his father slid the sheathed blade in his own pack and threw it over his shoulder.

Seeing his father already dressed he rushed to put on his own clothes. Sliding the shirt over his head he asked, “Father where are we going? I thought our relatives were going to meet us here?”

“No, they will meet us on the way to the village.” His confusion must have showed as his father smiled and tussled his hair. “It will make more sense when we get there, and I do not intend to ruin the surprise. It is a long hike. How do the new boots feel?”

Orn absentmindedly shifted his weight in the strangely soft boots. “They feel fine. I think.”

“Good. Grab the pack at the end of your bed and we will get started.” His father waited for him to put the bag on his back, then lead him out of the room.

Orn followed his father as he lead them out of the inn and back down the path towards their home. As if following some invisible sign, his father suddenly turned off the path and headed into the woods.

Orn rolled his eyes at the production. Why is this so hard? If they lived on this side of town, why did we go past it yesterday?

Seemingly oblivious to his son’s questions, his father asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I am fine. You said it is a long walk to where we are going. How long until we meet them?” Orn’s bow caught on a branch, so he adjusted the way he was carrying it. “Also why are we walking all this way instead of just taking the carriage her yesterday?”

His father considered the question for a moment before responding, “An hour or two depending on how fast we move.” He looked back at Orn as the bow caught on another branch, “We left early so we did not need to rush.”

Orn understood the unasked question and shook his head. “I can keep going.”

“As for your other question” He smiled as Orn looked at him hopeful to finally get some information, “it is tradition.”

Orn fought back a groan, as his father laughed before continuing deeper into the trees.

Two hours later and the Orn that felt he could keep up their pace was gone. Instead, he had to repeatedly ask his father to slow down or stop all together.

His father did this without comment whenever he asked. While they rested his father used the short breaks to point out a couple plants and animal tracks he recognized. Despite his willing ness to stop, Orn got a distinct feeling that his father wanted him to keep moving.

They continued, through the woods in this way as his father swapped between following a game trail to simply cutting through the trees, then back to another indistinguishable trail. He was about to ask his dad to slow again when his father stopped.

Turning back to Orn he said. “Here we are.” Before gesturing at the trees ahead and leading the way into a clearing.

Orn looked around at the clearing expecting to see a house or other building. Instead, the clearing looked like several they had passed before. The space might have been 40 feet across and was filled with knee-high grass. In the center of the clearing Orn caught sign of the only human activity, a few stones piled on top of each other. That must be the marker father was looking for.

The grassed tugged at his shins as he followed his father into the space. “So, when are they going to get here?”

His father laughed and waved his hand at the far tree line, “They are already here.”

As if on que, Orn saw several figures seem to materialize out of the trees opposite them. Their clothes matched the ones Orn and his father wore, and each was holding an unstrung bow. As Orn wondered how they did that he heard someone behind him clear their throat.

[In the temple]

“No. I do not have the staff to waste on the lower level.” The head librarian was quickly tiring of the haggard looking priest.

“But the books there extol the greatness of the goddesses the same as all others. Is it not your task to see them managed and cared for?” The man made the same pointless requests.

“It is my job to see that the books are where they are needed. If you are seeing something within those books, then finding it is your task. Returning the books to their place so they can be found again is also your duty.” He had finally reached his breaking point, “Quit trying to place your work onto others!”

The librarian watched the man step back in confusion as he raised his voice for the first time in years.

But as quickly as he stepped back the man stepped forward his face alight. “You are right! It is part of my task, and I have not been doing it.” The man suddenly embraced him. Causing him to cringe. Then as suddenly as it started the man run back towards the basement stairs. “Thank you for showing me the way.”

He shivered, The man has lost it. The only thing of value down there are the prophets’ words, and those are locked up to prevent madmen accessing them. The rest is nothing archaic works and the useless rambling of the pompous idiots. I sincerely hope they keep him busy; I fear whatever he has may be contagious.

The librarian idly sniffed at his robes and cringed again. I doubt he has bathed in some time.