Under the shade of an apple tree, a young boy rests upon a rock. His feet kick through a gently bubbling brook, as brilliantly coloured fish swim and jump their way upstream in front of him. In his hands he holds a net, dangling out over the water, and at his side is a basket of fish that he’s already caught.

He hums a little tune to himself, drifting from the melody of one song to another as he pleases. Sometimes the high, flighty notes of a jig, other times the slow, beautiful melodies of a ballad, and other times still he hums shanties he’d heard down at the docks.

Another fish jumps over a boulder, right into his net. He calmly pulls it in, depositing the fish with the others, then holds the net out aloft again.

“Reyland!” A voice calls.

The boy turns his head, grinning at the even younger boy who was running to him.

“How’s she goin’, Cullen? Ma and Pa let you go early?”

“Aye! Pa taught me to sheer the sheep today!”

Reyland’s net tugs again, and he pulls it in to let the fish out into the basket.

“Is that supper?” Cullen asks. His mouth is already watering.

“Mhm, skipperfish, by the dozen. We’re eatin’ like kings tonight, little brother.”

“Hmph.”

“What?” Reyland asks, already putting the net back out to its place.

“I’m not little anymore.”

Reyland laughs, his bronze hair bouncing as he throws back his head.

“Yer six, Cullen, that’s still little.”

“And yer only a few years older! I’ll be just as old as you soon!”

“That ain’t how that works, ya know?”

The two brothers, who look so alike with the same bronze hair and golden eyes, continue to bicker. Slowly, as the afternoon wears on, the basket of skipperfish is filled, and then stuffed until it’s overflowing. At one point the boys start to wrestle on the grassy hill beside the river, Reyland proudly pinning his much smaller brother.

Overhead, the sun’s light shines down on them on a summer day, until it begins to fall towards the horizon. When the basket can not possibly hold another fish, Reyland hoists it, and he and his brother walk back home.

The wooden house they walk into is large, but seems tiny for how many people are inside. Reyland hands the basket of fish to his ma, who gives him a kiss on the forehead before chiding him for the mud and dirt on his clothes. His other brothers and sisters, all eight of them, are already turning the interior of the house to a war zone.

Of course, Reyland dives headfirst into the games his siblings are playing too, without a single care in the world. Pa comes in from the fields soon after, dirty and tired, but takes his time to give a hug to all nine of his children before going to wash.

Reyland smiles as the late afternoon sun warms his face through the window. The scent of cooking fish fills the house, causing his mouth to water and stomach to grumble as he waits in eager anticipation.

A warm day, a river to fish in, his siblings to play with and his parents to impress with all the fish he caught. Even the highlands and fields all around, free for him to adventure and explore.

He can’t think of a single other thing that he would ever want in life.

The jostling of the carriage is the first thing Reyland became aware of as he woke. He pushed himself up with a slight groan, his back stiff and sore from laying across the wooden bench for so long. There was a lingering feeling in his chest, an aching nostalgia as the events of his dream continued to play through his mind.

“Well look who decided to join us,” a familiar girl’s voice said from across the wagon.

“Mornin’ to you too, Maeve,” Reyland replied as he started to stretch his arms up over his head. “It is morning, aye?”

“Ya slept well through that, lazy bastard.”

“Oi, you ain’t the one taking night shifts now, are ya?”

She smiled as she shook her head, then went back to carving her knife through a bright, golden-red apple.

“Feel like tossin’ one of those over here?”

She reached into a burlap sack by her feet, then tossed him an apple as well.

They were alone in the back of the wagon, a canvas tarp over their heads blocking out the world. The back of the wagon was open, and they could see the horses pulling another wagon behind them, and the edges of the wagon’s tarp could be pulled up to make windows if needed. But for now, it was all drawn close, leaving them in their own little bubble.

“Gotta say, I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone snore as loud as you do,” Maeve said casually.

“What? I don’t snore… do I?”

“Naw, I’m pullin’ your leg.”

Reyland threw the apple at her.

“Ow!”

“That’ll teach you to go tellin’ lies.”

“Petty bastard,” she said, rubbing her head with a small smile. “I’ll get you back for that one.”

Reyland stood up and walked to the back of the wagon, grabbing onto the wooden frame that held the tarp and swinging outside to hang off the edge. The autumn wind was brisk in his face, ruffling his hair and reminding him of just how long it was starting to get. He sighed as he realised he’d need to cut it soon, or start tying it up.

“Hey Maeve,” Reyland called out. “You think I would look good with long hair? Tied up like some sort of vagabond?”

“You’ll look like an ass either way.”

“Ouch, didn’t miss a beat, did ya?”

He breathed in deep, letting the chilly air cool his lungs. Winter would be upon them soon enough, and already Reyland was wishing for a heavier cloak to wrap around himself. That or a nice, cozy, warm fireplace, like the ones back in Jurhal Keep.

It had been a week already since they left the Keep behind. The caravan had been unbothered for the journey so far, one of the advantages of travelling in such a large group. Most of the smaller beasts of the forest would give them a wide berth.

The bigger beasts, as always, were the real threat.

Reyland swept his gaze out over the forest, the last remaining afternoon sunlight leaving most of it in shadow. There could well have been beasts anywhere, yet he could see nothing.

“Come off it now, your watch isn’t for hours yet. Besides, they’ve got the falconers keeping watch, the bloody birds will see something long before you do.”

Reyland thumped back down onto the wooden bench with a huff.

“Guess you’re right,” he said, shrugging.

“‘Course I am.”

“Oi, wanna toss me another of those apples?”

Maeve snickered.

“Not likely.”

Reyland smiled too, then it slowly slid off his face as they fell into a comfortable silence. A different set of faces came back to mind, smiling around a table with him, half with coppery red hair and the other with the same bronze as his own. He took a deep breath, letting it out with a quiet sigh, before pulling aside the canvas wall of the wagon, and looking out to the west.

He thought about old things, memories he tried not to dwell on, but which forced their way to his mind from time to time. Old faces and voices, which he was ever so slowly starting to forget. The faces were becoming more blurred, the voices less distinct.

How many years had it been since he’d been home? Would he even recognize the people in his old town? Would they recognize him?

“Something on your mind?” Maeve asked, voice surprisingly gentle.

“Nothin’ our oath lets me talk about,” he said quietly.

“Ah… I see.”

Reyland caught the apple on instinct, looking up in surprise.

“Ya know, I don’t think I’ll ever understand that rule. Forbidding us from talkin’ about our lives before the Order, and all.”

Reyland took a bite out of the apple. It was sweet and tart, bursting with juices that danced across his tongue. His mind went back again, remembering a different apple, from a different tree. A little one, on the bank of a river.

“I joined the Order to say goodbye to my home,” Maeve said quietly, something dark and mournful creeping into her voice. “Needed to get away from it. What about you?”

Blurred faces swam across his vision, and the faintest memories of sunny days and grassy fields. Smiles and warmth, and everything he could ever have wanted in life. And then, another memory. One he did all he could to forget.

“Why did I leave home?” Reyland asked, staring intently at the apple he held, one single bite taken out of it.

“Aye.”

“...To protect it.”

Inside the wagon went quiet, only the whistling of wind and the rattling of wheels to accompany them. Reyland finished his apple, tossing the core out into the woods when he was done, as Maeve eventually lay down and to sleep.

Night came, and with it, Reyland’s shift. He mounted his horse and took his place at the edge of the caravan, watching the treeline carefully.

But, all through the night, memories played in his mind. Family and home, the farm he grew up on and the town he lived near. He savoured each memory, trying to recall them in as much detail as he could muster.

Of all of them, there was one that came to mind with perfect clarity. And it was the exact one he wished to forget.

Two men in black armour, coming to the door of his house. His mother’s answer, and the tears that fell down her face. The crying of his little siblings, and the way they’d clung to each other through the night.

Idly, he ran his fingers over the pommel of his shortsword, as he thought about the home he may never see again.

And inside, a determination like fire roared.