A bird announced its presence, warbling out a repeated call that thankfully unnerved Kelton's dream. He woke before reaching for Serenity and shook his head to clear it. A mistake. His side was sore, and pain ran up over his shoulder and settled below his ear. His muscles complained again when he turned his head to and fro.

The sun had begun to warm the land. He opened his cloak to let the fresh air finish drying his skin. When the humidity escaped, it sent a shiver through him. Standing, he moved to a break in the trees and faced the sun. All his muscles ached, as did his feet. They were covered with splotches of caked blood. The rocks were as sharp as they had felt.

No severe damage, though there was a portion of his hip turning an ugly color. Not the best way to come ashore.

He took a deep breath and listened. The birds and the wind through the trees sparked memories. The scent of the berry trees was in the air. Fools food, Gossamer called them. They had a bitter taste and would empty bowels in a most watery way. Still, they smelled divine.

Once fully dry, he emptied the barrel and dressed. Pulling on his boots was a tender thing, but walking without them would be worse. It would have been best to stay still for a few days to let the injuries heal, but food was at a premium—two days worth of dried meat at most, and that with one skin of water. At a minimum, he needed to seek out a stream.

Spiders-bite, once situated on his back, brought with it strength and conviction. It made him feel taller than he had ever felt on Aragonia. Kelton left a frightened boy and returned as a man who wielded reason and power. He smiled at the trees. Home, and this time with no fear.

He pulled back his hair and tied it in a tail with a leather cord. Donning his cloak over the blades, he left his landing spot. It took a few steps to find the right way to lay his feet to the ground. His left desired the outside; his right wished to avoid the cut on its big toe. The pack on his back needed to be shifted away from the bruised side, then all was well as he put the rising sun to his right and walked north.

The forest was not dense, allowing Kelton to walk reasonably straight. A few times, he detoured to avoid fallen trees or bypass swampiness. The hills began to grow by midday, and with it, the Knowing told him of people ahead. There were three on the other side of a hill, where the trees ceased, and the sun owned the sky unimpeded by leaves. Though he had filled his skin in a stream, the idea of a warm meal without hunting it down decided the next step of his murky plan. That, and north was getting more difficult to discern with the sun at its zenith.

Kelton pulled his hood over his head and topped the hill. Below was a small valley with a stream running through, both sides of which were hill bound and treeless with short vegetation seated in rows that followed the contours. Dark green waist-high plants with sharp blade-like leaves. Kelton had seen it before, but never in the abundance before him. A pleasing forest of tea.

"Well met, sir," A young man said, his head poking above the plants. It was voiced as more of a question than a greeting. A stranger warranted such a thing. Two more heads rose, each in its separate row. Older than the greeter, yet similar. Parents, most like - a man and his wife.

"Well met, sir," Kelton responded with as much friendliness as he could muster. They were tea farmers and worthy of all the respect he could gather, especially if they had ready leaves.

"Odd to approach from the south," the older man said. "Your name, sir?"

"Kelton," he responded and held his empty palms up. "I meant no surprise and intend no harm to you and yours. I wish only a meal and have coin to pay for it." His mouth watered thinking of tea. The last tea he had was Tarvakian's, and it had a strange flavor. Another experiment in mixed leaves. "I could move on if it is not to your liking."

The man looked at the woman who shrugged and nodded without confidence. "Uncover yourself, Kelton," the man said. A reasonable request of a stranger.

Kelton did not know what had transpired since he had left. He would prefer his hair remain hidden, but a good cup of tea was a strong draw. Tea farmers would likely have the best of their last harvest ready.

"Forgive me," Kelton said as he pulled down his hood. "I have traveled long, far from villages and such. You may find me rough on the eyes and nose."

"A bath can be..." the woman began, then stalled. Her eyes left Kelton, traveling to her husband, who had the same look of astonishment on his face.

"I would cover such hair as well," the young man said. "Though it is not the end it once was." His head tilted as he examined Kelton. "Have you dwelled in the forest all this time?"

"Aye, much of it," Kelton replied. A small lie, though he had lived in the Waitland for a time, and a jungle was a thick forest if nothing else. Falsehood or not, the increased attention was uncomfortable. Covering his hair as he moved through Aragonia would be wise. "If you find me a risk, I can move on."

"Nay," the young man said before his elders could speak. "But do you not find us a risk?" He stepped forward and pointed at Kelton's face. "You bear a scar that would interest the Brotherhood as much as your hair." The older woman gasped, her hand covering her face.

"Mayhap, I should move on," Kelton said, pulling his cloak back over his head. The memory in Aragonia was still strong. He would have to be more careful. Best if he put distance between these people and himself.

"Nay," the young man repeated. He spat upon the ground. "That is my thoughts on the Brotherhood. My sister was chosen and pulled from us long ago. A meal in thwart of their will would be a pleasurable thing." He turned to the older man, his eyes hopeful.

"Aye, my son has the right of it," the father said. "A visit is a rare thing here. If it would ease your travels, then you may share a meal with us. An extra coin or two can be of good use." He spread his arms out to the fields. "One cannot live on tea alone, and harvest is many moons away."

"I would argue that," Kelton said, pulling his hood back down. "I have been without good tea for more winters than you would imagine."

"Then you will have some of the best," the woman said. She had lost her hesitancy when her husband and son spoke with purpose. Kelton thought it a good sign of a healthy family. They felt together as one. "Cavid, you take him to the stream and see him cleaned." She said to her son, dusting off her hands in front of her, then wiped them on her work skirts. "I shall start the midday meal and brew some tea." Her eyes found her husband. "The weeds will be here next day."

"Aye, next day," the father said, cleaning his own hands. "And we could use new words to share."

Cavid led Kelton away, down the hill along a thin path that had been left clear, one of many Kelton could see for traveling through the tea.

"Your pack is small for one who lives in the trees," Cavid said. Astute.

"Aye," Kelton agreed. He only carried a change of clothes, flint, cord, and dried meats. The weight came from the cache, forcing it to ride low on his back. No blankets, no tarp. His story had a great weakness.

"And you travel from the south," Cavid added.

"I followed the sea around," Kelton lied. "It makes direction easy, though tiresome. Too many rocks and deviations along the shore."

"Boots are not battered," Cavid said as they walked. "Too fresh for one so long in the trees dodging rocks along the sea. Your leggings as well."

"You do not trust my words?" Kelton asked.

"Nay," Cavid said as he continued walking. He didn't turn his head when he replied. For some reason, he trusted Kelton and allowed his vulnerable back to remain exposed.

"It is as you say," Kelton admitted. "Though the truth is best not given air."

"You are not good at lying," Cavid commented. "A good thing in my mind. Those that excel at it are to be feared."

They crossed the stream and followed a path parallel on the other side. It led to the end of the valley, upstream and into the trees. There was an eddy there, a pool not unlike those in the Waitland where the water spun before spilling over rocks and continuing on its way.

"It is still cold and will be for another moon," Cavid said. He sat on a stump, one seemingly designed as a seat.

"You will stay?" Kelton asked. He thought it better that Cavid not see what was beneath the cloak.

"Aye," Cavid replied. "I will know the man who desires a meal with my family. Would you do less?"

"Nay," Kelton said and sighed. "Mayhap, it is best if I continue on my way."

"And miss your tea?"

"There are things I wish secret," Kelton said. "A risk for you and yours, as well as me." He looked at the ground. "And a risk for the one I have come for."

Cavid's leg crossed over the other, and he cradled his knee in his hands, achieving a look of thoughtful comfort. "A risk I will share. Red-hair and a scar from ear to mouth, am I not at risk already."

"Trust is a difficult thing," Kelton said.

"Aye," Cavid agreed. "King and Brotherhood demand it, yet I give them none. Those words alone can have me ended, yet I trust you with them." He paused a moment, then became more direct. "Are you the one who ended the Brother?"

The image of his sword buried in the belly of the Brother filled Kelton's mind. It didn't have the power it once did, no longer churning his guts. Still, the blood leaking from the man was not a memory he wished to revisit. "That story still travels?"

"It is you," Cavid surmised. "We were told you were dead, the Goddess' vengeance the Brotherhood claims."

"It was not my intent to end him," Kelton said, as he removed his pack and laid in on the ground. "He was taking my whole world; all I cared for would have fallen to his blade." He remembered being terrified, running from his hiding place, thinking he would meet his end. He folded his cloak and laid it over the pack, then removed his sheathed swords. "I had no choice."

"They will take your arms for carrying those," Cavid said wide-eyed, indicating spiders-bite.

"It would be a difficult task," Kelton said. "I am no longer that boy."

"Goddess!" Cavid said when Kelton removed his tunic.

"It does not cause pain," Kelton said, looking down at his scars. For a moment, he saw himself through Cavid's eyes. A brief spout of fear filled him. Maybe Juno would find his marred body offensive as well.

"You are marked like the cursed," Cavid said. His attention focused on the Nagada warrior marks.

"It is not a curse. It is a gift from those I had done a service." Kelton removed his boots, trousers, and foot wraps, then lowered himself into the cold water. "I have trusted and pushed risk upon you. Do you wish it undone?" The water was what he needed. A chill to wake his soul and lift it from memories Cavid had dug up.

"Nay," Cavid replied. "Your story still travels, though in whispers. Many wait for you to show yourself, calling you the Answer."

"An old tale," Kelton said. "I was a boy who wished not to lose what was precious to him. Nothing more." He dunked his head underwater, running his fingers through his hair to dislodge the sea salt that had dried there. The clear water did its duty well. He rose to find Cavid still seated, as the Knowing told him he would be. Trust was easier when it could be verified.

"It was something more to others," Cavid said. "This world has a yoke about its neck. Many think it will take once such as you to lift it."

"It is not why I returned," Kelton said. He moved his hands about his body, rubbing off the grime the voyage and sea left behind. "I seek something; once I find it, I shall leave with it."

"Return and leave? I have always thought there was more than this land." Cavid's eyes filled with the wonder Kelton knew well. They sought knowledge and reveled in its discovery. The world ignored such people at its peril.

"Aye, much more," Kelton replied. He hadn't meant to give away that information, but Cavid was a kindred spirit, and he knew the joy the knowledge would bring. It was pleasing to share it.

"And you have been there and back," Cavid surmised. "It is better there?"

"I have found better places," Kelton said, thinking of Tarvakian and the Waitland, then lost his smile. Memories of the lesson, property, and house Barrankee returned. "And worse places. The world is broken, though there are islands of good if you look for them." Or make them.

"I will hear of them over a meal," Cavid said, excited. "My family will not spread your words. In trade, you can learn what you need of the happenings since you left. The Allyander family is of the same mind in our hatred of king and Brotherhood."

"Allyander?" Kelton said, his excitement rising. "There is a leaf I cherished in my youth. South Allyander was its name."

"It is the leaf you walked through," Cavid said with pride. "Long ago, a brother of my ancient grandsire tried to grow the leaf north of here. It failed in time, though the north and south names remain." He pointed back from where they had walked. "It is the hills that the leaf desires, and nowhere else."

Kelton stood from the water and shook his hair, then rang it out best he could. He sat on another stump-seat to give his body a moment to dry.

"If I could trade coin for a bag or two of your leaf, it would put a smile on my travels."

"Aye, that can be done." Cavid agreed.

They talked of tea growing and Cavid's thoughts as to why South Allyander is the best leaf. The soil in the hills, the way the rain flows down them, and the family's care were his arguments. Kelton had to agree, not knowing a thing of farming such a plant. He did know it was the most pleasing tea in his memory, so it must be the local land and family, for the rest of the world had everything else.

Kelton tied his hair back into a tail, which hid it best inside a hood. His foot wraps were splotched with blood, yet he possessed no others, and his feet were likely to bleed again. They would have to do, so he wound them as usual before donning his boots. He decided to carry spiders-bite inside his pack. There was no purpose in entering the Allyander home with ready blades.

The smell of cooking meat graced Kelton's nose as he entered. The house was built of mud set stone, with wood planks softening the inner walls. The front room shared space with the kitchen and the same hearth for warmth. A pile of furs on the living side were laid out for comfort and talking. One table, with half-barrel chairs, sufficed for preparation and eating. There was one door, leather hinged, on the east side that presumably led to sleeping quarters, and perhaps a larder. A modest house, smaller than those of Masocrate, yet large in Kelton's memory of Aragonia.

"I thank you for your welcome, my lady," Kelton said, giving a small bow. Denera, Cavid had informed Kelton of his parent's names, chuckled at the greeting.

"Such niceties will not release you of the coins you promised," Denera said. "Though the words are pleasant to the ear."

Kelton fished into his pack and loosened the bag that held the broken cache together. He retrieved two gold. More than necessary, but silence and South Allyander tea were worth the effort.

"Kindness for a kindness," Kelton said and placed the coins on the table.

"Gold?" Denera said. "It is a rare thing to see these days, and more than my meal deserves."

"Cavid has promised me a bag or two of your leaf as well," Kelton said, pushing the coins forward to indicate insistence. "And I wish there be no tale of my visit."

"A fair trade for the best tea in the land," Willianton, the father said. He entered with an armful of wood, which was deftly placed in a hopper next to the hearth.

"Not fair at all," Denera argued, giving her husband a disappointed look. "And our silence is freely given."

"He is the one they hunted, Mother," Cavid said. The revelation was more sudden than Kelton desired.

"As we have guessed," Denera said, unconcerned by the truth. The whole family was quick, or perhaps the stories of Kelton had grown in his absence. Not what Kelton desired.

"We rarely get visits outside of harvest," Willianton said. "The world will remain unknowing of a short visit." He moved to the table and swept up the coins. "And you shall have all the leaves you desire to carry."

"Greed does not become you, my love," Denera said, her look of disappointment grew, but her husband made no move to return the coin.

"I would hear the true tale of the Choosing," Willianton said.

Kelton smiled. "If only I could. It seems my throat is too parched to attempt such a thing." Willianton laughed.

"Greed, greed, greed," Denera mumbled but began wrapping leaf in a cloth for Kelton. She signaled her husband to fetch water from the hearth, a gestured order followed without hesitation.

Kelton spoke of the Choosing while he enjoyed the best tea he had sampled in many years. Leaving out names, he alternated between the description of events and cherished sips. There were chuckles when he spoke of losing his insides to the pent up fear of the situation. It seemed the story had grown, as all accounts did, since his departure. No longer was it a fearful confused boy and a panicked thrust of a sword. It had been altered to a brave hero charging into harm's way and winning a long sword battle. It was if it had been molded by Gossamer himself.

The meal was served, an average stew of rabbit, mixed with too few vegetables and limited spices. It warmed him, the blandness bringing back memories of meals of long ago. Aragonia lacked many comforts without open trade with the world. He imagined the smiles he could bring with a barrel of oranges or a bag of crogerts.

"It was a fine meal, my lady," Kelton said as she handed him his fourth cup of tea. She was intent on forcing him to drink two gold worth of the brew in one sitting. He was happy to attempt the feat.

"A fine stew, my love," Willianton added.

"I thank you both," Denera said, though she only nodded to Kelton.

"Do we have any of the salve the healer left after father's fall?" Cavid asked his mother.

"Aye," Denera replied with some concern. "Have you injured yourself?"

"Not I," Cavid said and pointed at Kelton. "His feet are well cut, and he intends to walk upon them this very night."

"It is not..." Kelton began.

"Remove your boots," Denera ordered. Kelton was about to argue, but the look in her eyes discouraged such a tactic. It was her house, and he did as requested. Denera cringed when she saw the stained foot wraps.

"Give me those," Denera said, signaling with haste as if they weren't still wrapped around his feet. "I will see them washed."

"Best if I wear them dry," Kelton said. He knew the damage walking with wet feet did.

"They will dry by the hearth," Denera said. "You will leave with dry feet when the sun rises."

"Best to do as she says," Willianton said, calmly sitting back into the furs. "It is one battle you can not win."

"I meant to leave before the sunset," Kelton said as he undid his feet. "My time here is limited."