Flashback [Kabrin Road] Of Honor and Dirt

[Arkale]

2nd Summer, 501 AV Kabrin Road "Thirteen years was much too young for a boy to travel to Syliras without a proper escort!" Arkale's father, Carver Benaeford, exclaimed. He stood at the very edge of Zeltiva's border, not daring to step foot onto the Mirahil Pass. "Read that in a book did ya, boy? There ain't nothing in them books of yours that can prepare you for the real world, Carver. Words don't mean a thing next to the weight of real experience. Experience that can only come from feeling the dirt on your skin or letting the smoke of a camp fire sting your eyes." Flynton Benaeford, Arkale's grandfather, snapped back. Then he puffed his chest and patted the axe that hung from his belt before continuing in his heavy accent. "Besides, I'm a more proper escort than any sellsword or guard you can hire. Blood will always hold a stronger bond than coin." With that, Flynton nodded and turned back around. Putting a firm hand on Arkale's shoulder, he looked into the boy's eyes and winked, as if to say trust me, I know what I'm doing. The young boy stole a glance back at his father, and saw the anger boil in his expressions in the form of a most brilliant shade of crimson. The boy had to suppress a smile, for he knew it would only escalate his father's rage, but with any luck, when Arkale was back in Zeltiva after his adventure was over, Carver's anger would be evaporated, if not vanished all together. The boy sorely hoped it was the latter. With the help of his grandfather, Arkale mounted his horse, and tried to get comfortable in the leather saddle. Flynton mounted his horse with a nimbleness and ease that made him look easily twenty years younger. Arkale's horse was leashed to his Grandfather's by a simple lead rope, this allowed the boys horse to follow Flynton's without any navigation from Arkale. Which was a blessing, because it was taking most of the boy's focus just to stay seated upon the saddle. They trotted in silence for a while, and Arkale could tell his grandfather was deep in throught about something. Not wanting to interrupt the old man's train of thought, Arkale took to watching the water as they trotted by. It was his favorite thing about living in Zeltiva, though he did not see it all that often. How could he? His parents made him stay inside all day reading books, copying words, listening to lectures from his father, and helping his mother take care of his younger brother. There was never anytime for the boy to go out and down to the docks, and when he did manage to sneak out for a bit and fool around, typically with his father's old longsword, it was after sunset, and the water was black and reminded the boy of the nightmares he had once and again. Arkale was lost deep in through, and absently dug his heel and bit to hard into the horse's ribs causing the animal to jolt in pain, and whinny. The noise caught Flynton's attention, and tore the old man from his thoughts. Quickly he turned in his saddle and reached over and placed a hand on the horses nose. He whispered to the beat of burden and looked deep into his eyes. With a snort the horse calmed down, and everything was as it was. Arkale apologized to his grandfather and explained what happened. "Don't apologize to me, it wasn't me that you hurt. I think the horse needs the apology." Arkale did not think him serious at first, but after a few seconds of silence passed, he realized the sincerity behind Flynton's words. "I-I'm sorry. It was an accident..." His voice trailed off as he realized two things. First of all he did not know the horses name. Secondly, he heard himself speaking to the horse, and became embarrassed and quickly shut his mouth. This elicited a chuckle from his Grandfather and another snort from the horse. Arkale's cheeks burned from embarrassment as they continued to trot along. It was just a dumb horse, why did he need to apologize?! It is not like the damn beast had feelings! How could it, it was just a stupid animal. "You know, when I was your age, maybe a bit younger come to think of it, I was giving one of our hog's a bath. The bastard couldn't eat anything without covering himself in whatever it was. Well, anyway, I was out cleaning him one day, and accidentally poked him in the eye while washing his snout. Out of fear the hog snapped at me and bit clean through my arm. I can remember how his teeth felt as the pierced the bone. I punched that porker in the snout and ran inside crying. Ma was pretty decent with medicine, and patched me up right good. Pop- that your great-grandfather-said I was lucky, cuz he'd seen a hog bite off people's limbs clear as a sword. He asked what happened, and I told him everything. I remember feeling pretty proud of socking that old hog in his sniffer, but I also remember the pain in Pop's eyes, the disappointment. Flynton stopped a moment and Arkale saw a flash of emotion fly through his eyes. It was during this pause that the boy realized he had been so raptly paying attention to his grandfather's tale, he was actually leaning forward, his mouth agape slightly. He righted himself and closed his jaw with an audible snap. The horse snorted a third time, but this time Arkale felt the beast was...mocking him? Before he could give it much thought, the old man continued. "Well, like I was saying, Ma was good with medicine, and within a fourth of a season, I was back out helping with the chores, but my first day back, Pop had a very special chore for me. He had me apologize to that old stinking hog." "But he bit you!" Arkale shouted, quite distraught at the thought. After all, the hog did not apologize for taking a chunk out of his arm, why should he apologize for giving the beast a tap in the snout?! Aye, that he did, but what else is a startled and partially blind hog supposed to do? He was acting off of instinct, which I will tell you serves animals than any amount of book smarts or intellect can serve us humans, mark that well. Yes, he bit me first, and I felt then as you do now, but was it fair for me to punch him for acting like nature intended? No, it was certainly not." "I don't think I understand..." Arkale sighed, slightly defeated. He had never heard such a ridiculous notion as apologizing to any animal. Nothing more was said on the subject, but Arkale could swear he heard his grandfather speaking, just not loud enough for the boy to hear. He shrugged. That was something he did to his parents, spoke under his breath so they did not hear what he said as it was usually a curse and would have gotten him punished. They rode for hours, and when the sun finally began to fall, Flynton lead Arkale off the road a little distance and began to set up camp. Arkale sat back and watched his grandfather set up the tent, dig a fire pit and subsequently light a fire, and begin to cook dinner. It was a simple stew, but it was still good, after all, how could anything eaten under an open sky be bad? When it was finally too dark to see passed the light of the fire, the boy and his grandfather climbed into the tent and quickly fell asleep.

[Arkale]

3rd Summer, 501 AV The next morning greeted Arkale with the sound of birds and a song of light wind. The boy sat up and rubbed his amber eyes, trying to grind away the remnants of sleep. The first thing he noticed was that his grandfather was already awake, so the boy crawled out of the tent to find him. His eyes snapped shut against the bright sun, and it took him a minute to finally open them again. Flynton sat on a rock near the edge of the camp, or rather what used to be the camp, for now it was all packed up and put away. Save, of course, for the tent which until recently, Arkale had been occupying. Well now, look who if finally up. First night on the road, how did you sleep?" Flynton asked, blowing a ring of smoke as he spoke. He took a draw from his pipe and regarded Arkale with his wisdom filled eyes. The elder saw promise in the boy, something he was sure his son Flynton never saw. There was the hint of eagerness to learn and work that made the old man proud and, with any luck, at the end of this little adventure he would be have the tools and know-how to chase his own destiny than be forced to live the life his father wants of him. "It was a little rough, the hard ground made it hard to sleep, but I managed" Arkale replied, a smile on his face. Being out of Zeltiva was an amazing feeling. After all he had no books to read, no words to memorize, nothing to learn and nothing to listen to, it was almost...overwhelming. "Well boy, don't just stand there, lets get this tent packed and ready to go. Syliras isn't going to get any closer with us sitting around." "Papa, why are we going to Syliras anyway?" The boy was curious, never once had he been told the reason for the trek. Then again, it really did not have much to do with him, after all, it was his Grandfather's business. "Don't you worry about it just yet. Now, like I said, let's get this ruddy tent packed and on the road." It did not take long, Arkale emptied the sleeping bags out of the tent and had them folded while his Grandfather made short work of the tent. In half a bell they were finished and on their horses again. Trotting carelessly on towards Syliras. --- "Hey, Grandpa, why do you and father fight so much?"The question was innocent enough, but Arkale truly wanted to know. It did not seem right for a family to argue as much as Arkale's father and Flynton did. "Huh, Carver seems to have forgotten where he came from, and I try and remind him. That's all" The words did not mean anything to Arkale, so he let it go, not wanting to seem silly for asking twice. Instead he turned his attention to the road and the surroundings. She watched as they trotted past plants and small streams. Taking a small risk, the boy turned about in his saddle, he could barely make out the Mirahil Pass and beyond that it was impossible to see his home town. Suddenly he felt very small. The world was so big, and this wasn't even a fraction of it. There were other cities out there, other Kingdoms even. The prospect seemed easy to grasp on paper. They were just far off places that didn't have any affect on his life, but out side beneath the open sky, those Kingdoms exisited and while they were still far away, he sound help but feel they would crush him under heel like an insect. Arkale noticed they had stopped moving. Looking to his Grandfather for an explination, he noticed the man was holing a bow with a arrow notched. Arkale glanced around trying to find what the man was hunting, but there was not a single living thing around. Without warning, Flynton aimed the bow skyward and let the arrow fly. A few seconds later a rather large bird crashed to the ground. Flynton dismounted his horse, collected his kill, tied it to the saddle bags, re-mounted and urged his horse on without a word. The boy stared in amazement, he had never seen anything like that in his entire life. A river of questions flooded up inside him, but he did not want to let the torrent loose for fear of sounding unlearned; however, this was not an easy act, and a single question did slip out. "How did you do that?" "Back when my father was alive and I was working on his farm, we had to worry about wolves and other things causing trouble, so he taught me how to use a sword and a bow in case we ever needed to defend the farm." "Did you ever have to? Defend the farm I mean." "Oh yes, a few times actually. Once or twice from wolves, once from bandits, and one other time from a very estranged wizard who wanted nothing more than one of our sheep..." A visible shiver ran through Flynton and he said no more on the subject. Arkale thought about his grandfather weilding a sword and fighting off wolves and bandits and said wizard, and it was really a heroic image and it was hard to imagine that he was now such a humble old man. "Could you teach me how to fight?" Arkale asked. Every child dreamed of being a hero. Each innocent soul wanted to aspire to be the legendary swordsman, the Virtious Knight, or the all powerful Wizard. Arkale would never admit he still had such dreams, but the fact was he still wished to become some kind of Hero. This was an opportunity he could not pass up. "Hmm..maybe. Let me think on it a bit..." Arkale decided not to puch further, for he didn't want his grandpa to think him over zealous. For the time being, the pair rode on in silence.

[Arkale]

3rd Summer, 501 AV Night descended upon the Kabrin Road, consuming the world in darkness. The stars replaced the blue sky in a beautiful canopy of serenity and peace. The travelling duo had long since deserted the road and set up camp once again. A cheery little fire purred happily on its bed of logs, and a pot of stew babbled softly in its tin pot. Shadows danced around the camp and the horses rested quietly in the play of light. It was a rather peaceful and comforting scene, not to mention the smell drifting from the stew made from that strange bird was alluring, and to the hungry wolves that roamed the plains, all too inviting. Flynton and Arkale were nowhere around the camp, but instead were positioned aways down wind of the camp, where the smell of the food and smoke masked their own scent. Arkale didn't fully understand why they were hidden in the thick brush, and his grandfather never fully explained it, but made Arkale promise to be silent and watch. During the travels, Flynton had seen evidence of wolves in the area, a small pack, probably no more than 7-maybe 8- and hearing a howl when he started cooking confirmed his suspicions. Grabbing his bow and sword he rushed his grandson their hiding place, and now they lay in wait. Arkale did as he promised and did not make a sound, and instead tried to watch his grandfather in the dancing light. It was not easy, given the inconsistency of the fire and the shadows that danced about, but he swore he saw his grandfather's eyes closed and lips moving. Arkale recgonized the posture as one of prayer (he had read about it in one of the many history books he was forced to study); however, the boy was unable to make out to whom the old man prayed. A nervous snort from the horses grabbed the boy's attention, and slowly several large wolves walked into the firelight. Arkale wondered why the horses haven't tried to flee, and he noticed that they had cloth folded over their eyes to prevent them from seeing the wolves, though they could certainly smell and sense them. It made them restless, but thankfully then didn't bolt or panic too much. Due to the lack of a running meal, the wolves lost interest in the horses and started rummaging through the tent and examining the bubbling pot. Remains of the bird lay not far from the fire, and the wolves helped themselves to it, making short work of the poultry. After the quick meal, one of the smaller wolves, obviously not the alpha and sent to do the dangerous jobs, started to examine the simple set up that held the simmering pot of food. In a few short moments of pawing at the fire, the wolf knocked over the stew, and spilled it on the ground just outside the edge of the fire, which hissed angrily at the loss of his friend. The wolves, pleased with the work of the bold one, stepped forward and one by one began to lick at the spilled food. Arkale's stomach clenched as he watched the animals devour his dinner, and he turned to his grandfather, who had notched an arrow and pulled his bow taught, taking aim. Silently, Arkale cheered, it would be a fitting punishment for the beasts who stole his dinner. He turned his attention back to the wolves, not wanting to miss the shot, but the arrow was never loosed. Arkale, confused, looked back to Flynton who still had the bow drawn back. The next few chimes passed like years as the wolves seemed to be finishing the last of the stew. Arkale felt a small wave of disappointment wash over him as he realized he would not get to see his grandfather battle wolves like he claimed he had in the past. The boy continued to watch the wolves when all the sudden there was a sudden flash of movement and the fire erupted in an explosion of sparks. The wolves jumped as the noise and sudden flare of sparks scared them. A few of the wolves were unfortunate and sparkes landed on their nose and eyes, causing them to flee into the night wimpering and yelping. Another flash of movement and the fire erupted again, this time there were less sparks, but one of the logs had been shattered, sending splinter of flaming wood across the campsite. The remaining wolves scattered into the night. Not understanding what he saw, Arkale looked back to his grandfather for an explination just in time to see the old man notching an arrow in his bow. They sat in silence for about half a bell or more before Flynton finally put away his arrow and slung his bow over his shoulder. The old man looked into the sky and said a simple 'Thank you,' Arkale assumed to the same god he had previously been praying to. --- The night passed without further incident, but Arkale was unable to sleep no matter how many time his grandfather assured him the wolves wouldn't be back. The words did nothing for the boy's nerves, and come morning he was exhausted from lack of sleep. In an attempt to keep the boy awake, Flynton had him do some basic work around camp. Smother the fire, fold the tent and sleeping sacks, wash the pot and make sure his horse was ready to depart. Arkale complied, slowly and sleepily, but the jobs were finished one by one. Though not in the order his grandfather asked, which was of no issue, and for no real reason other than Arkale could not for the life of him remember the order his grandfather had asked him to do the jobs. As he started his last job, smothering the fire and cooling the ashes so that the wind didn't breath it back to life, he retrieved the piece of the log that had splintered. The largest of the pieces, and also the furthest away from the rest, had a long black arrow protruding from the blackened wood. The young boy examined the arrow, and tried to pry it from the charred wood, but couldn't get it free. He decided his strength was sapped because he was so tired, and threw the piece, arrow and all, into the pit which was then doused with a bucket of water from a nearby stream and covered in a healthy amount of dirt. "Why didn't you kill the wolves?" Arkale asked once they were back on the move, trotting further down the Kabrin Road. "Simple. It was not needed." "But they ate our food..." Arkale groaned, his stomach growling in agreement. "That they did, and they seemed to enjoy it." Flynton replied, an obvious smile on his face. "All life is precious, from the smallest bug, to the hungriest wolf, and the meanest Glassbeak. All life means something and is not to be squandered on such petty things like food or reputation...and besides, if I had attacked and given away our position, we would not be having this conversation. Above anything else, let this stay with you: choose your battles." Arkale needed to think about that and what it meant: how could someone choose a battle? It didn't make sense to the boy, but then again, alot of the things he had been learning from his grandfather didn't make a lot of sense. Once more he glances behind, squinting with the hopes of seeing some hint of home, but to no avail. A knot formed in his empty stomach and he realized he was longing for his books. With a sigh, he turned back to the road ahead and watched his grandfather navigate. Once more he noticed the old man was speaking in a voice too low to hear...and it was the last thing he noticed before falling asleep in the saddle.

[Arkale]

9th Summer, 501 AV -Dusk Five days more passed in the same manner; riding by day, camping by night. For five days Arkale watched and listened as his Grandfather told him about his childhood and what it was like to work on his father's farm. For five days Arkale watched his grandfather set up the camp and woke up after the camp had already been packed up. For five days they ate the same stew, drank from springs, washed their clothes in rivers, and even took a bath in a small lake. For five days Arkale's homesickness only got worse and worse. The boy found himself looking backward towards Zeltiva more and more, wishing to be out of the sun and inside with his books, to trade the wise words of his grandfather for the rehearsed speeches of his father and the loving coos of his mother, to get off this blasted saddle and sit on a comfortable chair, and most of all to sleep in a real bed and not on the hard ground. He mentally scolded himself for hating his life back in the port city, he never realized how lucky he was and how good he had it. Though he noticed that his grandfather was acting the exact opposite. The old man was acting about twenty years younger. Constantly talking to- and Arkale was absolutly positive- his horse, taking the boy for small walks at night to show him the stars or land. Arkale had no idea where he was getting this energy from. So on the sixth night, Arkale decided to ask him. "Hey, Grandpa...I've noticed that you are acting a little different since we left the city..." Arkale started, not sure how to ask the man without being rude. Hey grandpa, I've noticed that you aren't acting old anymore, why is that? The boy had a feeling that wouldn't go over well. "Arkale, the city depresses me. Man wasn't made to be confined within walls or within the boundaries and restrictions of cities. Man was made to tend to the land, create, prosper. The elder shook his head solemnly, "how can anything grow when its cramped together shoulder to shouler?" He sounded sad. They continued on for a few chimes in silence. Arkale pondered what his grandfather meant. He had grown up just fine in Zeltiva, and his younger brother was growing even faster, or so it seemed. "Arkale, do you know where our family comes from?" "What do you mean?" "I mean do you know the history of the Benaeford Family?" "Father says-" "Bah! What does Carver know?! Sure he can tell you about how my father's father built a farm with his own hands! Sure, he can tell you how over the years our family has raised expert horse breeders, crop farmers, dairy farmers of world reknown, and even a travelling merchant or two; however, that doesn't mean you actually know where you come from, or what it means to be a Benaeford." With that, Carver halted his horse, and by extension Arkale's. Jumping off his saddle, Flynton lead his horse off the road where they would make camp for the night. Arkale jumped down too, and found a nice soft spot on the grass to lay on until dinner was ready...until his plan was inturrpted by a spade being tossed at his feet. "Its time you learn who you are." For the next few hours, Flynton gave Arkale orders, telling him to dig a firepit, dig a latrine, turn over the ground beneath the tent so that it is soft, set up the tent, and finally to begin a fire and start cooking. The work was hard, and Arkale cursed himself for asking his questions. What kind of man makes a kid work this hard while he sits around smoking a pipe? It wasn't fair, and Arkale felt a soreness building within that was not from working. Once the work was done, he collapsed on the ground by the fire. Flynton took a pair of bowls, filled them with stew, and handed one to Arkale. Half-heartedly he shoved spoonfuls of stew into his mouth, but didn't say a word the entire meal. Once his bowl was empty, he cleaned it out, set it aside, and crawled in the tent without another word. In no time at all, he was off to sleep. --- 10th Summer, 501 AV -Morning The sound of metal on metal woke Arkale with a start. He was groggy and didn't know what was happening, except that the noise was loud and needed to stop. Clawing his way out of the tent, Arkale saw his grandfather banging the pot with its lid, creating the awful din. "Time to pack up, better get started" Arkale groaned and climbed to his feet, slowly taking apart the camp site. First he collapsed the tent and folded it up, storing it away on the saddle. Next he folded the sleeping sacks, and packed up the pot and other metal untensils and tools. The fire was his next task, and after dousing the embers with water, he covered it in dirt. By the time everything was finished, his hands were dirty and he was hungry. Before he could mention his discomfort to Flynton, the old man tossed him a few apples, saddled up, and nodded for Arkale to eat as they rode. Begrugingly the boy climbed on the Horse's back and followed him grandpa sorely into the day. Why was he doing this to him? What was he trying to prove? As Arkale ate, the pain in his stomach became less hunger and more homesickness. Just as he was thinking about his family and the smell of water, his grandfather interrupted. "Next time we make camp, if you finish setting up fast enough...I will teach you to fight." Arkale instantly perked up, his day dreams about his home town fading fast. "Really?!" "Of course, but it will be hard, and you will be sore" The boy doubted he could be any more sore than he was already, so he didn't see the harm in it. He agreed, but still was rather miffed with having to set up camp alone, but if it meant learning how to use a sword, he would deal with the pain. Eagerly he turned his attention to the horizion, urging time to hurry by so he could start his lessons.