PM to join Father, where art thou?

[Alair]

So there it was, the abandoned campsite of his father. No use in searching for a corpse, the camp site hadn’t been used for a long time, weeks at least. The tent was toppled, the pewter mess kit was strewn about, dented, and pawed over by many scavengers, looking for the last remnants of a meal long ago cooked. There would be nothing left of his father, not now. Nature is swift at cleaning her messes. Even the bones would be used, and eaten by some creature in the vast track of wilderness that was the Bronze Woods. As good as the knights were, as thorough as they patrolled these woods, they couldn’t catch everything. No, his fathers death was no man’s fault. Some unknown and nameless predator had its share. The events of that night would never be know to the hunter, nor would they change anything.

Alair sighed, nothing to find here, he was already low on his own supplies. He looked down at his dog, Bongo. A Luvanor Grassland Hunter he got on his 16th birthday from his father. Probably one of the last gifts he ever got from the man. “Well, what now, Bongo, hmm?” The dog made no motion to acknowledge his master, he wasn’t that smart. The dog just panted in the warm autumn afternoon, and looked out into the forest, oblivious to what this campsite was, or what it meant. ‘ignorance truly is bliss.” Thought Alair, chuckling at his own joke. He knelt down and pet his companion, his last friend in all of Syliras. “Lets head back to camp, nothing left to do here, eh?” The hunter stood, and stretched then headed west towards his camp, and Syliras.

The sun was low, he wouldn’t have time to make it back to the city tonight. No sense in traveling in the dark, that would only cause more problems being lost. The hunter could barely navigate these woods in the day, though he imagined he did better than most people who lived their whole lives in the city. He organized his camp, then began to look for wood. He remembered how his father always used dry standing wood. “If its on the ground, its wet.” Alair set to work with his half hatchet, the broad head, though dull, and worn made quick work of the dry branches, and trees that surrounded the camp. He gathered as much as he could before the light faltered, the night would be chill, and the fire, and the light would hopefully keep monsters at bay, though the hunter never knew if that rumor was true.

As the last of the light faded, the hunter had some rocks piled up, and tinder gathered in the center. He held his flint in hand, and scraped the metal across it, showering the tinder with orange, and yellow sparks. It took several tries before the balled mass of tinder began to smoke, and burn. From there it didn’t take long for Alair to create a small, warm fire.