[The Bronze Wood] The Return, and The Visitor (Samael)

[Sturlin]

With another nod to the man he stood and headed over to let Francis enjoy the apple. The horse received such fresh treats rarely and he did not appear to mind how meager the gift was. Feeding him one sliver at a time he talked quietly to the horse. His deep voice, however, carries well even when speaking softly. "What do you think Francis? Good apple or bad apple?" Once the apple was all gone he rested his forehead against the forehead of the horse for a moment, and then walked back to the fire with a parting pat on the muscled shoulder of his friend.

He sat down on his log and moved the pot over the fire, hanging it there and stirring it occasionally. Once he realized he had not sipped his own water he took a deep drink and sat it back down on the ground next to him. His gaze flickered from his work to the man several times before he said, gruffly, "New in these parts?"

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"New, yes," he agreed. "I've been all over, figured it was a good time to check out Syliras."

He wasn't sure the man wanted to know much more, so he stretched out his legs in front of him, letting the fire warm and relax them. He had been riding for a good long while and though he was used to it, sometimes it was nice to not be in the saddle.

[Sturlin]

Allowing the next few moments to pass in silence he massaged his bad hand in the warmth of the fire. Stirring the stew/soup occasionally he continued to keep a close eye on it until it was finished. Fishing around in his pack he pulled out a pair of poor wooden bowls with crude spoons and ladled food into them. Again he reached around the fire, this time to offer a bowl and spoon to Samael.

"I'm not a good cook. At least its not burned," he added softly as he sipped from his bowl. The traveler's broth is bland, improved only slightly by the mushrooms and Samael's additions. He continues to eat in silence unless his guest offers anything to talk about.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam wondered at the doubled utensils. The man seemed so solitary, but he was prepared for company. That made him more kindly disposed toward him, being alone but open to possibilities. Sam liked to think of himself in a similar light.

All he said, though, was "thank you." He blew on his soup and sipped it. He was glad he had offered the salt pork and fennel; without those additions, it would indeed have been bland. But the human companionship was nice, even if it was quiet. He loved Horse, but lately he had been needing more.

[Sturlin]

As they ate the cat curled up between them, claiming an entire side of the fire for himself. He would alternate between dozing and watching Samael with intense curiousity. While he had been around many people as a kitten Mr. Pickles had company only slightly more often than Sturlin did. A comfortable silence followed in the wake of the cat, who eventually grew bored and lay his head on his paws to nap.

As the hunter finished his first helping of soup he leaned forward and ladled out about half as much as he'd had before into his empty bowl, afterward sliding the handle of the ladle to Samael's side of the pot to invite him to eat more if he wished. Resting his bowl on the log next to him so that it would cool he fished out a small chunk of salted pork and blew on it until he was satisfied that it was not scalding. Then he leaned forward and rest it next to the napping cat's head, for him to find upon awakening later.

After dusting his hands off on each other he gestured absently toward Samael's weapons. "Swordsman, or just a prudent traveller?"

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam paused in his inhalation of bowl number two to follow Sturlin's gaze toward the saddle he had taken off of Horse. He smiled and shrugged.

"Prudent, I suppose," he said, borrowing the word. "It's only Horse and me. He has teeth and hooves; I need something so I can do my part if things go badly. The world is a dangerous place."

Didn't he know it.

[Sturlin]

His first response is one of understanding and agreement, as he repeats Samael's words. "The world is a dangerous place." He runs his fingers slowly over the puckered scars on his hand. Then he picks up his bowl of soup and resumes eating.

"What do you plan to do when you reach the city?"

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Look around. See the sights. Get work in a stable, perhaps. See if I like it, if I want to stay."

He set his bowl aside; when the man was finished, he would offer to take them to the stream to clean them out. It was the least he could do. Granted, he had contributed food, but it was neither his camp nor his fire.

"I'm Sam, by the way."

[Sturlin]

"The city isn't for everyone."

He would allow him to take the bowls down the to stream and clean them out. While he did that Sturlin took care of the fire and heaped it a little higher to warm against the chill of the early spring. By the time Samael returned the glen had a cheerful glow about it and was filled with a radiant heat. When Sam offered his name, Sturlin gave him a long look and then did the same.

"Sturlin."

Walking toward the man he brushed the dirt from the logs off on his pants and offered him his right hand for a shake. As he did so his left hand twitched occasionally.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam shook hands with him, offered a little smile, and then let him regain a bit of distance before he got up and did take care of the bowls and utensils. When he came back, he was wiping water off his chin from an impromptu after-meal drink.

"Did I hear right?" he asked after setting the bowls down and taking his seat again. "Did you say your cat's name was Pickles?" His smile was whimsical. This from the young man whose horse was named Horse.