The Count of Castle Rock

Chapter II- Returning Home

In the early morning hours, the sound of the pilgrim's flute carries over the countryside in playful folksy riffs. Leesa Talbert dances with the floutists' daughter around the dying embers of the night's campfire. Her sometimes unruly red hair is woven into a series of braids which swirl around as she tosses her head side to side. Her dance partner wears a simple dress and bonnet, her wheat colored hair tucked away. Leesa's well-worn tunic and breeches make her look like the girl's gentleman suitor..

Leesa is average height with chocolate freckles peppering skin the color of walnuts. She has been called handsome more than once, but her beautiful emerald green eyes lend an androgyny to her boyish appearance. Her voice is light and airy, her build slight. At twenty, she sits on the cusp of womanhood.

Grabbing the girl's hands, Leesa takes the lead and spins her around. She dips her partner low as the pilgrim finishes his song with a long cheerful note. Onlookers applaud the impromptu performance.

Out of breath, the girl asks Leesa, "Are you sure you've never done the daenseu before?" Her accent is thick and melodious.

"I promise you, this is my first time." Leesa laughs and brings the girl up with a flourish. "Dancing merely comes easy to me."

The pilgrim tucks away his instrument and comes over to embrace the two.

"You are a natural. After seeing me do the daenseu once, you move like my son might if I had one. For a mainlander, it is remarkable."

Leesa knows the pilgrim means it all as a compliment and accepts it as such.

"Thank you, sir."

"No, no. I am no sir. I am a humble traveler, hoping to see the world and find a place for my family to put down roots."

Leesa nods. The pilgrim's family is large; him, his wife, and their six daughters. Immigrants from the nation of Hang Du, across the eastern straits. They were friendly and inviting, happily sharing their campfire with fellow travelers. Their hospitality made the night much less lonely.

"That was quite impressive, Caterpillar," Uncle Will says as he brings over two bowls of steaming porridge. "Compliments of the chef."

Leesa takes one of the offered bowls and breathes in the mouth watering aroma. She catches the eye of the man running the cookfire and gives him a thankful bow. For days, Leesa and Uncle Will have survived on hard trail rations. Both have voiced their desire for something warm and made with love. Fitting their prayers are answered on the last day of their trip.

The pilgrim gestures towards his small blockish chair.

"You sit, Caterpillar," Uncle Will suggests. "I'm sure your legs could use a reprieve after all of that kicking and spinning."

"It's called dancing, Uncle Will," she says, taking the offered seat.

"Your daughter is very talented," the pilgrim says.

"Daughter?"

The pilgrim gestures towards his small blockish chair and a tiny version of his wife pounces, commanding his attention with joyful squeals as she dangles from his shoulders. Uncle Will chuckles, he has a soft spot for small children.

"Oh, Leesa? No. She is not my daughter. She is my best friend's youngest child."

The pilgrim shares a surprised look with his wife. She says a word in their native language that makes his cheeks turn red.

"What? No!" Leesa shouts emphatically.

"What did she say?" Uncle Will asks, lacking the ear for languages that she has.