Faerunners

Back on the Farm

Tallis stepped through the gate of the fence ringing the family farm and felt a weight lift from him. It was good to be home for a few days. The farm was nestled at the base of a low, rolling hill and surrounded by open fields of grasses and wildflowers. The land echoed with birdsong and always smelled fresh and sweet.

"Dads," he called out. "I'm back." He drew out the last word, smiling.

"Tallis," someone yelled back. His father, Norman, ran out of the barn. Norman was tall and broad shouldered, with blond curls and a thick beard. "I'm so glad you're home." He wrapped Tallis in a bone crushing hug.

Tallis slipped out of his grasp before his internal organs could be powdered. "I'm glad to be home too."

"How was it? Did you get enough to eat on the road? Did you find what you were after?"

Tallis held up his hands. "Dad. Please."

"I'm sorry, I'll stop," said Norman, laughing.

"I just don't feel much like talking about it. Can we do something else? Anything else?"

Norman gave him a look, concerned. "Whatever you want." He smiled but there was a tinge of sadness behind the expression. "I'll go get your other dad. Maybe he’ll knock off work early here, and we can make a nice family meal or something."

Tallis felt some of the tension drain out of him and his mind rolled back to simpler, happier times: times where loose minded idiots weren't dragging him out to murder houses, times where Faeland warriors weren't taking him to fight monsters, times full of early mornings and lazy afternoons.

A time where the most important job of the day was cooking breakfast with his father.

"A supper would be nice, if we cook it together."

Norman smiled and a twinkle lit in his eyes. "I don't know. You need to promise it won't turn into another flour battle."

"That is a tall order, Dad. I mean what else is flour even for?"

Norman ran a hand over his beard, thinking. "Couldn't tell you. I think it was invented just so you could leave white handprints on people and make a mess. But for the sake of Edward’s sanity, no flour fight this time. He damn near took my head off over the last one."

Tallis grumbled and rolled his shoulders, limbering up his flour pitching arm. "I'll do my best, but I can't make any promises."

"Sure," he patted Tallis on the shoulder, kicking up a small cloud of dust. "Why don't you wash up, then we can get to work."

A quick scrub later, and he'd managed to scrape off most of the filth from the road. He stepped into the kitchen and pulled his apron off the low hook on the wall. It was set so a child could reach it and while he now had an adult sized apron, his parents had never seen fit to give him an adult height hook.

Norman was waiting for him in the kitchen. A mixing bowl sat out on the counter and the floor bin had been left temptingly open. “Do you remember the old family bread recipe?” he asked.

“Dad,” said Tallis, incredulous. “I’ve been using that recipe since I was six years old. I can make that bread in my sleep. I’m pretty sure on some days I did make it in my sleep.”

“Great. You can start with that.” Norman laughed. “I was worried that you’d forget with all the time you’ve been spending in the city lately.”

“I’ve only been with Cold Iron for a year. One year away won’t erase eighteen years of habit.” While he spoke his hands moved of their own accord, putting the ingredients together and kneading the dough.