Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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Out of every 1,000 people who start a book, only thirty actually complete it. In addition, only twenty percent of people who write a book actually publish it.
The weeks passed and Aran integrated with Bryn's desperate followers, life was not dissimilar to the past one he had led with Bennett's wild clan. Though if Aran really stopped to analyze his feelings he was indeed a cut above when it came to acts of savagery. These men were not like him, they did not prey on settlements, or those weaker than themselves. They were merely a group of survivors, still fresh, forging a new order and smarting from their recent losses of property and loved ones. They did not possess the hard-edged mentality Aran did, kill or be killed, take or starve, and as the days unfurled the young warrior realized with much resignation it would be most difficult for him to stay amongst these people, well-meaning though they were; this could never be his place.
Jhary remained subdued and resigned, he felt trapped by the demise of his trusty mule, and his inability to face the danger of the outlying lands alone. The bard spent his time hiding behind his craft, a delight to all others, inside he felt crushed. Neither man shared their inner thoughts or reservations with the other. Jhary fuming that Aran could have led him here to this, and had not spoken civilly with him since the day of his angry outburst in the canyon. Conveniently forgetting it was he who willingly sought the protection of the capable warrior in the first place.
As for Aran, he had avoided Jhary largely as well, he had made his point that day, and saw no reason to embellish on it. He was torn with his own issues. To stay and have a brotherhood of sorts, or leave for possibly worse than he had now on the vague hope he may rejoin his clan or another more prosperous and fierce one. It tore at him.
*****
One still grey day it came to Aran as he stood at the open mouth of Bryn's cave, that perhaps he had indeed been looking in all the wrong places for the object of his desire and salvation. He cast his mind back to the beautiful archer and the day of their fateful meeting in her village. The thought surfaced that just perhaps she had merely turned her trail south, as a ruse designed to fool him. Then once in the dunes circled north, and had quite possibly headed to what was left of her village. The idea seemed feasible, with her clansmen dead she really had nowhere to go. A man may have, but a lone, attractive woman? She would have little choice but to lay low and hide. Aran could have kicked himself for not seeing this sooner and this galvanized him from his last few weeks of inactivity. Quietly he prepared to leave.
Aran approached the enigmatic Bryn later that evening as he sat enjoying the simple pleasures of a warm fire, tough meat, and the company of his people. Hardship did not seem to have any outward effect on the ebullient man, perhaps that is why he had been chosen to lead. Bryn welcomed the blond warrior to sit beside him with an expansive gesture. Aran did so happily, sharing what little stringy meat graced the wood platter before him. He was dreading what he must say, but this bland repast laid before him galvanized his resolve. To stay here and live this way with the barest necessities and little hope was not something he could stomach.
