Boefudeas' Simplicity

Chapter 1: Fruits of Labor

  Many centuries ago, the country of Geatland, known for its warriors which are stronger than the strongest giants, had found itself in hard times. War has spread from every end of Geatland's borders, and it's feared, but battle worn, men are struggling to push back the forces of a barbarack kingdom to the north, known as Mincof. Not only has violent conflict struck Geatland, but the bug of corruption has chewed through the bark of Geatland's Noble class and royalty. The effects of this tragic time on the common folk are numerous; but one, if no other, takes no mind to it.
  
   In rolling hills with blankets of grass, and forests filled with sounds of life. Away from crumbled walls of castles and the touch of man's expositions, is a farm which adds to nature's beauty. Clusters of Hazelnuts grow from scattered trees throughout the hills, and a man of twenty five, with strong physique and plenty of charm, lays his remaining years tending to them. He is Boefudeas, a man of simplicity with no feats he's proud to share. Boefudeas works high in the trees with a basket in hand, no fruit unpicked, or nuts ungathered. His diligence with his hands has led Boefudeas to own a farm, of which he may live his life away from harm or pain, a friend he knows too well. During the middle day hours, the sun's blaze is too much to bear for all creatures alike. The leaves of the nut trees cheer as the wind touches their branches, and then breezes through Boefudeas' wild black hair, which brings him relief. Boefudeas slides down the tree, which was just picked clean, to continue harvesting when a voice catches his attention. Wifadeas, a young boy no older than twelve, calls out to Boefudeas, "Me and Slobon have finished our portion of the harvest early, may we dilly?" Boefudeas scoffs at Wifadeas, then remarks, "If the sun rises on a day you've completed your job at all, I'll surely sob at your feet." Boefudeas then walks to another tree and wraps his arms around it. With ease and at the speed of an arrow, Boefudeas climbs while Wifadeas crosses his arms and watches amused. "Then might we get the day off?", Wifadeas pesters, "Slobon's father, slayer of mead, in a drunken spatt enlisted Slobon in the army for a quick coin. I thought I might be of comfort if I were to enlist alongside him." "Mighty noble of you.", Boefudeas teastes, "Hear it now! Wifadeas, a boy so brave with eyes of pure blue gems, yet outsmarted by the wits of nuts protected in their shell!" Boefudeas throws a Hazelnut at Wifadeas, which hits his chest and falls to the ground. "You'll die child, war is no place for one who knows not to fear for himself, but others instead.", says Boefudeas. "What of your glory, your battles. Once you were a boy, though enthralled in combat. It was said that your iron set fires to nearby shrubs as it clashed against anyone foolish enough to face you. The stories of your feats are shared often in the local towns. Why do you not boast your greatness?", Asks Wifadeas. Boefudeas goes quiet for only a moment, but seemingly an eternity to himself. He thinks of his time in battle, and his so-called glory. All that Boefudeas recalls is the many friends he had lost and the many foes he had killed. Every death, either witnessed or caused by him, is a wound that refuses to heal. Boefudeas answers Wifadeas, "I know not to boast, nor do I see the pleasure of it. My place is here, nurturing my yield of nuts for harvest. Not recapping the events of the hellfire you call glory." Wifadeas, although displeased with the answer, decides to confront Boefudeas no more. Then Wifadeas suggests, "Why don't you send me and Slobon to your home? The trophies of war you've obtained only collect dust with the rest of your possessions, and we'll clean if you are not already attached to the filth. Allow Slobon and me to work easy before our upcoming conquests at least." Boefudeas with steam states, "I'll not see you at my arch if I have any say. See yourself to work now!" Wifadeas, now angered, says, "My friend, don't show disregard to me for looking more tolerable than a goblin. Maybe instead disregard your hair locks and then foreseeably you'll find some maidens in your chambers. Or quite frankly, Sugondees may show her face if she's not still enchanted by the lord or nobleman she enthralled with. Maidless swine." Boefudeas' words escaped him after hearing a storm of insults seemingly out of thin air, leaving him staring as a deer confronted with carriage lights. Wifadeas smirks at this reaction and takes his leave before Boefudeas could gather his thoughts. Boefudeas comes back to his mind and continues working, but slower and in thought. He thinks of Sugondees, a maiden he fancied thirteen years back. She was once a neighbor of Boefudeas', one who he spent his youth with, and one who promised to spend more with. However, greed and lust are common attributes of all folk, man or not. While Boefudeas had put his innocence into battle, Sugondees put hers into others. After he returned, Sugondees had been with another, richer man of higher regard.
  
   Boefudeas stops harvesting, and decides to call the work day to an end. He slides down the tree and steps down a hill to a nearby path created by ground too stubborn to let grass root. The dirt path is dry and smooth with shade provided graciously by the forest line, allowing Boefudeas to have a peaceful stroll. As he walked, Boefudeas had started across a stone bridge that crossed over a small clear stream. In the water was Slobon, a timid boy with as many years as Wifadeas, who looks up after a drink from the stream and greets Boefudeas. "Hello sir. Are you headed home? It's not past noon yet, sir.", says Slobon. "Oh, I had thought that you would have run off with Wifadeas. He had said you were enlisted as a soldier, is this the truth?", asked Boefudeas. Slobon looks to his feet and mutters quietly, "I have, however not by choice. Wifadeas I'm sure intends to follow and support me, though I had hoped he would be wiser than that." Boefudeas nods, as he and Slobon are two of a kind now, and says, "You'd think yourself alone, but you are not. I had not once wanted to battle, and have not to this day. Run off to find Wifadeas, and take pride in having a friend with as little care as to throw his life away for you." Slobon, still in his state, marches through the stream to the shore, motions goodbye, and leaves down the path. Boefudeas stays on the bridge and watches Slobon until his image is no longer distinguished. He then continues walking the path, which leads up a hill as a cobble wall near waist height starts and leads to a cottage, Boefudeas' home. Boefudeas goes to the rear of the structure, with wooden walls darkened with time, and enters through a door at an extension of the building. Inside, there is Hoppon, a steed dark as night with a white streak down his face, as a bright star on a cloud covered night sky, which was given to Boefudeas as a gift from his father to ride on the front lines of war. Many saddles of different quality and purpose hang from stakes fixed to the wall, alongside a brush and decorative items. Boefudeas, although has destane for his father, treasures Hoppon as kin, for he's the only connection to family Boefudeas has left. Hoppon stands still as stone, paying no mind to Boefudeas as he shovels fead and straw into a trough. Boefudeas recalls his steed in the years before, strong and with pride, who walked with the grace of an immortal. Though now a standing husk of former beauty, spending its days with eyes fixed to the stable wall. Boefudeas fills with guilt as to keep such a creature from its calling, though he cannot seem to bear the thought of another riding Hoppon into battle. After the trough is full, Boefudeas walks through a door from the sable to the cottage's one open room. In the room, various pieces of furniture made of wood keep the place from feeling like the open seas, and a log in the center holding the roof with its slowly withering strength. On the walls are different tools and trinkets, either too ancient or useless to be used by any. To one wall is a fireplace, chard black for being cleaned in no one's lifetime, and a table with three chairs set around, waiting to be filled by never coming friends. He goes to the front entrance and props the door open, allowing the sun to enter the room with a livening light. The sounds of birds singing of their life calms what would be the ringing of silence, which normally sits in the cottage with dust on the cobble floor. Boefudeas goes and lays on his bed made of many pelts and furs of animals he had hunted, and uses his remaining light hours to sleep his intrusive memories from his head.