The Tale Teller

Ch 9

The morning held a frosty chill that took the breath from Vaun. He woke with a cough, chest sore with how the cold entered his lungs. The straw beneath him was warm as was the body that had rolled his way in the night. Everything else was as cold as the bitter splashing waves of the North Sea.

He was surprised that sleep had come when not alone in the cowshed, but it seemed that his health had made it inevitable. He rose with a silent yawn, thankful for how Willa failed to stir beside him.

She had begged him to take her with him the night before, all throughout their bowls of stew and the chatter that came afterwards. No matter how many reasons Vaun had given she was insistent that his footsteps were what she should follow. He made sure to quickly grab his things and leave before she woke.

As he sneaked out the barn door, he took one last look around the space, at the dozing cows, and the frozen water pails beside them. As much as he wished to make haste he knew the weather would slow his steps.

Sure enough, as soon as he stepped out into the yard Vaun felt his balance leave him. The heel of his boot slid in the thick frost that covered the cobblestones like a sheet of ice.

His butt hit the ground with a thump. All he could do was to gather himself up quickly, with a prayer that the fall hadn't alerted anyone to his early morning escape.

The sun was only just rising, absent of any heat. The ice lingered in the puddles, or dangled as frozen droplets from the window ledges of the farmhouse and the small gate that led into the meadow the cows grazed in.

Once Vaun reached the rough stones of the lane it became easier to walk, but by then he was already shivering. His teeth chattered, making a sound much like that of the small pebbles children would rattle together in their palms as part of a new game he had yet to learn the name of.

He walked with the hood of his cloak up, fabric tucked around his face to keep the bitter morning from biting at his ears. His hair was still in need of a trim, tangled and dishevelled as it fell into a greasy mess, but Vaun was beginning to see the advantages of it for at least half of his ears were sheltered beneath the dark strands.

He was thankful for how dry his clothes now were, and for the rest he had had the night before. Willa had been right that the farmer's wife's stew would help him, for his stomach did feel more settled and full. The lack of breakfast caused it to grumble now though.

Vaun's bag was almost empty from food, and despite the hospitality at the farm, no provisions had been given to help him with this next part of the journey.

He was going west now, towards the village of Lakekeeldor. It was the largest small settlement in the area, positioned upon the banks of the largest lake in the country. The mountains were behind it, making it the first resting stop for any mountain men coming down or travelling across the waters. It was a busy little village, and Vaun could only pray that it brought him luck.

He needed food, needed money, and the village would be his last hope. If he didn't get enough there then he would starve until he reached Wheatbury. It was a journey that would last a good few days, across flat fields with no hint of shelter. Vaun knew he'd surely die if his bag wasn't full by then.

He'd never been this desperate before, but Vaun couldn't remember ever witnessing food shortages to this scale. He had passed through too many places too quickly only to be ushered through the rest with the threat of looming guards or his own shadowy conscious. He was paying the price now and as if to mock him, Vaun's stomach gave another loud groan.

He counted the time by the finger widths of sky appearing beneath the sun. It was still early and it wasn't until a whole hand's span could fit in the space did the ice along the road begin to melt.