The Tale Teller

Ch 28

 The water was still as Vaun climbed into the boat. Too still. The weather may have eased enough to allow he and Branoff to reach Lakekeeldor, but there was a bite in the air which told it wasn't over. Even the ducks and swans seemed to feel it for they were nowhere to be seen, likely hiding amongst the rushes that covered the south banks. They eased the small boat out until the village no longer gave shelter and the open waters exposed them to the freeze to come.

Branoff rowed as quickly as possible before exhaustion wore him out. He didn't seem to want to admit it for he continued with sloppy strokes before Vaun took over. Slow and steady, they'd make it. He told himself that with every gust of growing wind and every new crack to his fingers as they numbed around the ores.

It was beautiful out here on the lake, the biggest in the land. The forest and the mountains were to the north, with the hills and swamplands leading to Watertown in the south. Straight ahead was the wilderness of the west, with a horizon that stretched with colour when the sun set. It made the west seem all the more magical, though that magic was long gone.

They rowed until the wind pushed them more than Vaun's arms could control the boat. Thankfully, it pushed them in the right direction.

The boat was only big enough for a few people aboard. It was the length of one and a half grown men tall, and was the width of one man long. It wasn't the easiest way to judge measurements, but Vaun couldn't help but feel rather too large in the small space. It's sides weren't high enough to feel protected, and the bench he sat on creaked and moved beneath him with every powerful row of the ores. A grown man seemed rather fitting as a tool of estimate when one felt so large.

He rowed until Branoff felt fit enough to take over again, pushing against the wind which occasionally tipped the boat from side to side before allowing it to steady. It wasn't the smoothest of journeys, but it rarely was when out in the open lake with no shelter from the elements.

It took longer than usual to reach the banks at the foot of the mountains, and once there, Branoff and Vaun both clambered out of the boat like drunken fools. Their legs were unsteady, heads spinning along with stomachs that churned. Branoff began to speak a line on how a good meal would fix them, before his face turned an unusual shade of pale. He emptied what little was in his stomach behind a bush whilst Vaun tied up the rowing boat and grabbed their bags.

It took a moment for them to steady themselves and prepare for the walk to Brinevalleybell, for no matter how short a journey it was compared to much of Vaun's travels, it felt like a days march with how sickly the boat ride had made them. Branoff walked with a hand clutching his stomach, the other rising every once in a while to cover his mouth. The colour refused to come back to his cheeks.

It was a rough path. Stones were scattered from the rain, and the mud from the mountain had been pushed down to narrow parts of it. It made the rocky mountain trail seem ever more dangerous than usual. Hoofprints decorated the mud though, showing the clean signs that upahead was no worse than the areas they walked. They'd make it to the village, though the journey would be a reminder of the season and the wrath that it brought.

It had been a long time since Vaun had last passed through the mountain villages, but he doubted much had changed since then. The mountain people were rather stuck in their ways, favouring tradition over all else. He could only pray they'd accept him into their stronghold.

"This house-" the one Branoff had promised to him. Vaun wanted to know more.

"We'll fix it up, laddie, don't worry."

"Will it need much?"

"Ye'll soon see." The words didn't come with much encouragement, but as the cold air entered Vaun's lungs, there wasn't much more he could ask or say.