A Peaceful Life

2

17 years later

Sun filtered down onto the shadowed forest floor, as squirrels chattered in the trees, preparing for the winter to come. Bright swathes of reds and yellows shone in the light, clinging tightly still to the brush and trees that held them. Air blew lightly, caressing the forest and whispering through the trees. Jason crouched in the underbrush, scarcely breathing as he watched the large buck across the path sifting through the underbrush for some berries. He rose to a half crouch, chest tightened in anticipation, and silently drew back the string on his ash wood bow. He inhaled once through his nose, feeling the air rush into his lungs, a moment of tension, building, string tucked against the cheek, then exhaled in release as the arrow made a clean shot, silent as it flit through air and into the eye of the buck a moment later.

The beast dropped before even understanding what had occurred, as was the respectful way to kill. Jason rose up from cover, walking to the carcass before picking his arrow out of the bucks eye socket. He twisted the shaft to free it from the bone it had hit upon, frowning slightly with displeasure as he saw that the arrowhead had been dented upon impact.

"I'm going to have a great talk with Denn when I get back and he learns I've mishandled his oh so precious arrows. I can already hear the lecture... Metal's hard to come by these days boy! You've got to take better care of your tools, without them, you are nothing, and when you're nothing, you're not worth my time."

Jason continued to mumble as he dragged the deer carcass along the trail back to the village proper. Looking up, he saw the sun was just below its' peak, giving him just enough time to clean the buck before the Ferstied. He'd been waiting all year for the festival. It marked the last day before winter began its long cold march across the countryside. It was also coincidentally his birth date, and day of maturity at 17 summers. He would finally be assigned a craft in the village and be able to work for his own money. The thought excited him, and he hoped with a fervor that he would be assigned to Denn Collins, the town blacksmith, although the man might be a righteous prick when he got to preaching about the importance you should give metal.

Lost in his thoughts for the future, he looked up to see the pah down to the village laid out in front of him. Set deep within a valley between two craggy peaks, Helsdam was a perfect example of a rural village. Terraced farms rose up on each gently sloping sides of the chasm pass, barley and wheat growing hardily in the rocky soil due to the twin streams mirrored down each mountain's slope, diverted here or there to provide irrigation to the crop. Farther down, figures could be seen herding goats, one of the few animals hardy enough to survive the brutally cold and dark winters of the northern reaches of Ostenstein. A small river led through the outskirts of town, with a water wheel on the mill, so that no extra work was required to push the heavy stone to grind flour. It was a small village, but they got by well compared to the more rural farmers who risked starvation every winter.

Huffing with exertion, Jason dragged the deer carcass down the rest of the hill and reached the village proper.

"Ho there, need some help lad?" Willem Tanner called from his front porch. Tall and thin like a willow, yet strong from a life of hard work, Willem had greying hair and was going bald, but kind brown eyes shone from within the laugh lines of his face. His house was situated as far from the center of town as possible, on account of people complaining of the noxious smells that were hand in hand with the various chemicals and acids he had to use to create skins and fur coats.

"That'd….that'd be much appreciated Willem, I just need to get it home... to skin and then I'll bring you the hide. Da' says that we still owe you for the work you did on the coats you made us, so it's all yours." Panting, Jason stopped for a few seconds as Willem picked up the back end with his wiry wrinkled hands and they started walking.

"Nonsense boy, you and your pa' don't owe me nothing'. I'm well off enough and I know how you need the warmth in the coming winter. Folk help each other out, that's how we survive in the north. I'd appreciate some of the meat you get from it if ya' don't mind though."

Finally, panting from exertion, they reached the front of Jason's house. The house was worn down by the passage of time, wood ragged and chipped with gaps between the logs. A simple thatch roof covered the top of the flat square building. It wasn't much more than a shack, but Jason was thankful that he had a place to sleep and a roof above his head. He reached out and pushed open the creaky door that led into the house.

"Da', I'm home, I shot a deer, dinged an arrow though." Jason looked to the left to see his father sitting in his usual spot by the firepit. He was rocking slightly back and forth in his chair, and looked up as Jason and Willem came in.

"You'll have to get the arrow reset by Denn, it can't be helped. Good job son, we're in sore need of some meat. Thought we really might end up going hungry for a few days."

Crall Faulkin was a diminutive man, small and weary looking. His brown hair was slowly receding, and he had to shuffle along with a cane despite only being about thirty-five summers old. His leg had been crippled long ago in a skirmish with bandits up in the mountain pass, the day he had found Jason.