At the path just at the entrance of the village a little group stood huddled together. Two figures burdened with packs, and one horse; a new addition, bought with the inheritance Caradhril had coaxed out of his father for his adventure.
"I can hardly believe you're leaving," Tuchanar reached out to clap his younger brother on the shoulder.
Brassion stood beside his wife, whose belly was swollen with child. "Would be better if you remained here to help with the fish," He muttered, wrapping one arm about Miresgaleth and drawing her closer.
The dark-eyed woman reached up to pat the hand embracing her, "Ah, Caradhril is young yet. Surely he'll send word, and think of the stories he'll have for our child!"
Caradhril nodded enthusiastically. "Aye, I'll bring back all the stories you can imagine!"
Another boy the same age as he and Lin folded both arms around his chest, expression wistful. "I wish I could join you..." He sighed.
Lin took a step forward, offering the boy a smile. "We'll bring stories for you, too, Osben." She promised. If he hadn't been gored all those winters ago, then perhaps he could come with them, but his injury still troubled him, preventing him from long excursions.
"Stories enough for everyone," Caradhril agreed, awkwardly climbing onto his horse. Athough he had spent good coin on it, he still wasn't a practiced rider. "Lin?"
His friend scrabbled up beside him, wrapping her arms about his waist.
"We'll be back before you know it!" She shouted, and Caradhril nodded.
"You'll hardly know we've been gone!"
