***
Unable to ignore his protesting back any longer, he set his tools down and stretched with a groan. The boards were smoothed to his satisfaction anyway. Despite the cool air, the sun was out and he'd worked up a sweat. Wiping his brow into his thinning gray hair, he heard a familiar noise. Turning, he saw his wife hanging clothes on a line strung from their home to his work shed. A smile touched his creased features. Even without ever having children, he and Linvika were happy.
Then he heard another noise - voices, somewhere north through the trees, close to the stream. Straining his aging eyes, he caught sight of two men in conversation as they walked casually along. From the few moments of listening to them, it was plain that one was instructing the other in the Locan tongue. He'd long since forgotten any of that language, but remembered what it sounded like.
The two men stopped not far off, talked a moment more, and then turned toward his home. Part of him wished they'd move on; he was too old for trouble. Then again, they might be lost, and he was willing to offer a simple hand. All the same, it was best to be safe. Keeping an eye on the strangers, he spoke in a raspy whisper to his wife, "Lin, go back inside for now."
She hesitated but then obeyed, shutting the door behind her just as the two men started their approach. As he was in plain sight, they walked through the side lawn directly to him. He tensed and waited, stroking his long beard as a matter of habit.
One of the men was of average height and build, and had very long, straight dark brown hair shot with silver strands. There were no weapons on him, only a walking stick and a big bag. His leather clothes were simple and loose for travel. He was clean-shaven and had a deep tan, meaning he was either from along the sunny eastern shores or he was a rare foreigner far from home. Guessing his age was difficult, although he was surely the elder of the two.
The other was a young man with shaggy shoulder-length black hair and a few days growth of a beard. He was shorter than the tanned one, but broad shouldered and quite fit. He wore a few straps over his weathered poncho, along with a fine bow and quiver full of arrows. The younger man also had a short-hafted spear, although it was cinched to his backpack. His pouches were full, and a number of small furs were strapped behind them. A hunter, the old man surmised, not a warrior of any sort. Moreover, his bearing carried no sense of aggression.
"Greetings," the elder of the two said with a smile as they approached. "We hope not to intrude, only to get our bearings. We ventured away from trails some time ago."
"Bearings, is it?" the older man said with a hint of skepticism. "And you come from the north? There's naught up that way but digger bears, frost spiders, wolf packs and a bad death. Came away empty handed, did you?"
The younger man glanced at the stacks of barrels next to the work shed and addressed the older man properly. "We are simply exploring the land, master cooper."
"Foul place for that, up north," the cooper replied. "Digger fur is hard to come by, and gathering frost silk is dangerous at best. Hardly anyone tries anymore, and few of them come back. I say that any venture north past the Sisters isn't worth the trip."
"And who are the Sisters?" the elder of the two asked.
The cooper pointed out to the east, where two mountain peaks could be seen over and far beyond the woods. "If you've got a place in mind to go, I suggest you waste little time. Winter will come quickly this cycle, and here in the northern Den is no place to be caught unprepared." As he gave his advice, the cooper noticed that the younger man lifted his head and took a deep breath in through his nose as if searching for a scent.
"Ah, we are without a map," the elder one said, continuing to speak for them. "We are in the northern... Den, you said?"
"Yes, the northern reaches of the Den Forest," the cooper said slowly, realizing how lost the two men were. They seemed like good sorts, but foolhardy. "If you follow the stream, you'll reach Duuvinhal village on foot in less than a day. My wagon has made a trail of sorts over time."
"Thank you for the information, good cooper. I go by Chohla, and this is Stenhelt."
Not caring to comment on Chohla's strange name, the cooper replied, "I am Drovik. Seeing how it's near to midday, you won't reach Duuvinhal by nightfall. I don't have much food to spare, but you're welcome to camp in my shed and out of the elements for the night."
"A gracious offer, master Drovik," Chohla replied. "I think we'll carry on all the same. We travel quickly and, truth be told, we've become fond of the elements in any form. As thanks for your kindness, may I offer you a balm to relieve your aches? I'm an herbalist by trade."
"Appreciated, good herbalist, but aches are part of age. I'd soon run out of your medicine and the pains would return with a vengeance." Drovik lived away from any settlement for a reason: excepting his wife, he didn't care much for company. If the two men were moving on, then better sooner than later. "If your minds are set, then I wish you safe travel."
The two men nodded politely to the abrupt farewell. They turned to leave and had gone a few steps when the hunter, Stenhelt, turned and hurried back. He unslung a large pouch bulging with cuts of dried meat and held it out to Drovik. "You may need this more than us, master cooper," he said.
"How's that, then?" Drovik replied with a scowl, taking offense at the offer. "You think me unable to provide for my own? We're not without, boy."
"I didn't mean to insult you, elder," the young hunter said respectfully, "but all your wife has over the fire in your hearth is a thin carrot soup and a loaf of bread. You keep no fields, so you buy or trade for grain, yes? You store it there in the shed. Mice have found their way into it. Likewise, rabbits come to your garden at night. I'm sure you're capable, but I would still rest easier if you accepted this. We have more than enough to share."
Surprised at the hunter's true words and assumptions, Drovik had no reply. The heavy pouch was gently but firmly placed in his hands. Without another word, the one called Stenhelt turned and hurried away to catch up with his friend.