Anima et Forma

Episode 6: Things Sown, Things Lost

Farmers in the High Plains bury wheat seeds and barley. Farmers in the Low Plains bury tobacco seeds and cotton. Farmers in the Red Hills bury their kin.

—An Alexandrian adage.

"Those storm clouds are moving fast," Augustus said. A steady breeze–a strong current–caught in his cloak. The fabric rustled and fluttered about.

"We better move faster!" Padair's hooves clapped against cobbles. Yellow eyes beamed beneath curly shags. "There's nothing worse than wet fur on a long march."

"Where does a satyr find shelter during a storm? In a cave?" Gus thumbed his chin. Where am I going to find shelter?

"Caves are the best, but you have to watch out for trolls, and gnolls, and bears. Sometimes a ditch–sometimes a hollowed-out log." Padair shrugged. "I know a few good places around here."

Gus shook his head. "I'm not sleeping in a log."

The goat man smiled. "The place I had in mind is a farm."

"A farm? You?" Augustus was genuinely surprised.

"I have relatives there. Farmer Joe is a good man. And his wife makes the best blackberry pie in the kingdom–I promise you that, friend! We'll have warm bedding, fresh food, and peace. I'm not sure how he'll feel about me bringing another guest, though."

"It sounds pretty nice," Augustus said. Thunder roared and lightning cackled above. Streaks of white scarred the darkened sky, then disappeared. But that... does not.

"The farm isn't too far from here." Padair scanned the skies.

The first fine drizzles fell softly to the earth. In the blink of an eye, the drizzles turned into a deluge of fat droplets.

Augustus held tight to Ninathril's handle. With his hood drawn close, and the rain battering his back and shoulders, soaking him to the bone, Gus did battle with the elements. Though it was not his to hold, the sword comforted him. I'm almost there, Augustus pondered. The City of Chios is getting closer daily–and the Pendragon heir.

He still wasn't sure what he hoped to accomplish, or why he felt compelled to do so, but deep within his soul, Augustus knew the sword must return to its rightful owner.

I just have to keep moving forward.

A muddy path led off the Western Road, cutting a trail between two grassy mounds. Rainwater settled in the little valley. Gus' boots squished bubbling mud over a puddle that lapped the laces of his boots. Loose cobbles and pebbles drove themselves down into the soft earth beneath his weight.

"Please tell me this isn't a shortcut!" Augustus bellowed as the raindrops clapped in celebration at the wrath displayed by the storm.

"Just hurry!" Padair skipped along. His hooves created sounds of suction as they escaped the mud.

The valley ran a quarter mile before ending at the face of a hillside. Two more valleys lay to his left and right. The road split in two, one path cutting through the valley to his right: the other climbing the hill that faced them. Augustus and Padair climbed the hill, following the road, which had turned to pure muck.

Gus struggled for footing. His boots slipped and slid. Augustus banged his knee against a rock. It forced him to take a break. Looking down into the valley behind, Augustus mused at the temporary river created by the storm and the hills.

A heavy breeze picked up, whisking his ears like a whirlwind, but his cloak lay wet and flat. The wind whipping his skin was chaotic. A new sound was steady–like a stream.