Spring was a beautiful time of year for the village of Glensford, as it breathed new life into the surrounding world. Known more for being thieves and storytellers, Halflings were often left alone by the other races. Those choosing to bother the three-foot-tall people often lived to regret their decision, as few could prove as troublesome as a hundred flustered Halflings. The way for one to avoid such a predicament was to either avoid them or wipe them out. No one wanted the blood of another race on their hands except for the Ogres, but their lands were far enough away that it would take an act of the Gods to bring them to Glensford.
Originally founded as a gathering place for traveling Halflings, Glensford soon became a comfortable place for them to settle into the routine of life. While few remained in the village for more than a handful of years, Glensford was never threatened with becoming a ghost village. Instead, it continued to thrive as more Halflings traveled there when it was time to start a family or they became too old to journey anymore. A little piece of paradise in the middle of the chaotic and dangerous Wilderness, few knew of the village's existence aside from the Halfling race. Not known as a people able to keep a secret, keeping the village hidden was considered a tremendous feat by outsiders who knew of its existence. The odd thing about that theory, from a Halfling's point of view, was they thought they were good at keeping secrets. The ones they deemed important, anyway. Such was the life of a people considered little more than vermin by the other races of Pyrain. Whatever the reasoning or opinions about them by others, the people of Glensford never let it interfere with their daily lives.
That was never more apparent than when the quiet morning following the rainstorm was broken by the laughter of children. Like most children, Eron was filled with an energy his elders often wished they had. He breathed in the morning fragrances. There was something about the air — the cleanliness of it — that made his heart beat faster and pushed his mind to the mental edge of observation. Eron didn't care why he felt the way he did, he only knew he loved that brief time period between the after-storm morning and afternoon sun. In a few hours, the air would lose its texture and scent. Being normal didn't appeal to him at his age, so he ran around the village's narrow paths and tall grass in an attempt to soak in as much of the morning as possible.
Eron took in as deep a breath as he could with each step, enjoying the feeling of the cool, damp air in his lungs. Rounding the corner of a path brought him to the first major decision of his morning. Should he stay on the path as it turned to the right or continue straight into the small clearing of long grass? Allowing his instincts to lead him, he continued straight ahead and plunged into the long grass. Eron extended his arms like he saw birds do when they flew. The long grass was a tad shorter than two feet, so the tops of the grass barely touched his palms. The gentle caress of the grass tickled, bringing a larger smile and giggle from him.
Lost in his enjoyment of imagining the grass being the wind beneath him as he flew through the air, Eron didn't stop until his legs had enough. Only when he plunged to his knees in the grass and fell onto his side did he realize how tired he was. Gasping for air, he rolled onto his back and remained lying where he fell to watch the clouds move overhead.
Everything about the day was peaceful, allowing Eron to feel content without understanding the trials of life. Watching the clouds had always been one of his greatest pleasures, and he fell asleep minutes after first finding his perch.
He had no way of knowing how long he'd been asleep aside from the rumbling of his stomach. The vibration proved to be more of a factor in him waking than the sound, although he was known to have a loud grumble at times. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Eron remained lying in his sanctuary while staring at the clouds. He didn't want to leave such a restful spot, but one of his golden rules in life was to never miss a meal. To emphasize its point, his stomach rumbled again.
"All right, all right I'm going." Stretching, he began trekking back through the field towards the village. It wasn't late enough in the day for him to notice a change in the sun. Sure, it had moved some, but not enough to warrant him being as hungry as he felt. He began wondering if he'd been asleep for a day, maybe a week? His mind locked onto the thought and, in a matter of seconds, he started bowing and thanking people that weren't there as he pretended to have slept for centuries. Accepting the praise and gifts from the future citizens of Glensford soon became boring, so he shifted his attention to the idea that the village had been taken prisoner by a powerful lord and he alone was left. His duty, nay, his mission, was to enter the stronghold of the despot to free his people. First, he had to scrounge for food that may have been left behind to sustain him for such a great mission.
*****
"Where is that boy?" Milda stood over the medium-sized pot of stew she was preparing for her family. For most Halflings, a medium pot of anything would feed a family of six for a couple of days, but with the appetite her son had they'd be lucky if it'd last the three of them until dinner. How could a body eat like that? The clang of the wooden spoon on the cast-iron pot snapped her thoughts back to the task at hand. Her husband was off collecting, the proper Halfling term for thievery, and she wasn't sure when he'd return. Hopefully, before Eron ate them out of house and home.
"He's probably out pretending again." The higher-than-normal-pitched voice came from Surie, a typical Halfling child and Eron's younger sister. She idolized the ideals of thievery and was well on her way to being in a class all her own in the art of picking pockets. Being adept at a skill her people were renowned for gave her a certain pomposity around her brother. She was well aware of his daydreams, just as everyone else in Glensford was, and that didn't stop her from being as miserable to him as possible. To her, she was being helpful by trying to motivate him. Where was the harm in that?
"Surie." Milda spoke with the typical warning tone parents use when they're aware of their children planning something they shouldn't be.
"What?" Surie's tone and innocent eyes pleaded with her mother for understanding. "I don't say anything no one else does."
"That's beside the point. Your brother is trying to find his way. If his path is different than yours, then you must respect that."
Surie crossed her arms in a classic pout. "I do respect him. I just think he's..."
"Surie."
"Wrong." Surie put more energy into her pout. It wasn't fair, being a year younger than someone that couldn't decide what he wanted to do or be. Halflings were good at certain things, what was so hard in accepting those? All her efforts earned her was a look from her mother, which caused her to change the topic. "What's for lunch?"
"Beet stew." Milda's answer was passive and lacking any conviction aside from the facts at hand.
Surie's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Yuck! What about dinner?"
"Beet stew." Milda's tone didn't change, mostly due to her mind wandering to where Eron had gotten himself too.
"Eron'll eat it all."
Milda turned to scold Surie when she saw her son approaching the open doorway. Without another word to her daughter, she reached into the cupboard above her head and pulled out three carved wooden bowls. By the time Eron entered the house Milda had the bowls full of stew and was setting them on the table.
"Where were you? Mother was worried!" Surie turned at the sound of Eron's bare feet landing on the wooded floor.
Milda let out a sigh, what else could she do? "Where've you been, Eron? It's not like you to not be in here pesting me for lunch by now." Her voice remained even as she spoke. Yes, she'd been worried, but not as badly as Surie made it sound.
Eron slid into his seat and took two spoonfuls of the stew to quite his stomach's rumbling before answering. "I was in the long grass watching the clouds."
Milda smiled at him; she hoped his innocence would never be dampened by the world waiting for him. "Sounds like a wonderful morning, dear."
"Oh yes, so much better than practicing a craft." Surie's voice cut through the air like a dull razor.
"Surie." Milda's gaze locked on her daughter, forcing the child to look down at her bowl.
"Sorry." Surie uttered the apology with such sheepishness that Milda thought she'd been too tough on the girl, but then she remembered how many times she'd done much the same and Surie rebounded without a second thought.
Eron acted as though he hadn't heard the exchange, busying himself with eating his bowl. Before his mother had the opportunity to look away from her daughter he looked up with his bowl in his hands. "Can I have seconds?"
The sound of his voice broke Milda from her own thoughts and it took her a moment to realize what he said. Neither she nor Surie had even touched their first bowls yet. After a pause she nodded, "Yes, but no more. We have to save some for tonight and tomorrow."
Smiling, Eron handed his bowl to his mother and watched as she ladled out another serving.
Surie sat, smiling at Eron with a smug expression on her face. "That's why I work at my craft. I'm going to be rich."
"But will you be happy?" Eron's quick retort was followed by Surie wrinkling her nose at him in response. By the time their mother turned around everything that would be said was done.
Shaking her head, Milda could only wonder how she would survive until her children went into the world to find their own way.
*****
Following lunch, Eron walked through the forest surrounding Glensford. Looking skyward and studying the canopy of trees helped his mind to wander. The patterns of the leaves against the sun had always fascinated him and gave birth to his dreams of being able to fly. It was for that reason he wasn't watching where he was walking and tripped over something hard that moved when he made contact.
At first, he thought it was a loose branch or tree root that had somehow freed itself from the earth. He realized his error at guessing what tripped him up when he saw the glint of steel before landing on the soft moss at the tree's base. As soon as he landed, Eron leapt to his feet in shock and surprise at the sight before him. Had he been older, he may have felt fear at the sight of the human standing before him with a large knife drawn. Instead, the Halfling did what was in his nature. He surprised the human by extending his hand.
"Hello. I'm Eron. What's your name?"
The man didn't flinch as his eyes remained locked on Eron's. For a moment, he thought the man was nothing more than his imagination. Since his imagination shouldn't answer him, he decided to try asking the man's name again. Before he could open his mouth, the man put the knife back into a hidden sheath inside his right boot then picked up his cloak. Despite himself, Eron couldn't help staring at the man's fluid and practiced movement as he clasped the cloak around his neck.
Feeling foolish at the realization that he must've tripped over the man's legs, Eron cleared his throat and lowered his hand. It never bothered a Halfling when people refused to shake. In many places it was considered the proper course of action when dealing with them.
"Sorry about tripping over your..." The Halfling's voice trailed off at seeing the man's sword propped against the trunk of the tree. While still in its scabbard, the entire length was taller than Eron's two and a half feet of height. The silver handle guard was a straight piece of metal that reflected a small bit of sunlight. Swallowing, Eron realized what the flash of steel was when he fell.
"What are you doing out here?" Reinhart chastised himself for not hearing the boy approach. I must be getting slow.
Eron didn't hear the question the first time, as he was transfixed by the beauty of the sword's hand-crafted handle with leather strips wrapped around to give the user a firm grip. He could hear the man ask something again and he wanted to answer, but it was so difficult to pull his attention away from the glistening metal. In what could only be described as frustration, Reinhart grabbed his sword and strapped it to his waist. The movement broke the spell that had trapped Eron's attention. Blinking, he looked up at the man now wrapped in his cloak, his weapons hidden from view.
"I don't have time to be a nurse maid, boy. If you won't answer me then I'll be on my way." Reinhart turned and took a step.
Eron's mind screamed for him to say something, anything, to keep the man from leaving. He had so many questions of his own he wanted answered. Eron was able to find his voice by the time the man took his third step. "I'm Eron."
The ranger paused, glancing over his shoulder at the boy. "You already said that."
"What's your name?" Eron felt himself growing braver by the second. How many people in his village had ever had a conversation with a warrior? A WARRIOR! His head swam with the stories he was sure to hear.
Reinhart paused for a moment in thought. Should he continue onto his destination, wherever that would be, or humor the boy? In the end, he decided on a combination of both strategies. The boy had to have a father or mother who could help him. At the very least, he'd probably be offered a hot meal and a place to sleep for the night. It'd been a grueling journey over the last few days, what with the storm and having to leave the marginal comfort of the stable. After taking a deep breath, he turned back to face Eron while sending a reluctant thanks to the Gods for their intervention. "Reinhart."
Eron's smile could've been headache-inducing had they not been under the cover of the tree canopy. "You're a warrior?"
That brought a smile to Reinhart's face. "What makes you say that?"
Eron's face scrunched in thought before he answered. "Well, if you were a bandit or other lowlife, then you would've killed me by now. I never heard of a bandit having a sword like that, either."
Reinhart's smile split as laughter escaped from his mouth. "Not bad kid, but you are wrong about something." He waited until Eron's face twisted into a visage of confusion before continuing. "Bandits do carry swords like these, sometimes things you can't imagine."
Eron swallowed hard. It wasn't easy to scare a Halfling, but Reinhart's tone did just that. "But... but you're a warrior... right?"
Was it a question or a prayer? Reinhart chuckled to himself. He took a step towards the boy and was impressed to see Eron hold his ground. He began to kneel onto his right knee in a slow, methodical motion meant to scare the Gods from the boy. To his credit, Eron's face remained pink, but his eyes grew so big they looked like they'd fall from their sockets any second. Not bad, kid.
Once he was settled in, Reinhart nodded after a momentary pause. "You could say that, although the correct term is ranger." Seeing the color return to Eron's face brought another smile to Reinhart. Even though they just met, he was beginning to like the boy.