Chapter 3
I should have chased after it…the axe, damnit. Gryr slouched in the mud beneath him for some time after the boar disappeared into the dense forest. For a moment, he let his mind wander to the drumming he heard, it had ended as quickly as the boar disappeared. He knew it wasn’t his heart, it came from around him…his mind traveled back to the axe he lost. Gryr dreaded his return to the blacksmith’s forge. Master Taybus had personally crafted the weapon for Gryr. It was one of the very few gifts the man had given him, but it meant so much more than that. This would have been avoided if I had Flicker. The thought trickled into his head, it was a poison he tried to avoid. Gryr was flickerless, as his master and most of the people in his small hamlet of Trilia, but that didn’t change the fact that he missed something he never had.
Flicker doesn’t make the man. Taybus’s words were nice, but Gryr found them empty. The apprentice flexed his hands as he tried to will something to emerge from them. Anything. He relented, he knew that wasn’t how it worked. To the best of his knowledge, Gryr wasn’t born beneath a moon that granted the gift he yearned for. The things I could do with even the frost rune. A smile crept on his face as he took himself to another place, with visions of him coursing with the mystical force within him. The axe. Gryr snapped away from his dream and forced himself to stand. Bringing his focus back to himself, he checked to make sure nothing was broken or torn. Except for the expected scrapes and bumps, his body was undamaged. Defeated and filled with anxiousness, Gryr made his way back to Trilia.
The small collection of buildings that Gryr called home was known as Trilia, though the amount of people that truly knew of the village outside of its boundaries was less than the people Gryr had met in his life.. It was a small hamlet deep within the forest of Jarl Belrot’s lands. The only road that connected to the hidden community was scarcely traveled and even more rarely taken care of. His entire life was spent within the collection of buildings that formed his life. The first building that greeted any traveler, regardless of how few, was the home of the Gunter family. A grin formed on Gryr’s face as he neared the wooden home.
“Oye! You look like you slept in the pig pen Gryr!” Their son, Olfed, was young and full of spirit.
Gryr had noticed that Olfed had begun to interlock his hair in a tight braid similar to himself. Most of the times Gryr stepped out of the blacksmith shop, he shared the fresh air with the young boy as they discussed whatever trailing thought plucked from the eager Olfed’s mind.
“Thanks, Olfed.” Gryr jokingly sneered at the young boy in front of him, but he admitted he probably looked like the wrong end of a long night in a mead hall. “You should see the animal I hunted.”
Olfed early peered around Gryr’s back. “Uh, I don’t see one.”
Gryr instantly regretted his words. For a boy that barely saw eight winters Olfred was quick, Gryr simply laughed and ruffled the child’s hair. “A few more winters and I’ll take you with me.”
“You promise? Father said that if I am to live Flickerless, I should learn from you!”
“I promise.” Gryr stepped past the boy, the words he spoke lingered on his mind. Being flickerless was not incredibly rare, but from the few traders that made their way to the remote village, it was one of the biggest oddities. Most of them told Gryr that having flicker was power, honor and respect among the larger ‘real’ villages. Flicker doesn’t make the man. His master’s words played in his head. Unlike Olfed’s father, the master blacksmith did not have a flicker. He used his own strength to forge the best weapons in the land. Gryr reassured himself just as an impeccable scent caressed his nose.
The second building to welcome Gryr back from his failed hunt was the town’s baker, it wasn’t her job, but after her husband died of old age she became the village’s grandmother. Her baked breads and pies were a staple of Gryr’s childhood. He gave her a small wave and a soft smile. “Happy sunrise Frey!”
“Happy sunrise my young warrior, come take a piece of fresh shrub wheat bread for you and Master Taybus.” She shuffled into her home with a youthful vigor. “Actually, I’ll cut you an extra one, you’ll need it after a tough hunt.”
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