Frith had not needed to wander too far into the forest that morning. It was still dark, the sun barely poking it’s great head from it’s slumber but the sky was awash with a pinky glow predicting the onset of rain later in the day. The forest was awake and calling out to Frith, birds singing to greet the dawn and howler monkeys mourning the night’s passing. Treading lightly, Frith moved through the woodland, barely stirring the fallen twigs and leaves- as much a part of this place as the oaks, the woodpeckers, the insects moving between tree barks, his nut brown body merging with the earthy palette of the forest until he barely existed. No sound. No scent. No sight of the hunter. He blocked out even his thoughts and emotions. Leaving nothing but instinct and arrows.

The stag was still young, not a fawn but not quit fully grown yet. He too stalked through the trees with caution, fearful of everything he did not understand. Lifting his head to the pink dawn, the buck deer blinked through wide baleful eyes. Frith did not hesitate as he stretched his bow taught and released the arrow, there was a swish as it sword through the air, through skin, through flesh through bone. The not-quite-stag thrashed his neck giving off a low moan. Frith cursed at his terrible shot, uncharacteristic as it was he did not stop to wonder if he saw himself in the creature, instead with hurried fingers reached into his quiver for another arrow before the beast thought it wise to run off.

The next arrow pierced the deer’s heart delivering a fatal shot and there was nothing more to think on, the forest almost seemed to mourn him.

Stepping out from his cover, Frith approached the deer and spared it a sad sigh before taking the creature by it’s haunches and flinging it over his shoulders. It was a small stag, but still a challenge- in the old days he and Inle had tied larger deer to logs and carried them home between us. But now Frith was alone he took the weight on his own back.

Naita would press him about what he caught that morning, Frith was sure of it, that if he came back empty handed that same crushing disappointment would come to her face and pierce Frith’s heart like his own arrow, swift and true. But he had faith, he had hope that there would be deer all day, that there was enough rice in his families store, that he could trade his hunters knife for meat when times were desperate, that Murron Uita would smile at him when she saw the deer.
Elahra used to come with them into the woods, before…she went missing. Made Frith teach her to use a bow, his fingers laced over hers as they drew back the arrow together, and when they walked back, that deer on a log between his and Inle’s shoulder she’d sing. Old songs, in that high voice of hers. Frith found himself humming one now, but he did not remember with sadness, only a fondness of the past. Of the buried.

He did not stop the song even when he was out of the woods, that deer on his back nudging his quiver and his bow tight in his fist. His finger, or lack of finger, was still sore in parts- his mother had fussed and tried to peek at it from under his wrappings but for some reason Frith did not wish the bandage to be disturbed. But Naita had been angry and worried at first , swatting him, telling him not to go near his father for fear of infection. “And how did you do that anyway, daft sack of spitch!”
“A crow ate it,” he’d said blankly, watched Naita suppress a smile and then fling a dish rag at her son. It had been the first time she’d truly felt like his mother in ten years.

And like that, the worry of his father melted, slipped underfoot like the slick mud he stepped on as he entered the flats. Once again, a few of his old ‘tribe’ (as though the beggar flats had any kind of community) stopped to glare it him, but he paid them no mind, instead carrying the deer carcass towards Murron Uita’s home.

Murron had not yet grown used to quiet steps coming close to her home, and every time she reached defensively for her staff. It was quick to palm, quick to stance, quick to the entrance of her den—cloth swept aside and Murron planted firmly in the door of her home.

Long ago, back a lifetime ago, Murron had been instructed by her father, by her mother, to go to the door with whatever household weapon had come to hand. Never had Murron been taught to fight much with bow or spear. Her father wielded a sword—a weapon far too heavy for her. No, from her time of understanding language, she was taught to fight with anything and everything that looked harmless. Shovel, rake, staff, kitchen knife, numerous carpenter tools, rope. Anything a good wife might find in a well kept home.

But there was no threat. It was Frith, come once again with a kill over his shoulder.

The Roek man had kept to his word and had come several more days since their meeting, bearing offerings and kind nods. Murron felt her cheeks flush. His kindness had a marked effect on her. So very starved of it for so long, it was hard not to drink it up like water. Her throat was certainly parched.

The meaning of his visits still escaped her, but she would not turn away companionship in such a generous form. Murron lowered her staff and greeted the successful hunter with a quiet smile.

The rainy season was slim pickings for a forager. Sabu was not a particularly good hunter, Roek though he was. He had speed, but no patience. He was a quiet runner and knew the forest well, but his spear work was almost laughable. So for the most part he had to get by on what he could scrounge and fight the animals for. Still, he always made an effort to try to find something to bring to his friend whenever he could.

This month, he found nothing, so he attempted to make something. Having rooted through his father's old plans, he'd found something perfect. A brick template! He could use the air seasoned wood in the back shed, and all it required him to do was saw regular notches on some long planks. He was not the cleverest with his hands, but he had helped his father with simple projects. After many nights of work, many bruised thumbs, and two accidental piercings of his fingers, he had finally made a template that would easily hold sixty bricks to dry separately.

He happily plodded along with the massive thing over his shoulders, wobbling with every step. He had not had to carry something so big in a while. But still, he couldn't wait to see Murron Uita's face when he brought it to her. She was not meant to live on the flats like a criminal. No matter what everyone said, no matter what common sense said, he had known Murron since she was a young woman. He could not imagine her killing anybody, especially her beloved husband.

Finally, he felt his feet giving way under the soft mud that welcomed him to the Beggar's flats. Murron's house was easy for him to find, with the countless times he had visited. But as it was, it appeared that his friend was already entertaining a guest. And he had brought a deer! His face broke into a smile at the thought of someone else showing kindness to his dear friend.

"Hello brother! It is good to see that someone else is-" As he rounded the other side of Murron's little domed shelter, he finally saw who the man was. Anything else could have been unfamiliar, those eyes were all he needed to see. Those fireflash eyes. Dropping his template to the ground and letting it sink into the mud, he sprinted over towards Murron and leapt the low roof of her home. Positioning himself between his friend and the imposter, he leveled a fierce look towards him.

"What are you doing here at Murron Uita's home, murderer?!"

Frith had but a few moments to enjoy Murron’s quiet smile of gratitude- lovely as it was, not long to savor the novelty that someone should smile because they might just be happy to see him, something that no one had done since his exile, since Elahra’s death. He was lost in happiness, a kind of comfortable companionship he had not felt for years when he was pulled rapidly back into the reality of Anhau, of the suspicion and the faces filled with hate when a sprinting figure planted itself between Frith and Murron, a barrier separating them from eachother.

There was aggression in the man’s face, and Frith recognized him to be Sabu Imani, the wild man, the forager. He was strange to Frith, both finding their work in the forests but Sabu was not a hunter, did not follow the same codes that Frith’s kin had. He’d remembered as a younger man laughing with Inle and a few of the other hunters about having to stay on guard lest a wayward arrow find Sabu Imani who usually crept through the forest pretending he was some kind of animal. It seemed as though today Frith had indeed pitched some arrow and struck the strange Wildman.

Aggression, though, and that title of murderer. No one had been killed. Frith was an attempted murderer, an accomplice, who had paid for his crimes and did not take kindly to being labeled something he was not. While Frith had tried his best to be submissive towards the Roek people, he had felt himself again around Murron, felt like he had a friend and Frith did not enjoy having that feeling taken away from him. Who was Sabu to question his visiting Murron? Why should Sabu Imani question his being here? As far as Frith knew he was neither husband, nor father nor brother and Murron was a grown woman. The old flash of anger, of headstrong pride burned in Frith’s eyes and he jutted his chin in defiance at Sabu . They were like two suba fighting over a mate, preparing to butt teeth, to rip at flesh.

Though significantly smaller than Sabu in height, Frith was strong enough not to be intimidated by him, by Sabu Imani of all people, bounding amiable Sabu Imani.

“Do you not see the deer?” said Frith curtly, swinging it from his shoulders with ease, a definite deliberate flexing of biceps involved in the movement. One would half expect him to offer to get out a measuring stick soon, to see who was really the man in this situation.

"I went hunting this morning...strange that I did not see you picking flowers there or gathering nuts and berries like a squirrel." He let the deer rest on the ground at his feet just as Sabu had dropped his brick contraption. “Not that it is any of your business of course but I have brought this to Murron Uita.”

Pushing closer to Sabu and gripping his bow tightly he looked up at Sabu, looking every inch the man who could have once been pushed to commit a crime so heinous as to kill a Durg. “Do you have a problem with this?”

Sabu smiled. It was a quiet smile, one brought about by familiar teasing. He had always known that amongst his tribe, he was an odd one. Where others killed animals, he ran or grappled. Where others brought back great carcasses, he brought back plants and roots. But Frith Rair, to say what he did, to challenge his worth as a man, he should have known better.

"Murron Uita was my dearest friend when I was young. She is the daughter of carpenters, she married one as well. We are of the same clan. We knew each other well, we helped each other numerous times. And she has no right to be here. She is innocent." He emphasized the last phrase, looking pointedly at Frith. The message was clear. There positions should have been switched, you have no right to be free.

Placing one of his shovel hands on the other Roek man's shoulders, he slowly squeezed it. The key to a good grip, his father had always taught him when he trained, was to start soft and keep getting harder, so that the pain compounds. He did not want to hurt Frith badly, he merely wanted to show the hunter that well muscled though he was, he was no Half Man like Sabu.

"I would not grip the bow so tightly, Frith Rair. I might get suspicious of your intentions."

If there was anything else that being Roek had taught Murron, other than how to fight and how to treat wounds, it was how to handle Roek men. Boys. Children. Great warriors, all of them, fearless fighters to the last...all with massive amounts of pride kept well fed in their chests. Argumentative growling men. Who is bigger? Who is louder? Who is tougher? Of course, it was how warriors were bred and trained.

Though, endearing as their robust bellows could be, Murron found herself feeling naught but annoyance that two men—one she'd counted as a dear friend since before time she remembered, the other a new friend who had all the makings of a good man—she desired company with were squabbling over the rights to visit her.

Murron, mute as she was, let her staff to the talking.

Two thwacks each: one to the shins of both men, one to the hands—Sabu's hand on Frith's shoulder and Frith's hand about his bow. She was among the two of them with the speed and accuracy only a Roek could manage, a scowl darkening her features and her muddy eyes suddenly turning a feral cat yellow.

Enough of this childishness!

Frith liked to think he would have acted upon finding Sabu’s hand on his shoulder. Not rashly, he was sure that doing grievous bodily harm was against the terms of his return from exile, just mild bodily harm of some kind. But there was no need, because Murron acted for him.

The blow to his shin hurt as it hit bone, but not so much that the Roek couldn’t take it. Shins were foreer being knocked on branches and against trees in the hot pursuit of animals through the wood and his leg muscles had grown strong from ten years wading through thick mud. But when Murron hit his hand, a wave of white hot pain coursed through his hand as the wound of his finger stung anew, the light layer of clotting and his own substandard stitches breaking as he felt blood once again seep from the wound and through his bandaging.

Dropping his bow as the pain struck, he clutched his hand to his chest,nails digging in to the leather of the bracer he wore to protect his forearm during archery until they turned white, determined to not let his face show the pain he felt instead concentrating on Murron’s scowl, anything to distract himself. If Sabu was right and he was a dear friend from childhood then what Frith would look like to her he did not know. He was surprised to find it stung him that Murron Uita was not wanting for the company of a man, that she did not need him, bringing in kills like some cat with a dead bird clutched in its mouth for its master when she already had sabu, who built her useful things. The deer would keep but two days while Sabu’s contraption may well last a life time.

“I apologize, Murron,” Frith finally managed to choke out bowing to Murron, that same odd reverence he had used on their first meeting, still as though he saw her as some higher being, judging good from bad.

Leaving his bow in the mud where it fell he offered a bow too to Sabu and hit his chest with his good fist before offering his arm to clasp- a symbol of brotherhood among the Hunters, though Frith was not sure if Sabu used it, for he was one of them and then not quite one of them at the same time. “And I apologize to you too, Sabu Imani. I have no quarrel with you.”

Again he picked up his bow with the hand that did not sting, studying it for any sign of damage, feeling somehow saddened that it should have picked up some mud from the beggar flats- they came from two different worlds. Respectable Frith, noted for his archery skills despite his somewhat lacking moral fiber and beggar Frith, muddied and damned. “I would ask you to put aside what is in the past. I give you my word that I mean Murron Uita only kindness,” at this he flashed her a small smile, laced slightly with pain and pointed to the deer.

“I thought I might show you how to make tools from the hooves and get glue, sinew and buckskin. In case you tired of trading with bricks.”

First the shin, then the hand. The blows were no worse then a slap from his mother. Sabu had been savaged by bears and boars and great cats. No, what hit hardest was the message that Murron had made. She saw something in this Frith Rair that he did not. Her eyes showed the disaproval that Anhai women saved for their sons. He bowed his head to his friend. He had always trusted her judgement. Murron had always seen things clearer than he.

"I... I apologize, Murron Uita."

He heard what Frith's intentions were, and his mind turned pensive. Tired of making bricks... she would be, wouldn't she? It was all she had done since she had come to the flats. He looked at his wooden template that had taken so much blood and sweat to make and then back at Frith's deer. Tools and glue brought much more custom at the market. He had been so proud of his creation when he had brought it here, but this murderer seemed to be able to help his friend better than he.

"I... I trust you, Murron Uita." He looked at Frith, seeing him offer his arm. He'd seen the hunters do this numerous times. Though the hunters would laugh at Sabu, none could stalk as good as he, none of them could move as silent as the young wild boy, none could keep their breath stiller. He often felt like a wild cat looking at them, these boys part of a world he would never knew. He smiled wide, clasping Frith's with his opposite arm, like he would see him do with his friends. "If Murron Uita trusts you, then there is no quarrel."

Looking now at the smaller man, he saw the pain that was etched on his face, and then at his bandaged hand... this was sloppy work. Fishing out witch hazel, some catnip, and a wrapping, he took the man's other hand. "This is a horrible wrapping, Frith Rair! Here, allow me to re dress this for you... as a way to make amends for my words."

Murron realized she'd struck Frith's wounded hand far too late. She hadn't even thought about it, considered it, remembered it. No, she'd been too consumed by annoyance to realize.

She'd only noticed after apologies were made the blood flowing from the re-opened wound. Her eyes widened and a strangled little moan caught between her teeth, unrestrained distress showing on her round face. She reached forwards with her hands—staff tucked in the crook of her arm—but found that Sabu's was already there, so they paused, awkwardly, hovering.

Oh, forgive me, Frith Rair!

Murron's eyes moved to Frith's and her hand moved to his arm.

Frith removed his hand from the other man’s grip quickly and quietly, shaking his head firmly. That bubble of pride that had swelled during his altercation with Sabu, that had been burst with the blunt of Murron’s staff began to grow once more, tentative and small but there all the same. It was one thing to be coerced and blackmailed by Murron Uita in private, her soft hands on his- but quite another to have his wound dressed by Sabu Imani the HalfMan. It was weakness. Of course men bled, they were nothing but balls of tissue and muscle and hot blood- he found no shame in that, but to gain assistance like that. Frith was not sure he liked to entertain such a thought.

“It troubles me not, thank you Sabu Imani,” said Frith, tugging at his bandaging hoping to pull it tighter and stop the bleeding. He wondered if Sabu would ask how he came to be wounded but doubted it, the forests were filled with peril, sharp rocks to trip on, wildcats protecting their young, half dead creatures writhing as you approached to finish them off, archery led to torn ligaments and frazzled nerves, bruises forming on inner arms- you saw this on some of the younger archers, Frith remembered it well.

“Your kindness is appreciated however.” Any kindness from his tribe after his exile was both surprising and welcome.

While Frith had removed his hand from Sabu’s grip, he had done nothing abouth Murron’s hand on his arm, instead choosing to place his other palm over it in a comforting gesture and looking carefully into her eyes. He understood, of course, from his years in the flats what she meant to say to him and he accepted her apology.

“You forgot, Murron, I do not mind. I did it to myself in the first place” he said quietly to her alone, speaking of his severing of his finger, “I had to. Do not feel sorrow for the wounds I inflict upon myself.”

Sabu watched the look the two people from his tribe shared. Apparently there was more to this than he expected. He... what was he supposed to do here? He had nothing to add, he had merely been planning on it being a day like any other, he had nothing to trade, so maybe a little conversation and then back to his home. But with Frith here, he felt obligated to stay. Even if Murron trusted him, and even if he trusted Murron, something primordial said that Frith had to be watched. Part brotherly protection, part abject suspicion, and probably more jealousy than he realized kept him by his friends side. He did take a moment to go back to his template and haul it back to the front of Murron's house.

He did it with one arm, his face devoid of any stress or protest. Of course, it hurt like hell, but something else was spurring himself on. Even after his reprimand, Sabu wanted to show Frith that this flower picker was capable of hauling a bit more than a little buck around with no problem. The template was gently eased to the ground. Each sinew, as thick around as a mooring rope, bulged out of his lean muscled arms.

"I... I made this for you Murron Uita. It is simple, rather like myself," he smiled a bit at his little joke. "But I think it will make your trade a bit easier. I wish I had more for you, but most of my prior inventory had to be sold out. The rainy season is not a good time to be a forager." Still he smiled. "As it is, I am happy to see you are well. And even making more friends!" While a bit forced, the sentiment was still the same. Murron was one who deserved to be loved, not shunned like she was by her tribe.

Murron smiled at Sabu's gift, strained though it seemed in light of Frith's still bleeding hand. Even individually, the two of them were far too kind. Often she'd feared that Sabu's reputation would tarnish should any others discover the assistance he gave her, now she feared for the trust Frith was trying build back. She jeopardized it, she knew. Coming and going from the Flats for nearly a week put him in this danger. Time and time again she had asked him what he thought he owed her. Time and time again he'd eluded the question.

She did not want to bring either of them to any compromise. Sabu lived on his own, still with no wife or other family to help him and Frith lived a life teetering on the edge. Neither could afford to be around someone like her, but they still did. Sabu was her friend and Frith was....well...Murron wasn't so sure what Frith was, really.

The little Roek woman knelt to the ground and wrote: I thank both of you and you are both too generous. For your generosity I invite both of you to supper tonight.

Murron stood up and looked at the two of them and smiled. Though, it was a friendly smile, there was a certain sternness about it that could only be found in a woman who was or had once been married. Her offer was nearly a command. Housewives were expected to contain such virtues as compassion and kindness and gentility, but what women never told their sons and only taught their daughters was the kind of commanding kindness a woman could produce.

They will eat and they will eat well, so help me.

There was too much to be done before the light was lost, of course, to stop and spend dinner with Murron. He had hoped to catch something more for his mother, an elk at the watering hole at sunset, a pheasant or a wood pigeon or two, so they could trade at market the next morning. There were arrows to be made, his bow needed tending, the house needed to be cleaned. It was unfair to make his mother dine alone, and what if his father should need tending to. No, he could not justify spending dinner time with Murron and yet his head seemed to be nodding of his own accord.

It was both Murron’s stern expression and for some odd reason Sabu’s presence that had swung it for him. That he did not like the idea of Murron dining alone spoke volumes if he only allowed himself to listen to them.

And what strange dining companions they made. The silent exile, the lone Wildman and Frith the returned durg-killer. In their tower priestess’ and important figures drank tea and ate fine foods and here in the Beggar Flats was another dining party. Perhaps, it would not be so bad to gain a friend, or at least not an enemy in Sabu- perhaps if the Roek could see another of their own buying something from Frith then he would not have to traipse to the furthest edge of the Kohore in order to begin his days selling pelts and other animal subsidiaries.

And yet, the thought of his mother dining alone filled his heart with worry. She suspected something, of course, how could she not? All those days spent away from home, apparently hunting though not always returning with much. She’d counted his arrows, knowing Frith had always used them sparingly and found that he always returned with fewer arrows then needed for whatever he had caught. And between his finger and Tzul Droon’s visits he knew his mother could say that her own son was a stranger.

In another time, she may have assumed all the hours spent away from home perhaps meant he had found a girl. When he was seventeen, handsome muscular, not so raggedy and bearded, skilled with a bow as he was that would have been a logical answer. He thought bitterly back to the mother’s and their scheming, planting the seeds of marriage in Elahra’s mind, if only he had- it was done now though. Done and dead, but not buried, still out there in the hatcher territory, a pile of bones out there somewhere.

“Yes Murron. I would be honored to have dinner with you,” he looked at Sabu in a sideways sort of glance, hoping to put his promise to make things up to Sabu in practice, though it would take a great deal of strength. “What lucky men we are,” he said with his typical flat humor, you had to strain to see it there at all, “not a wife between us, to have Murron. I have never before seen a dinner invitation written in the mud with such insistence. To think of the meals I ate out here myself, I would have done well to befriend you sooner.”

Sabu's grin threatened to overtake his entire head. Sabu could find food anywhere in the forest. Sabu could run for an entire day without stopping. Sabu could wrestle a wild boar to the ground. Sabu also could burn water in an attempt to cook.

"I have been living off of wild fruit and water for weeks now! Murron Uita, you are too good to outcasts like me. I know not where your kindness comes from!" He turned his eyes back to the hunting man, pensive."Frith Rair, I must say this. I... am not sure if I trust you yet. But Murron Uita, she is far better than me, as a person and judge of character. I cannot trust you, but I trust she that trusts you."

He put a hand on Frith's shoulder. Gentle, no pressure, but with a very very silent warning. He gave the smaller man a steady look, the flecked bronze eyes of the Imani tribe burning quietly. It said, "I will do nothing now. But you betray her trust, I will kill you."

Murron had walked to her house, but she paused at the entrance, cloth swept halfway aside and a foot on the ladder. She carefully looked over her shoulder, peering at Sabu and Frith from the corner of her eye.

Her hand tightened around her staff, but she held it still. This was not something she could, or should, interfere with. If peace was made, then it was made, no matter what sort of threats or warnings were made to keep it so. She could not bring herself to think ill of Sabu's actions, even so. He was very much a brother to her and brothers were protective creatures.

Murron ducked inside with thoughts of rabbit stew, and carefully laid her staff against the rounded wall. There would be no more need for that, she hoped.

Sabu did not trust Frith, it was good of him to say, for Frith realized that he in return did not trust the other man. Even when viewed from the outside, a beggars sense of camaraderie may not be such an alien concept- unless, and many did, the viewer was one who believed that these exiled criminals were the worst of men, subhuman, worse than dogs.

And this in some cases was true, a rapist was here among the flats, Frith had heard that story, thieves and men who beat their wives into bruised submission. Women were gentler, were taught to be so and few and far between in the flats and now as he reflected on these men, Murron Uita in the flats, pretty and gentle and kind to these two men- trusting enough to let them both into her home he was filled with discomfort, worry and anger.

I have to get her out, now, I have to tell someone of what I know. But his father, Frith reminded his racing thoughts. He was no more well now than he had been before Tzul Droon had been enlisted and black mailed. Droon had insisted patience and Frith had to fight every day for the patience and moderation he had never been known for. It was not in his nature.
And this Sabu Imani? He was an outcast too, a wild man by his own admission. Frith knew his motives for visiting Murron, but he did not know Sabu’s.

Friendship was easy to claim, but Frith knew himself that oftentimes the bonds of friendship could not stretch to the edges of the flats, they twisted and snapped clean away til huntsmen you worked your whole life with could not look you in the eye. It was convenient for him perhaps, to have a silent wife in isolation. To make meals for him, away from everybody else. Sabu was an outcast by choice and it took no great stretch of the imagination to wonder if Sabu wanted an equally isolated wife. One that couldn’t talk to anyone.

Frith said nothing to Sabu, did not smile or incline is head to acknowledge what he had said, only kept his mouth set, his eyes burning with fire, a small ‘and the same to you, my friend’ playing in those dark, deep dark pupils.

Sabu did not trust Frith? Well the feeling was totally and utterly mutual.

Sabu kept his eyes locked with the smaller hunters. He was trying to stare him down? Ha, he'd have a better chance staring down a panther. Sabu was wild, wilder than most of his brethren properly knew. He only used his home to sleep, almost every waking hour he kept was in the forest. Some used wild man as a way to make fun of him, or a way to express sadness at his lot in life, or as a warning to their children to not end up like him. For Sabu, it was a statement of fact. He was a wildman. He sometimes imagined himself in ten, twenty years time, still going through the forest on all fours looking for herbs and fruits and plants, the massive Imani house now engulfed by the forest. That was his lot in life and he knew it. No, Sabu was indeed more than a little wild. And his eyes too, so similar to his father Sulda Imani's, became more intense as she saw the distrust in Frith's, until they looked like the gaze of a panther's. It was good that in this silent conversation, they had stated their feelings. Neither trusted the other. Murron was all Sabu Imani had of an older time, a better time. For Sabu, Muurron Uita was his last bit of family he still had, and he would trust no person, no man, with her.

The promise was silent, one the two shared. Sabu nodded at the man, as if to say "We'll settle this later." And the grin returned to his face. Even with this other man here, he was having dinner with an old friends! And it would be something besides found fruits and river water!

"As it is, Frith Rair, we have been invited to eat by Murron Uita! Who are we, that we keep her waiting?"

He gestured with his arm, but stood his ground. Another silent slight at the man, as if he was saying, "You go first, that I may see what you're doing."

Murron's rabbits were in the process of being sliced into bits alongside various dried wild vegetables. The two things had crossed her path that morning and were not so fast as they'd thought they were. Not as fast as a hungry Roek woman, at least. No, what had truly earned her the rabbits was her staff. Had the two not decided to take shelter among brambles, she might not have been able to get at them. However, two smart swings of her staff later and she trotted home with her next two meals in hand.

A large clay pot set in a frame over the fire served as her stew pot, and she used most of her water supply for the base of the meal. The rest went into watering down a bit of spiced wine. She'd been saving the wine for a special occasion, maybe a holiday or something, but guests were the happiest occasion she'd had since acquiring the bottle.

Besides, she was running quite low on water. Had she been in such a position while by herself, she would have fretted over her supply hitting the dregs, but with company—such good company, too—she poured it all out with a smile. She was smiling. Truly smiling.

Where are those two? She wondered, and rapped her wooden spoon against the side of the pot to clang her impatience.

Frith did not like the gesture that Sabu made, could not figure out why it bothered him so, like the gesture of a host, ushering a stranger into his home. Stranger, his home, it did not please the slightly older Roek man who stood his ground, eyes flickering over that wholly untrusting gaze of Sabu’s.

“You first,” said Frith, the notion one of politeness, but the gesture of anything but. On his face played an expression that clearly said ‘You are no one to order me about this very day’. He had worn this expression, or one similar if not identical, many years before as a seventeen year old boy. No Wildman, nor durg could penetrate this shell the closed up around Frith when he found something to care about.

About Murron? It was not the same as it had been for Elahra, no of course not, Frith had loved that lost girl with all of his heart. Murron was, Murron was in a regrettable situation and Frith cared very much for the part he had to play in this, cared for the situation she was in, being able to sympathize with her, knowing what such exile was like. But it was Elarha’s smile that burned deep in his heart.

And yet, he felt a simmer close to the surface for this Sabu, for whatever his motives were and his intentions regarding Murron Uita. Men had treated her unkindly before, Frith was determined to be different.

“I insist.” Said Frith gravely, never one for false smiles, he kept his frown.

Sabu sighed. Why was he acting like this? Well, no the motives were easy for this. Murron Uita was his dearest friend, and he did not trust the man in front of him. No, that was understandable. What he didn't understand was this anger that was roiling inside of him, the sight of Frith Rair was making him... why shouldn't he be happy that his friend had found another who cared for her?

He was scared. Murron had seen nothing but hardship since her banishment, and here was another man, another member of their tribe, that claimed to understand. And yet... Sabu could not shake the feeling that she must protect her. That was no excuse for his behavior though. Murron was not a small child, she was a full grown woman and she was Roek. If she could trust this man, as a friend, he must honor her decision.

Finally, he nodded his head. "Thank you for the honor, Frith Rair! I shall insist next time though!"

Even still, as he passed by the man, a gaze was shared again between them. In his head, Sabu thought to himself, better my back is pierced than hers.

Murron smiled as Sabu entered, though it faltered when she realized—again—how very large her friend was. Her house—shack, hut, hovel—was not large. And she and Frith had to somehow fit a well.... Murron blinked as he entered. This would be cramped at best, she knew.

Murron herself would give as much room as she could. She was glad at the moment that she was such a small thing. As they entered, she chopped dried sage and rosemary against the wood slab in her lap. Her knife was deer bone and crude cut, but it did the job well enough.

She poured out the watered spiced wine and passed it around. Men could get rather un-agreeable when confined in tight spaces together. Alcohol was a good way to make them slightly more agreeable.

It was cramped in Murron’s home, the three of them, four if you counted their undead house guest in the form of the deer Frith had brought were packed in tight like a set of stone bricks. Frith jerked his arm away violently as Sabu unwittingly brushed against his shoulder, the height difference in the two men marked. Which served to put Frith in an even worse mood.

It wasn’t usually an issue that Frith Rair was no towering redfern, his height was far from a hindrance in the forest when your ability to duck low and move with quiet grace saw you return home with the best catch, but there were those Roek giant warriors who made gibes, and it was not pleasant to look inferior in front of Sabu, as though the man had literally one upped him.

Taking a deep sip of the spiced wine, Frith knocked his head back before thanking Murron, “Wine,” he smiled his serious smile, “what you must have done to obtain this. Ten years and no drop of anything other than water touched my lips. This is a rare treat for me.”

Frith eyed Sabu before continuing, “Of course, we hunters have always had to avoid alcohol, on an early hunt a man can pay for the vices of the night before. And it is good to learn discipline. Sabu is lucky he does not have to worry about these things, free from discipline as he wanders among the daffodils is that not true Sabu? Free to drink whatever he likes without fear of consequence…ah! To be a carefree Imani.”

He raised his glass as though in a toast to the sentiment, "Your mother was quite the fixture of the local tabs and pubs, I have heard some say. But those are ugly rumours, Sabu Imani, pay them no mind. I do not." He said in a low voice, slightly aware of the hypocrisy surrounding his talk of good and bad reputations.

Sabu was not as large a fool as one might think. Large yes, and perhaps not the wisest of his brothers, but thinking him a fool was like thinking a bear slow. It was a mistake that could cost you your life.

There had been a grin on Sabu's face as he was about to agree with Frith about the great gift that their friend had given them in the form of offering them her wine, but then Frith had to continue with another slight at Sabu's life as a forager. Still, it was nothing that he hadn't heard before. Oh haha, I pick flowers like a small girl. Somehow, the seven hundreth iteration of this insult didn't hurt as bad as it did when he was a child.

His smile had turned tired and he was about to answer Frith's dig when the smaller man did something that hunters did from time to time. They didn't give their prey's intelligence enough credit. The tired smile hardened, became a grimace as his teeth set upon each other like slabs of white granite. His eyes, annoyed but benign became set in fury. This was a face that few had ever seen on Sabu Imani. It was the face of rage, a face that promised agression.

Part of Sabu's soul left the village when his sister passed through the veil of mist into Hatcher country. And part of his soul died when his mother did shortly after. Kotha Imani, a tall lithe woman, with a broad, open smile her son inherited. So beloved by her husband, her son and daughter. Kotha Imani, who cheeks had been stained by tears for a year when Sita left, who held Sabu so close in the last few moments of her life and begged her little boy never to leaver her. Kotha Imani, who grew cold in Sabu's arms as his tears mixed with those still on her face, tears that she had shed for her broken family.

He growled out. "You, who were of my tribe and knew my mother well. Knew that she payed visits to the drinking houses to barter for the fruits she picked and fermented for them... Knew she found the wild hops you and your damned hunting brothers had to thank for the ale that you did enjoy after coming back with a kill, and do not think I don't know. YOU WOULD REPEAT SUCH SLANDER ABOUT MY MOTHER, KNOWING ALL THIS?!" No insults, no veiled threats. Just a promise of pain. One of his long arms shot out from beside him. He was large enough and the house was small enough that he found purchase on the hunter's neck. Every muscle in his arm drew inward, every sinew twanged taught with strength. Strength to force his back bending forward, strength to bring the little man's head into the dirt floor with the force that he normally saved for wrestling with beasts. Frith Rair had gone too far. He knew that as a man, he was someone who was easy to taunt. He did not mind this. But to not grant his mother's spirit repose, to bring her into this... he was getting no mercy from the wild man.

The wildman had fire in his belly, and Frith knew the meaning of such a feeling. It was not like him to speak ill of the dead, had it have been Elahra's memory tarnished by cruel words, or his father's illness Frith too would have responded with anger, would have done violent, terrible things the way he had once conspired to do to the durg all those years ago.

So he, upon reflection, may have been able to sympathize. But in the heat of the moment there was nothing but the way that Sabu Imani looked at Murron Uita, nothing but his hands around his neck. Quick to anger, would this wild man snap around that gentle, quiet woman too? So fire too ignited in Frith Rair's belly. Enough to dig one set of fingers deep into Sabu's arm, scrabbling to pull him from his throat, the other clenched into a fist as he sent it hurtling in Sabu's direction.

He smiled slightly, choking a little, as he gritted his teeth. "And you...would...do to keep your temper in the lady's home...."

(( Two 6-sided dice. Sabu: 3, Frith: 4 ))

Sabu's arms were indeed strong, and his rage stronger, but his sudden lashing out lacked momentum. Though his fingers squeezed into the hunter's neck, pinching the jugular, the wildman did not knock Frith down. However, Frith was not a pylon of stone anchored deep in the ground; it took much of his strength simply to stay upright.

Nails took purchase on sun-darkened Roek skin, and Frith drew first blood, gouging lines of red down Sabu's forearm. Though the wildman was stronger, Frith's fingers found a pressure point on the extensor tendons, pulling the muscles and sinews connected to Sabu's hand. His grip loosened, if only a little.

Although Frith's attention was divided between standing, breathing, and speaking, his punch hit. Poorly aimed, the bowman's fist skipped off Sabu's shoulder, sending most of the force of the blow out the door. Frith was now extremely imbalanced, his weight all forward, supported only by Sabu's sturdy limb.

In the slight pause, the soup came to a merry boil.