Chapter 20. Homecoming

orisedd slung his heavy winter cloak over his shoulder as he descended the pass and entered the humid warmth of northern Kryta. It was not the forest of Regent Valley that he had held so dear, but it was the next best thing.  His spirits were lifted by the verdant hills and the springy moss and fertile loam beneath his feet.  This was where he belonged, far from the misery of Ascalon.

As he descended he scanned the hills for signs of human habitation, knowing that his old clan had recently settled here.  It would be good to see old Sywno again and discover if he had re-established a guild hall.  He wondered if there was still a place for him after all those years trailing foolishly after a woman he could never have. Perhaps they would have the good graces not to chide him for the fool he was.  He should have stayed with Dunvael Guild.

He moved quietly over a game track, his sharp eyes quickly becoming accustomed to the sounds and smells of his new home.  He liked the damp odor of moss and moldering leaf litter and the secretive sounds of birds and rodents creeping through its richness.  He read the passage of ettins in the rutted duff some miles later and heard the raucous bark of avacara.  He avoided them effortlessly, passing as lightly as a shadow.  It was getting dark by the time he neared Lion’s Arch, but he eschewed the city, seeking instead the peace of the wilderness.

It was at about that time that a large cat hurtled toward him, its paws spraying leaf-litter as it halted abruptly and spun in a crazy circle, ears back and eyes wild.  It then sprung toward him, the stub of its tail straight up and a ridge of fur raised playfully along its back.

“Geetha!” he cried, kneeling so that the lynx knocked him onto his back as it barreled into him, purring mightily.  He ruffled its soft fur affectionately, laughter flowing easily from him for the first time in years.  Geetha meant only one thing.  Teleri was nearby.

“Oh you miserable cat,” came her voice around the fold of the hill, “Twice in one day.  I don’t know why I put up with… this.”

Teleri’s golden hair glowed against the gloom of the deep forest, her lithe form straight as an arrow as she stood in her tracks staring at him in disbelief.

“Morisedd,” she breathed, “Murdi!”

He rose quickly to receive her rushing embrace, amazed at how little she had changed in the years since they had last met.  She squeezed his ribs so tightly he could hardly breathe and he returned the gesture only slightly less powerfully, his lips brushing her golden crown.

“By Melandru, you are a sight for sore eyes,” she crowed, releasing him but still holding his arms so that she could look him over, “How long has it been?”

“Five years.”

“Five years too many,” she laughed, boxing his arm, “You should see Mabane, he looks just like his father.  Oh come!  Sywno will be so glad to see you again.”

And to think he had worried he would never know happiness again.

“I’ve missed you,” he said happily.

“You’ve finally left that horrible woman?” Teleri demanded, “Please say yes.”

“I have.  For good this time.”

“Thank Melandru.  She was never good enough for you, in my opinion.”

He trotted beside her as they wound between the low hills and came at last to a ferny hollow protected on two sides by the flanks of hills and easily warded by its one narrow opening.  At its center roared a mighty fire upon which roasted a wild boar and its toothsome odor made his mouth water.  Arrayed around the perimeter of the great fire were little huts made of mossy logs and roofed with sod.  Wildflowers blossomed from the still living dirt of their grassy crowns.

Teleri had a little sod-roofed hut of her own among the dwellings that formed the new home of the Dunvael.  He ducked past the blanket that served as its door and blinked in the dimness, noting herbs and smoked meat hanging from the low rafters.  A little boy with jet black hair and striking blue eyes rose from the bearskin rug on the floor where he had been playing his father’s harp.

“Uncle Murdi!” the boy cried, throwing himself against Morisedd in delight.  And Morisedd had to agree, the boy was the image of the handsome mesmer his sister had so adored.  He lifted the boy easily from the ground and gave him a proper hug, ruffling his hair as he set him back down.

“Are you going to stay?” the boy asked pointedly.  Morisedd was grateful for his nephew’s exuberant welcome for it eased his grief over having no children of his own.  He could no longer dwell upon what might have been.  He had to focus upon what was.  He was home at last after nearly a decade of aimless wandering after a woman who had stopped loving him years ago.

“I am staying,” he announced, “If Sywno will have me back.”