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@Moonie <3]
Too many times he'd told himself this was the only way. There was no going back. Turning back would mean disgrace, dishonor and shame, and he knew he couldn't live with that. He wouldn't be able to live with himself. For Christer the act of leaving the edges of Connlaoth was much more difficult than he imagined. Thinking it was always the easy part. But taking the first step; it took everything in him not to break down.
How could he have failed in his duty? What sort of knight let the daughter of the lord they served just run off and then
lose them in the process?! Oh he could never face his family again. A soft impotent fear drifted into him when he thought about what would become of them. Would his own failure have repercussions beyond simple banishment?
Was his own guilt at his failure the only real cause of his exile...?
The last question was pushed far from his mind. It didn't matter now he told himself. He couldn't go back no matter how much he tried. Being a knight was all he wanted to be, was all he was destined for. And now that future was gone.
Christer sat quietly on his horse, overlooking the mountains that served as the border between Connlaoth and Serendipity. It would be a long trek, and the mountain caravan that was guiding him through wasn't going to do so cheaply. With what gold he managed to scrounge up, Christer paid for passage, walking alongside the horse when it was tired, and helping out where he could. The others in the caravan ignored him and he was grateful for it.
The mountains were harsh and cold, the altitude difficult to assimilate too. Popping ears had left him vaguely deaf on more than one occasion, however because so few cared to communicate with him, Christer had no real need for hearing.
He would tend to his horse, and the animal was content to nuzzle his nose against his cheek, or chuff to blow back the young knight's loose locks.
It would take close to a month for the journey to end, and every day went by like a burning stone in the pit of his stomach. He was both sick and relieved, and he could feel a change in the atmosphere. No longer was he in the safe confines of his Church, of his homeland. He was just another wanderer, a vagabond, a knight without a lord. He was no better than a vagrant, and that very thought only sickened him further.
Maybe that was why the other passengers aboard the caravan cared little to converse with him. He could sense their scowls, their uneagerness to even be noticed by him. He gave off an aura of misery, and only the caravan master bothered with him.
"You're not going to make many friends with a look like that on your face," he said with a laugh. "Look we're all going to be resting up for the evening, settling in and making camp. Why don't you make yourself useful and help an old man gather some firewood for the burning?"
Christer stood up from where he'd been reclining against a tree when the caravan took break. He frowned. "Why me? Can't Bartolomew help you? Isn't he your assistant or something?"
The caravan master laughed. "Ol' Junior can hardly count to five. I wouldn't trust him with handling an axe for chopping wood, much less getting these people into Moonspear safely. Besides, you don't think you've had enough rotting away sitting dere with that fancy sword. Now quit being a sourpuss and take this ax, and do what I've asked ya. There's a good lad."
Chister's scowl deepened. He was a knight, not a woodsman, this was beneath him. However with the ax shoved into his hand he saw he had little choice. With a grumble he wandered off away from the clearing in which the rest of the caravan had settled. The woods in the surrounding mountain lands were dark and deep where they appeared most, and for once Christer felt he liked them.
He wasn't much for the wilderness, or traveling long distances, but with others the journey was much less taxing. He found some branches scattered on the hard, rough soil and raised the axe above his head, about to take his first swing when a rustling nearby caught his attention. Suddenly he didn't feel so at ease any more, and the sickening feeling in his stomach returned with a vengeance.
Pausing now, he crouched, waiting and listening until he thought he might hear it again. When he didn't, he tried to relax and let his eyes scan the trees around him. It was a little hard to see with all this...brush in the way. Cities were so much nicer... A nice estate, with a nice soft warm bed, a pillow... How he missed pillows.
The brush was disturbed once more.
"W-who's there!?" he barked. Damn! Why did he have to stutter then!? "S-show yourself! Or else!"
