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@DragonSong -----------------------------
With each creak of the wheel and lurch of the wagon, Quince Thames was miserable. He wasn't sure what parts of his body weren't heart, from the injury of his leg to the deep gash on his head. When he was found alive after the battle of Cofferd, he was pretty sure the black powder explosion tossed him bodily over every single rock on the field. He was certain some ribs were broken, and his right arm had been pushed out of it's socket- and damn it to hell did it hurt to set it right. Even after all he'd been through, he was still healing and the road- still tumultuous. They said there was still fighting, that his men had recuperated their losses and met up with their delayed reinforcements at the bank of the Southern Matron River. They had presumed him dead, and he just may have been, had someone not have found him the next day in the aftermath.
They said he was asleep for three days, and when he awoken- the nightmares had begun. Between the scars of war, and the idea it'd lamed him, Quince Thames wasted no time to find the means to travel back home. He was no more use as a soldier, and he wasn't sure the last time he'd contacted his mother. He had written her letters, but those deliveries were never certain. He could only hope she had received a good many of them. War news itself moved fast, and if she did...
She might have known he was at that battle.
And she'd be worried.
The wagon thumped off a rock, tipping the wagon some and as Quince swore between his teeth, gripped onto anything he could to avoid being tossed around where he lay in the wagon bed, and held onto his rib cage over a wound he was certain just reopened.
He heard the old man that drove the wagon apologize as the roads here were gutted from the summer rains, and that it would be like this for many more miles.
"Thanks for the warning!" he shouted back to the man, who waved it off and promised to do his best to avoid most of the rocks and pocked holes.
But it was torture, every bit of the way.
But he was alive, he had survived. And he'd be damned if he let that go to waste, even if he'd end up as a damn gimp for the rest of his days. Eventually the road had settled, and so had Quince. He was so exhausted he had fallen asleep, until the rains came and awoken him. The old man apologized that he had little for them both to protect from the weather, but Quince simply enjoyed the summer rain, as it lulled him back to sleep.
It was nearly midnight when they arrived at his home, and the old man helped him into his house. And although he wasn't expecting his mother to be awake to great him, when he arrived- he hadn't expected her to not be there at all.
The house was dark, empty and Quince pained himself as he attempted to walk through the first floor to find her, his voice echoing through the empty halls and rooms, when he paused at his mother's room and saw a bunch of letter's on her desk.
It didn't take long for Quince to read through some of the letters- some being his, some addressed to his mother. One, a most recent one, had been addressed from her brother- a man he knew by name, but had never met in person. His mother never talked much about his Uncle. Quince had always figured there was some kind of falling out. But from the letter...
It seemed that, because his mother believed her son to be dead, that she had returned home to see her brother, and wasn't sure she could bear to be at her home so empty, knowing her son was out there- a ghost of war.
Quince took his time to write a letter to his uncle, introducing himself and inquiring after his mother- to let him let her know that he was very much alive and wished to see her. That he had sustained injuries but is healing slowly.
He was surprised when, not even a week later, a reply had come and an invitation extended for Quince to join them all at
Riverspeak, his Uncle's family home.
The letter went on to explain his mother had in fact come, and they were all excited to meet him. So he spent the evening watching the sunset over the cliffsides nearest his own family home, that rested high above the sea. He watched as the waves came crashing onto the craggy shores, before attempting to retire for the night.
He couldn't have known that was his last time he might ever see his home again.
