“Which way now?”
Bannog came running up, to where the blue woman and the Night-elf were sitting at a fork in the road. Bloody cheats. He ought to have found himself a horse. He took deep breaths before answering. Damned if I’m going to let on I’m out of breath. He pointed to the right. The girls had had a lovely relaxing run through the nice Redridge Mountains. Bannog had had a hard time keeping up with a ghost-wolf and a cheetah.
“See that mountain over there? The Caer is on the other side.”
Despite these horrible women, he was feeling elated. It felt good to be home again, to be running along the familiar paths, jumping over the familiar streams, taking the familiar shortcuts.
“Right. I’ll race you!”
“Very funny. Try it without changing shape for a change.”
“Oh alright then. We’ll probably need you to get in anyway.”
“Why can we not simply say that the Young Lord will be along shortly?”
“I don’t know who knows I’m alive. I wrote to my father from Lakeshire, but we may be there before the letter arrives. Old Porigg still has to move his carcass all the way to the castle before he can claim his reward.”
They set off again, walking together. In the West, the sun was setting, painting the sky in purple and red. Bannog closed his eyes, and could almost smell home. As the sun disappeared below the horizon, they came to the crest of the hill. Finally! In a small valley, a small castle lay. Bannog smiled fondly, and made a wide gesture with his arm.
“There we are! Welcome to Caer Bannog!”
Mareva peered ahead. She pointed, looking at Bannog.
“Are there always so many campfires around it?”
Copyright: © 2008,2009,2010 Menno Willemse. All rights reserved.
The Redridge Chronicles 