His
hands now covered with medicated Tarno Leaves and wrapped in bandages,
Aidden sighed and sat back into his chair, closing his eyes as he
tried clenching and unclenching his sore palms. From across the
room of his hut, he could smell the chicken and broth that his friend
Tyla had begun cooking after seeing to his blisters. Over the sound
of bubbling broth and a crackling cooking fire, the melody of her
humming drifted with the meal’s aroma to Aidden’s senses,
and he let himself consider a short nap. Tyla laughed, handing him
a bowl and spoon and then sitting herself across from him.
“I don’t
think the others will take well to seeing you asleep before they
come to visit you, Mr. Adaii” she coaxed, testing the dinner
she had made for them and their expected guests. Aidden sighed.
“Today of all days
is the worst time for a night with the boys.” He grunted,
sitting up to try some of the dinner. “I think my hands will
never move freely again.” Tyla chuckled under another spoonful,
and relaxed further into her chair.
“The Dondels will make a man of you yet Aidden Adaii”
she laughed. A knock at the door broke off Aidden’s thoughts
of rebuttal, and he walked slowly to the entrance, opening the door
to find his childhood friends waiting for him with full smiles.
“The man of the hour!” shouted Dolven, raising a mug
of ale in praise to his younger companion. The group laughed merrily
as they all entered the hut, patting their host’s shoulder
as they passed by.
“I’ve heard
of our young boy’s journey into manhood today!” laughed
Dolven, pushing back his thick black hair as he took Aidden’s
seat. He was the same age as Gurdor, and what he lacked in strength
he made up in grit and personality. Dolven’s parents had been
taken away from him by the Dondels when he was only 13, publicly
executed for one false reason or another, but truthfully because
his mother had turned away the never-ending advances of Lord Hayden.
The man was infamous for preying on women and girls in the Nical
camps.
Growing up alone since the time of his parent’s death, Dolven
grew to possess the emotional strength and rough character that
could make another man tremble when catching even the slightest
angry glance. Being the type he was, Dolven never minded stating
his opinion, or verbally cutting a man down to size. However, among
his friends he was as faithful as the most loyal soldier, and would
stand in any fight no matter how small, if he felt it was for the
sake of a righteous cause.
“From boy to man
in one day, I’d wager…” he chuckled, smelling
the bowl of aromatic soup that Aidden had been testing moments before.
“…or at least a week or two with this one” he
laughed, winking at Tyla from across the table.
“Well now let’s be fair to the boy!” Gurdor smiled,
filling a bowl for himself at the cooking fire. “When he wasn’t
daydreaming his time away, he did a mighty fine job of saving us
from the Dondel whips!” Dolven smacked his knee, barking out
a deep and hearty laugh. Tyla stood up from the table, trying to
conceal a smile while moving towards the fire where Gurdor stood.
With a quick jab, she poked him in the side with her fork, causing
the older man to jump away from the pot. The group all laughed,
taking respective seats at the table.
“You all ought to be ashamed to call yourselves a friend of
this man!” she scolded, pushing Gurdor further away from the
cooking pot of soup and filling bowls for the rest of the group.
“Especially you two, Kildor and Gardon! You’re the same
age as Aidden, and still doing your own specialty! You should stand
up for your friend against these two bullies!” The two laughed
in response.
“Sorry my dear
Tyla” Kildor chuckled, but I’m afraid our poor friend
here has two bullies and two cowards for companions… certainly
we are in no position to take on these two mentally-damaged fellows!”
Aidden caught himself chuckling for the first time as he resigned
himself to standing – it had been all he could do to swipe
his dinner back from a now drooling Dolven.
Kildor was often the
one coming up with something witty to say when the situation called
for it, and rarely was it at his own expense. Still, the man’s
youthful charisma and constant smile kept him from harm’s
way after even the lowest of verbal jabs. Gardon, on the other hand,
was almost completely the opposite – intense, soft spoken,
constantly analyzing and re-analyzing his surroundings. He’d
often chuckle with the rest of the group, but a one-on-one conversation
was always threatening to become a nightmare of meaningless small
talk to stave off the impending moments of silence.
Despite their many differences,
the group had grown in the Nical camp together since they children,
with Gurdor and Dolven being only 4 years older than the rest of
the crowd (despite what they personally may wish to think). Each
regarded the other as a family member worthy of total trust, and
each delighted in the others company.