Homeward Bound
The mist rolling off the waterfall was the first evidence of the return to the forge.
Volkan had been busy - or more likely the dwarves - tidying the place and starting to return some of its former glory.
Braz spent much of the time at the forge making an old armoury into a bit of a homestead, anything to stay out of the way of the hive of activity that the return to the forge had started. A place to collect his thoughts before the return to Pamplaxia.
The thought of breathing in thin air made his heart sing, the granite cliffs glistening with quartz veins. The taste of the barley that he was sure was plumper than any in Mytros. The feeling of air beneath your feet on the walkways.
With this was the millstone of his departure around his neck. He had left others to care for Garnox. He had left others with a fervour that the Five, and particular Mytros, would help the plight of Pamplaixa - and all he had found was the Gods power was limited to the end of their nose, that Thylea has bigger problems than a few harpy thieves, and the best hope for salvation was in the kind hearts of people.
What would the herd mother say? Or Borborygmos? Tauriana?
Braz reflected as he folded the sheets - he had done so much to help Mytros, fulfill prophecy, influence those who believed themselves to be powerful - but what had he done for those he had set out to help? Those he was now returning to face.