"Hey, da! How come you're tagging along with us today?" Arlon's youngest son piped up, giving a little tug at the reins of the plodding village horse.
"Curious, are you now?" Grev, the eldest, drawled, swatting at a fat mosquito buzzing by his ear. "Strange. You made such a fuss this morning, saying you didn't want to come."
"I was just wondering,"Grevion said defensively. "You can count on one hand the times da's stepped out of Crosk."
Arlon, who had been silent until then, shifted on the cart seat. His weathered hands tightened briefly around his knees before he finally answered. "I've business to tend to."
"Usually," the youngest said cheekily, emboldened by the pause, "business tends to come to you, not the other way around, some say that you are la-"
A sharp cuff on the back of his head from Grev silenced him. "Mind your tongue."
