Time flew by swiftly. Another spring and autumn had passed.
A white flash streaked across the sky, illuminating the thick clouds for an instant.
RUMBLE!
Thunder followed.
Clatter clatter.
Torrential rain accompanied by fierce winds lashed the ground like whips, repeatedly trying to bend the new green shoots and drive them back into the muddy earth. This long-brewing storm had finally erupted.
Southern Bree-land.
An old man carried a candlestick to the tightly shut window, listening to the pattering rain and peering into the pitch darkness outside, worry etched clearly on his face.
Having a shelter from wind and rain during a storm, plus a warm hearth and hot water, along with a small rocking chair by the fire with a blanket. This should have been the height of comfort.
It should have been.
"Those two rascals, why aren't they back yet!"
The old man muttered by the window, his brow deeply furrowed.
"Knowing it would rain and still going out to fool around. When you get back, I'll show you the real purpose of the belt around my waist..."
He stood by the window with a fierce expression, speaking quietly. The rain grew heavier.
Even after most of the candle had burned down, there was still no sound outside except the rain. The anger on the old man's face gradually faded. His brow remained tight as he paced restlessly back and forth in the house, unable to stop for even a moment.
"I take back what I said. If you just come back now, I'll forgive you..."
The candle burned out.
"No, this won't do."
Finally, the old man's pacing stopped. He quickly threw on his coat and donned a hat that wouldn't absorb much water, opened the door, and ventured into the black night, enduring the pelting of bean-sized raindrops.
"Pete, Phil!"
He shouted across the muddy ground, but his voice was quickly swallowed by the howling storm before traveling far.
"Are you there! Answer me!"
He continued calling out. Most villagers had long since gone to sleep. With no light visible anywhere, the old man could only carefully feel his way forward in the darkness by faint outlines glimpsed in his peripheral vision.
For the sake of those two names he called, the old man left his warm fireside, groped through the darkness, left the village, and went all the way to the edge of the small woods further south.
"They ran this way, I remember..."
By now the rain had finally lost some of its initial fury and lessened slightly. This allowed his voice to carry further, though it sounded somewhat hoarse.
"Pete, Phil!"
"Uncle!"
As if heaven finally took pity on the old man, a tearful voice came from his left. It was as if a light had been kindled in his heart. He quickly turned to see two figures struggling through the rain.
One was walking with difficulty through puddles, carrying another child on his back. The child on his back wasn't moving. Seemed to be asleep, or perhaps unconscious.
"Phil, what happened!"
The old man ran over quickly and took the child from the boy named Phil's back.
"I don't know," Phil said through tears. "We were exploring in the woods, and then a black shadow pounced on Pete, and then... and then he wouldn't wake up no matter what..."
Hearing this, the old man quickly pressed his ear to Pete's chest. When his eardrum struggled to catch that faint heartbeat, he felt slightly relieved.
He patted Phil's shoulder. "Alright, good boy. Pete might just be tired. Come back with Uncle now, dry off the rainwater, warm up by the fire, and tomorrow everything will be back to normal. Everything will be fine."
Seeing the boy before him nearly collapse, the scolding words stuck in his throat and transformed into comfort instead.
Phil nodded desperately, step by step following the somewhat hunched but resolute figure ahead back toward the village.
The journey was uneventful. All three made it safely back to the house. The old man re-lit the candlestick and gently moved the boy from his back onto the bed, drying his body.
"Pete, Pete..." He called softly, trying to wake the boy. But no matter how he called, patting his face, shaking his body, there was no sign of awakening.
The old man frowned deeply and brought the candlestick closer. Suddenly he noticed Pete's lips were somewhat purple, and his complexion wasn't healthy either. The purple lips opened and closed as if crying for help.
Illness, some kind of sickness he'd never seen before.
Moments later, in another corner of the room, a pipe was lit. With all methods proving ineffective, the old man used this means to numb his mind and force himself to calm down.
His poor child was still struggling in nightmares while he was powerless to help.
"I've failed your parents..." Panic crept into his heart.
Knock knock knock...
Just as the old man sighed again, sudden knocking came from the door.
"Hello, is anyone there!?"
A young man's characteristically energetic voice called from outside. Very unfamiliar, not the voice of anyone in the village.
The old man didn't respond, just extinguished his pipe and set it aside, extending his hand to stop Phil from walking toward the door. He quietly moved to the window and peered out at an angle.
He saw two young men in cloaks hunched at the door, looking quite disheveled.
"Could you let us in to shelter from the rain?"
"Please, the weather is truly awful. We can pay compensation!"
Creak.
The door opened a crack. The old man didn't immediately let the two in.
"You look like those sneaky wilderness Rangers."
"Rangers? We are indeed Rangers, but please believe we conduct ourselves with complete honor."
The old man made no comment, only continued asking: "I haven't seen you before. Where are you from?"
"Roadside Keep."
One of them answered: "We're from Roadside Keep. Trainee Rangers from Roadside Keep."
"Roadside Keep?"
The old man thought for a moment: "I've heard of it. The village chief's leather coat was bought from a Roadside Keep merchant caravan last month when he visited relatives in Bree."
"Come in."
"Heartfelt thanks!" The two young men bowed to the old man in turn before entering the house.
The house wasn't large but was cozy, with a fire still giving off heat, some familiar-looking square wool blankets, a motionless rocking chair, and a candlestick burning on an oak table.
"Please forgive our intrusion. It's just that in the entire village, only here could we see any light, and we were unconsciously drawn to it."
Understood. The old man nodded. Next time when it gets dark, I'll extinguish the fire. That'll ensure you can't disturb anyone.
The two simple young men had no idea what the old man was thinking. They just voiced their thoughts while accepting towels handed over by little Phil, taking turns drying themselves.
"Our house doesn't have spare beds. You might have to sleep on chairs or rugs tonight."
"That's fine, we don't mind."
One young man waved his hand, removing his cloak to reveal what appeared to be a regulation-quality steel sword and wooden bow beneath.
"Having a place to shelter from wind and rain surpasses everything else."