„Father, I'm back!"
Mikael shouted as he looked inside the little hut, searching for Brom as he found him sitting on the tree stump.
He worked on something that looked like a walking stick, a little bit crooked and not refined at all.
"Hmpf." Brom just grunted.
"I brought back some herbs on the way back. I start with dinner in a moment."
Mikael didn't thought much when his father responded barely with a nodding, knowing he was engrossed in a thought.
He took a kettle that had a lot of dents, made from scrap metal and many different kinds of useless things.
Then he took some sticks and fire starter and placed it in a triangular fashion, triggering it by sparking two stones at each other and continuing till smoke came out from the bundle.
Mikael blew gently into the kindling, the smoke grew thicker and denser, until the first flames began to show.
'Got it!' he thought proudly, quickly stacking more sticks on the growing flames until it was stable enough for logs.
He hanged the kettle onto a hook that was pending between two sturdy stands, filled it with water from a barrel that stood outside the hut, filled by the recent rain.
The leaves that floated on top were quickly taken out, and he bothered not to clean it any more than that.
Some wild vegetables that they gathered, like some small potatoes, carrots and wild onions, he cut them up with a cheap but sharp knife he got from his father, crudely but small enough to get cooked.
Together with the herbs, the smell quickly filled their little hut, and by the time the stew was ready, the stick in Broms hand had a shape fitting for his build, that was not much taller than Mikaels.
Brom looked up from his work, at the back of his son that stirred in the kettle and used his knife to check on the vegetables.
The now burned down wood emitted still a bit of heat, warming up the interior and making it cozy and comfortable.
"Are you finished?" Brom asked, not really looking forward to this bland dinner, even if it was made by his own son.
His tone wasn't really downgrading, but lacked some warmth one could expect.
"Yes, father. I get the bowls, just wait a moment."
Mikael, even when knowing his fathers lack of enthusiasm by the circumstances, was a bit sad he said nothing more.
'Not even how I am or thank you...'
But he quickly banished such thoughts, as he also knew his father needed some time to sort his situation.
From being a healthy middle aged man with a good income from smiting, degraded to a refugee in a slum like hamlet, weighted down by a serious leg injury that can not be healed any more.
Still, while his father took the bowl, spoon and wooden cup Mikael gave him, filled with some water from the stew and the majority of the vegetables, he couldn't help but look back on his earlier memories, when his mother cooked some delicious meal with meat, his fathers resounding laughter and strong palm weighting on his shoulder and his friends waiting to play after he would be done learning a bit of carving or smiting from his father.
Sorrow filled his heart, and he sat down on another log that was a bit uneven, so it rocked to the sides when he shifted his weight.
Neither of them said anything, and both just ate the sparse meal slowly, savoring each bit of firm bits in it.
When they finished, Mikael got up, taking the empty tableware to a box to wash it soon.
Broms eyes were looking empty, following his sons moves like in a daze, not really focusing.
'?' Brom wondered, seeing how Mikael trailed his foot a bit, carefully not to put too much weight on it.
His eyes regained a bit of clarity, together with a bit of pain.
He took his new walking stick, pushed himself up and took some heavy steps towards him.
Mikael was at first not noticing anything, until a strong arm wrapped around his shoulder, followed by another hand turning him around half a spin.
Where he found himself next was in the embrace by his father, the chin resting on his head and the arms strongly supporting Mikaels thin body.
Not really able to control it, Mikael could only stammer:"Father, what..."
his sentence broke, and the first tears formed in his eyes, wetting the porous shirt of Brom.
"I'm sorry, Mikael. I really am. If I wouldn't have been so stubborn... I just listened..."
Brom could not talk further, as his own voice weakened. His mind wandered back to his lovely wife, stable job and laughing son.
Knowing that this time was all part of the past, maybe never coming back, he felt regret. Regret and anger.
'I shouldn't let this anger out on my own blood.' he complemented.
'But it is just so damn hard, so painful, so... unfair!'
He hugged Mikael a bit firmer, not minding the tears and snot that came from him.
"And thank you for your support. You are helping me more than you could ever imagine."
He loosed his grip, holding him on both shoulders at arms length, staring in his eyes.
"But do not feel burdened, or push yourself just to help me. I don't deserve this."
"That is not true!" Mikael said between his sobbing, wishing away his tears.
"You have saved me, and Nina, Aunt Didi and so many others. You wouldn't have these injuries if not for us. And Mother... she... you did all you could."
As he spoke, Brom felt his inside heating up, his sorrow rising and with it the pain from his chest.
He let go of Mikaels shoulders, coughing strongly like he smoked too much tobacco.
This shoved away the sadness Mikael felt at the moment, replaced by worry and fear.
"Father, is it back again? Here, lay down." Mikael prepared the simple bed, a bunch of tied together straw with a single blanket.
Still coughing, Brom dragged himself towards the bed. On his forehead sweat began to gather, and he got paler by the second.
"Mikael... the medicine..." He coughed up, weak and cramping.
Mikael was already ahead, taking a flask of a brownish green color. He opened it, worrying about the amount that was left in it.
'That will be the last. I have to go to Aunt Didi for another bottle. But how can we afford it...'
He shook his head. His little hands reached for a cup and filled it with water, mixing the last bit of the medicine into it before helping his father drinking it.
"Here father." He placed the cup at his lips, helping him drink it as Broms arms were shaking too much to hold it.
"When you wake up, I may be gone out for a bit, but don't worry," he laid his hand on his fathers hand, afraid his condition will not get better, as the medicine loses a bit of the effect each time they use it.
Brom weakly looked at his blood, his son that cared for him more than he should at his tender age.
"Mikael." he weakly said," Thank you, my boy."
Brom felt the tranquilizing effect almost immediately, as his eyelids got heavier until all Mikael could hear was the heavy snoring, broken by occasional weak coughs.
'Father...'
He reluctantly let go, putting some cracking branches from the fireplace next to Brom to warm him up more.
Walking out from their little hut, he traveled down the hill, slow and careful, as to not accidentally fall and hurt himself.
He looked left and right, seeing many elderly woman or man, occasional some healthy man or woman, but far rarer. All the houses were in a bad shape, and all of the people were thin, with no completely intact clothes. Some worked at their huts, made miscellaneous things such as pots or weapons, and others just stood there, gazing into the void.
Mikael nearly tripped over a man that laid in the middle of the path, as he just looked inside a house where the inhabitants ate their sparse meal, the woman inside holding a malnourished baby.
He bend down, wanting to warn the man of the dangers by laying on the path.
'Isn't that Walt?' Mikael remembered.
Walt was a part of the guards that guarded the village they lived in. The guards were mostly made up of volunteers, with no real training. In a village they hadn't the funds to employ many, and the lord of the region did not really care for the little spot.
He thought back how Walt helped them escaping the sudden arrival of bandits, which raided them for whatever reason.
Mikael just knew they came at some moment, talked with the eldest while flooding their streets. Shortly after hell broke loose, and they had to flee into the wild.
"Uncle Walt. Hey, uncle Walt." He weakly shook the body, and after getting no reaction, Mikael called out to Cedrik, who just walked by not far away.
"Cedrik, can you help me?"
Cedrik looked over to Mikael, seeing the young boy kneeling next to a body.
"What's this about?" He asked, but then noticed right away and walked towards him.
He squatted next to the body, lifted the shirt and inhaled sharply.
"You can go on, Mikael, I will take care of Walt." He smiled at him.
Mikael nodded, as the medicine for his Father was more important, he continued his way, but not without looking a last time at the pale Walt.
Cedrik made sure Mikael was not seeing him anymore, and then winked over another man, who was already waiting a short distance away.
"Help me carrying him. Walt didn't make it." He showed the other man by lifting the shirt.
A ugly, big scar which was yellow, swollen and already infested with some insects reached down his side.
The other man just looked apathetic, used to such sights. Nodding, he grabbed Walt by his armpits, Cedrik at his feet, before carrying him towards a slide, that set course shortly after to a big pit, already filled with some other corpses.