After a promise for an early meet-up to depart, Bave gave his teammates instructions - where to meet him before the first cry of the rooster. Luse was four days away from Udeos, and they had only two days to reach it.
Some would think it was an impossible task; the shortest route to there would take four days and it was a rather rocky area. Kal and Koh, however, did not bother to think how would they reach Luse. They knew that Bave would never throw a stone without aiming right.
The men took on their way back to their homes as they had to catch up on sleep. Even the small quantity of two-three hours would do as their bodies were completely worn out from the trip to Balhkara.
Bave stilled in the middle of the pathway, watching Kal and Koh disappear into the night. He was in no hurry to return home as his old parents were probably asleep by now although he felt a bit sad that he would not be able to spend some time with them.
He knew his father's back was easily tired from the fieldwork and before receiving the mysterious letter, he had planned to spend the whole summer helping him with the harvest. Alas, he had to leave his old man on his own again.
Besides, he felt quite ashamed that he kept relying on his sister to look after their parents whilst he was too busy to even spare a mere week with them.
He reached a hand up to ruffle slowly his hair, he felt indebted. Probably it was a good idea to write them a letter which they could read in the morning?
Or should he take care of the backyard? He remembered his father had little to no time, and energy, to fix an old wood-shed. During the rainy season, and even during winter, the roof leaked which soaked the wood chunks and chips and made it hard to be used for the fireplace.
That sounded like a good plan, he thought.
The young hunter span on his heel and headed for his house direction. It was far from the otherwise lively center which was overcrowded during the day. His parents preferred the place to be secluded and quiet and it wasn't because of "old age", Bave grew up there.
That could be one of the benefactors to how his personality formed – he was, in a way, an outsider to most "city-boys" gangs when he was a young boy. Well, "gangs" probably wasn't the correct word or not one he would use to call them by.
They were just a bunch of mischievous kids who looked for trouble out of boredom – be it stealing a few apples from the street greengrocer stalls, or annoying old ladies just to be chased after.
Old memories flooded Bave's mind as he kept strolling down the streets. He looked to the left and saw the old banicharnitsa although already deserted to the side of the pathway. Its blue paint shed like dead skin, exposing the rusty metal beneath.
It was a type of street stall to sell small triangle-shaped filo pastry filled with whisked eggs, yogurt, and cheese. It was one of Bave's favorite childhood foods. The crispy baked layers were golden, leaving one's fingers slightly oily and lips glistening from the delicious filling that was soft and gentle on one's palate.
Bave sighed briefly, now he felt like having banitsa, that was how Balhkaran people called the dish. It had a weird name even for the Balhkaran language but in the past, people called it gobanitsa which derived from a very old way to say "twisting".
It made sense as the dish had many pastry layers that when traditionally made were swirled and twisted in a baking tray.
As Bave continued further down the pathway, he stopped by an abandoned wooden temple. It looked rather like a random pile of wooden boards but he had planned to restore that temple before his body gave in to the old age.
One day, he thought. It was a special place for him although it had a rather gruesome story behind it.
When Bave was around ten years of age, he remembered attending a huge gathering here. It was a rainy day; dark clouds imprisoned the sun to hide it away from the ugliness unraveling on these grounds. Several loyal servants from the Tulo house were executed here, accused of treachery.
The newly emerged upper class gathered the public in several big cities, not only in Udeos, to witness the punishment of traitors who allegedly betrayed Tulo and brought them to their demise. However, Bave remembered the look on these few men's and women's faces. They died with pride.
He was too young, back then and there, to understand that but after he became a hunter, he had seen many people beg for their lives. Not only beg but even pledging to do whatever it was asked of them to save their lives – even if that meant to kill another person.
There was a significant difference, Bave thought, between how the servants greeted death and how cowards did. For some reason, he could never see them as traitors.
However, it was not so easy to restore such a temple. People wanted it torn to pieces, claiming to be a shameful stain on Balhkara's history. Bave though did not see it that way.
He reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck, it somewhat made him tense. All these memories and emotions. He even started blaming Stan's new beer; what had he mixed in it? It played some funny spell on him and made all these memories surface.
He resumed walking, and soon he reached the end of the pathway where his lovely home was situated. It was nothing fancy but it was one of the few houses that still followed the old traditional architecture. For example, the windows faced the west whilst the entrance was from the east.
The door was no higher than a meter and half, barely five feet, but that was an old custom. Balhkaran people believed that if one were to enter the house, they had to bend down upon entering – it was just like bowing with respect. A clever way to embed respect equally in one's guests but even in oneself.
Bave noticed a faint light coming from the kitchen which faced the backyard on the west side of the house. He blinked and wondered if someone was still up, but judging by the quietness – he highly doubted it.
The young man paced inside, quietly opening the door as his front bent slightly to enter the house. A faint cheesy smell of baked pastry made him smile. How lucky – his mother knew how to greet him.
His favorite banitsa was waiting for him on the kitchen counter-top. It was well wrapped in traditional cotton cloth to keep the steam inside and the filling soft. He walked slowly in, careful not to make the wooden floor creak.
As soon as he approached the dish, he saw a note next to it. His eyes, although red from tiredness, lit up as he saw his mother's handwriting.
-----
"Dear Bave,
we heard that you are back. I am very sorry we couldn't wait for you but we have to get up early to help Maria for the upcoming Rose Fest. I have prepared for you little something, and your father has left the keys to your bedroom under the clay vase next to the fireplace. Make sure to rest well!
With love,
Tsana"
-----
Bave's lips stretched in a small smile; he noticed his mother did not ask any questions nor made any plans to meet him in the morning.
His parents knew well enough that he could be called back at any time, sometimes he couldn't even drop by to greet them despite coming back to Udeos.
The hunter gently folded the letter and put it inside his upper clothing, where he cautiously kept the mysterious request for his new quest. His dirty hand reached for the spotless white clothe and stopped.
He did not want to touch something that sacred with unwashed hands. Moreover, he probably had only two hours or so before he had to leave. His eyes looked from his hand to the dish but then he averted his head to look through the small window. In the far back, he could spot the wood-shed.
A sigh escaped him – despite being tempted to stuff himself with banitsa, he had some work to do.
The man unbuckled his sword belt and left his weapons on a small auxiliary table in the kitchen. He bent from left to right, stretching his torso side muscles. After a few more stretches, he felt energized enough to go and fix some things around the house.
One though, should not mistake it for something he did unwillingly or that it was just a way to lessen his old parents' worries – no, that was something called 'gratitude'.