Imgil Harton was a simple man, used to loneliness. He lived not far from Turstone, which was lord Tolen's favored city. He preferred the company of his old horse, dog, and a stray cat who recently took a liking to him to the company of humans.
This spring morning found Harton walking the trails by the Weiss River, checking the traps he set. He smiled, finding a fat rabbit in one of his traps. He frowned, shaking his graying head, when he found a fluffy, brown dog within another trap - a large hole with sharp sticks on the bottom. The dog whined pitifully, pressing close to the ground and shying from the old man's hands, but did not try to bite him. And when Harton lifted it out of the trap, and checked to see if it was badly hurt, the mutt wriggled, wiggling its tail, and tried to lick him.
"Hold still, hold still, you silly pup." Harton said patiently, inspecting the broken splinter in the dog's paw. The pup was lucky it did not get speared when it fell into the trap. Gently, Harton took a firm hold of the splinter and swiftly pulled it out. The pup jerked in his arms, whimpering, then wiggled his tail even more. Harton struggled to hold it, and fingered the frayed end of the rope that was tied securely around the dog's neck.
"You broke loose. You must belong to somebody." The pup jumped with his wide paws upon his lap, and tried to lick the old man's lips again. Harton brushed away the pup's affections with a smile, ruffling up its soft, brown fur, instead. He looked into its warm, brown eyes and sighed.
"I wish I could take you with me. But you'll grow too big for me to feed. And I don't know how my Truhan would take it. That old mutt's been with me for 22 years now." He muttered, studying the pup's wide chest and frame, suggesting the making of a powerful body when it grew older.
"But I suppose I'll take you home with me. You are friendly enough. What do you think about that?" He asked, and was rewarded by another wet, sloppy kiss.
"All right, all right. Come. I shall have to think of a name for you, then."
He led the dog with him by the rope, while he checked the rest of the traps. At noon, he made a fire in the clearing, and cooked the rabbit, feeding the hungry pup a piece after piece. Contented, the old man settled down for a nap, the pup nestling by him. He woke at the sound of a breaking branch, sat up sharply and squinted toward the shadows by the bushes for a while, listening.
"I know you be out there. Come out!" He called fearfully, but heard nothing but silence in response. The pup, awakened by the old man's alarm, laid down its large head between its paws, and watched him with quiet eyes that seemed more aware than before.
"Nothing there, heh? I must have dreamt it. These old ears are not as good as they used to be." Harton chuckled, and roughed up the pup's fur again. This time, the dog only lazily wiggled his tail.
Harton gathered his small camp and trod the trails again, tracing his tracks back to his home.
"Hello?... Hello?... Is anyone home?" He heard a voice calling out by the river. Frowning, Harton cautiously made his way toward the voice, and peered through the branches.
He saw a young man, frocked in a rough, dark robe, sashed at the waist with the black belt. The youth stood uncertainly by the gate of Harton's garden, looking at the shaggy tan Truhan barking at him.
"Well, and who you be?" Harton asked, startling the young man.
"I am Willen...Willen Andales, junior duellen from the Turstone temple." The young man gave a friendly smile.
"I am Imgil Harton. And what are you doing here, duellen?"
"I study plants and herbs. I left Turstone earlier today and got a little bit lost I am afraid." The young man said with great relief.
"Hmm. Quite more than a little." Harton noted with surprise.
"I would be very grateful if you could point me back toward Turstone." The young priest asked, his forehead wrinkling. He was not as young as Harton first thought him to be, he now realized, but merely gangly like a teenager.
"All right, then, come. Come, come!" The old man waived, and the scholar smiled.
Harton tied the pup on the outer side of the fence away from Truhan, so his old dog could get used to the pup's smell. Then, he invited the priest inside and heated up some tea.
They talked, while waiting. Harton told him about himself and that he lived alone. Imgil's wife, Unna, died many years hence. Of his three children, he lost his precious little daughter, Lita, when she was only three, his last son in infancy, whom he named Jonas, together with his mother soon after, and his first son, Lucas, to illness when he was eight.
Regularly, Harton drove to the common cemetery, where he laid the best flowers from his garden on their graves. Sometimes, he conversed with them, as though they were still alive. He fully believed that they were looking down at him with kindness from joyful heaven, and hoped to meet them once his own time came.
The priest also told the old man about himself. He had arrived to Turstone recently. Devoted to healing and study of the natural world, Willen Andales catalogued plants, animals, insects, and birds, which he carefully observed and recorded in his books. His main position at the Turstone temple was of a clerical nature, keeping records and accounts.
After he came with Harton to his home and saw Harton's garden and the rare herbs planted there, he became fascinated with their medicinal qualities. For many years Harton's mother and then his wife had grown these herbs in their garden. Andales men-tioned that he already met the local healer, Madam Wrasken, and was surprised to learn from Harton that she was his wife's former apprentice.
"Her name was just Noma, then." Harton had explained to the priest. "She had since married, widowed. Now, she goes by name of Madam Wrasken. She makes a good life in Turstone as a healer. Sometimes, she still sends one of her apprentices to me, for the herbs."
The apothecary, Mr. Landon, was also Harton's good friend, and on a regular basis paid him to deliver certain quantities of herbs. Harton told the priest that just last week Landon sent a visitor to him, from the famous guild of the candle makers who searched for a special ingredient.
"Such fragrant candles they make! My dear Unna used to love them. She would be so happy when I'd buy her one, and for only the tenth of the price." Harton chuckled, remembering his wife's squeal of delight. A short and stout woman, she used to jump to her tip-toes to give him kisses for each small gift he frequently brought just to see her smile.
"These special candles sell nearly ten times as much in Reolth, and maybe even more in some distant exotic kingdoms beyond. She would have been thrilled if she knew that they came and asked me for her pattana herbs. I'll have to plow up more land in our garden to plant as much as they want. And, I'll have to pay a small tax to our good lord, if they pay me as much as they said they will pay. But it is a fair tax, and I guess nothing to complain of. If I know any better, it will be in hands of our good lady Rowena, and she will distribute it in the temple, to care for the poor and the orphans, bless her heart."
Duellen Andales respectfully nodded his head at the old man's sentiment.
There were always poor folks in Pharshena. Beggars, unable to find work due to being maimed or deformed, were traditionally allowed to sit by the temple and beg for gratuities. The king's law tolerated them. And sir Tolen's wife, who cared for the estates during her husband's frequent absences while he went to perform his knightly duties, was particularly kind to the orphaned children and families destitute to poverty through no fault of their own, because of a fire or other natural disaster. Laeden of the Turstone temple, Gaedus, was duellen Andales' superior and greatly respected her.
"When my Unna was alive, she had spoken to me about adopting. But then she became pregnant with Lucas..."