Curses echoed across the moor, and Rowan looked up from his flock. That had come from the direction of the house.
"Watch the sheep," Rowan ordered, pointing at Beaut. The vaimonhound fixed him with a blank stare, and started after him when he turned to go. With a sigh, he continued, using the strung longbow in his hand like a walking stick.
When they crested the hill, Rowan could see across a small valley to the hill where his house was. A man was pacing in front of it, by the garden.
As they crested that hill, the man turned to face them. His hair and beard were long, greyed, and unbrushed. A faded blue cloak, frayed at the ends, obscured his form, but Rowan thought he saw a sword hilt under there. Gray eyes studied Rowan. "You must be his son."
"Who're you?"
"A friend of your father's. I am called Vulpine."
"Rowan."
The wind shifted. Beaut must have caught something on it; the sighthound put herself between the two men, growling menacingly at this Vulpine fellow. His hands moved under that cloak, and Rowan's fingers twitched toward the arrows tucked into his belt.
"What're you doing here?" Rowan finally broke the silence.
Vulpine opened his mouth to speak, but paused. He seemed to consider something before sighing and asking "Do you know what your father did before coming here?"
"He was a rōnin."
"Before that."
"A Knight."
"And between?"
Rowan shrugged. He had always assumed his dad become rōnin right after leaving the Knights. That he had fought in the Solar War as a rōnin. But this man claimed to be a friend. He had been there, and would know better than Rowan.
"He was King of Wéa."
Rowan scoffed. "Yeah, right, and I'm the Daican Emperor."
"It's true!" That sounded defensive.
"If he was king, why isn't he anymore?" A king was a kinda thane over thane, Rowan knew, and thanes held the position 'till they died.
"Ask him yourself; he never gave me a satisfactory answer. Anyway, this means you have a claim to the Wéan throne. I could help you become king."
"Nah. Kings don't watch sheep, and that's all I know how to do."
"People can be a lot like sheep at times."
The boy voiced his skepticism of that, and soon enough was on the way back to his sheep, his dog trailing him and growling back over her shoulder.
Vulpine sighed as he watched the boy go. The legitimate heir to the Wéan throne, yet a mere boy no taller than Vulpine, he would have made an ideal puppet. Another thought to hate himself for having. Another failure, too, though he had made only a half-hearted effort at manipulating the boy, and wasn't too disappointed the boy had turned him down.
With a final sigh, Vulpine turned his back on Sage's hovel and started back down the way he'd come. He wouldn't give up; the boy may deserve better than to be a puppet, but Sage still had responsibility to take. He would try again another day. He would find lodging in the town, analyze the day's failures, and come up with a better plan to bring Sage around.