Eventually, Mam lets me go and wipes her puffy eyes with a handkerchief.  Looking up at me a wide smile, she laughs, "My, my, look at me. You must be tired from the road. Come in, come in! There should still be some bread left in the oven. Walther is just out for his morning walk, he should be back any minute."

I follow her inside, the smell of home bringing me supreme calm. There's really nothing quite like it. That's the same even in the real world. 

One of the advantages of being the only providers of lumber in Klennock is that we have plenty of material and clout in the village to build a large house. It may only be a single floor, but there's plenty of room for a living room, kitchen, pantry and three modest bedrooms. The third room is for guests and the occasional patient of my Mam, who functions as the closest thing to a doctor the village has, even if she's just a herbalist.

"I'm just going to go get this chain off and change my shirt. It rubs me in all the wrong ways, and I don't care for the smell," I call out, walking to my old room.

"I'll have a look at you after, Nelly, I have an ointment for that," Mam calls back from the kitchen. My face flushes at the old nickname. She knows full well I hate it. Well, she knows Nealan hates it, but as seems to be a running theme, I share his sentiments on the matter. Nelly is a stupid nickname.

I push open the door to my bedroom. It's cleaner than I left it, and the bed with its woollen blanket and straw mattress has been made. Something I can never be bothered to do. In the corner is a simple wardrobe, with a pair of drawers for my unmentionables and my 'best' clothes. Something I have to wear for important events like the old Mayor's funeral. Honestly, they make Nealan look ridiculous, like forcing a gorilla into a tuxedo.

Rolling my eyes, I steadily pull the taut chainmail over my head, my breath catching as the rusty metal scrapes over already sore skin through my shirt. I strongly suspect that I'm bleeding in a few places as well, which is part of why I also want to change my shirt.

My suspicions prove correct. Inspecting the thin shirt, I spot a few splotches of blood around where my shoulder blades would have been. Deciding it's probably better to wash the blood and grime off than put another shirt on, I walk out into the hallway bare-chested and head to the kitchen.

Mam is at the stove, cooking up what looks like a saucepan of porridge oats for me. Hearing me come in she turns to give me a smile, before noticing my lack of shirt and subsequently, the scrapes and sores. Tutting, she waggles her wooden spoon at me, "You should really pay better attention to your well-being, Nelly. Look at what that scrap metal's done to ya. Yer a mess."

I avoid eye-contact, "Some armour was better than no armour. And the quartermaster said I could have it. So I took it."

"Bloody irresponsible man, foisting that off on my boy," Mam harrumphs, stirring the pot some more, There's a bucket of water over by the fireplace in the living room. I was going to use it to scrub the flagstones, but you look like you need the scrubbin' more. I'll leave your porridge on the table to cool and go get that ointment."

She scrapes the porridge into a wooden bowl, places it on the kitchen table and bustles off to get her supplies.

Retrieving the bucket and a rag, I take them outside and start wiping off all the sweat and grime accumulated from several days travel. The water is freezing, but a hot bath and soap are a little beyond our means. No choice but to make do. If I'm honest, the cold is mostly from the northern winds on my damp body. Shivering, I straighten up to notice that a man is walking in my direction from the treeline.

No, he's limping. Shit.

Dropping the rag, I sprint towards them. A small part of me marvels at how much swifter Nealan is than what I'm accustomed to, but it feels so natural that who's to say what I am and am not accustomed to?

I manage to reach and catch the man as he staggers forward, preventing him collapsing. Belatedly, I realise he's my Da. A lot older than I remember him looking, but that comes second to the nasty wound on his right calf, which is bleeding profusely. I notice that the shape of the wound looks like a bite mark from a large beast, only torn; As if Da pulled his leg out of it's jaws by force.

"Son..?"He inquires, huffing, voice weak.

"Yeah, Da, I've got you. Come on, I'll help you back. Are you gonna pass out?" I ask, mind racing.

"No, I've lived through worse, just hard to walk. The wound isn't too deep." He spits on the ground, putting an arm around my neck.

When Mam sees both of her family members walk back into the house in need of medical attention, to her credit, she doesn't panic or flinch. She just gets to work with determination. 

Inspecting our injuries, she leaves me to take care of my own treatment, rubbing a pungent smelling green paste over the worst sores, and wrapping a bandage around it. This leaves me with an unpleasant tingling sensation I desperately want to scratch at, but a sidelong glare from Mam halts my probing fingers before I get the chance.

Da isn't really much better off. Stripped of his trousers, he's biting down on a chunk of wood as Mam sews the wound closed with a wooden needle and some expensive Iron Silk Thread. A single spool of which could feed us all for a month, but let it not be said that Mam won't go above and beyond for her husband's well-being.

Once finished, she hands Da a potion and prods him until he downs the foul tasting concoction. The taste of Mam's rejuvenation potions is one thing I do not have any nostalgia for, and the flavour haunts me to this day. I'm half-convinced she adds extra ingredients for the express purpose of ruining the taste as a deterrent to us injuring ourselves.

Letting out a long breath,  Mam's tense shoulders sag, looking at Da with a mixture of concern and anger, "So? What did you piss off to end up like this?"

Reaching for a fresh pair of trousers, Da says, glibly, "A Dirolft Alpha."

Mam's expression hardens, "Explain."

I shift uncomfortably, the temperature in the room seems to drop 10 degrees.

Huh. Neat.

Da, on the other hand, is receiving my mother's ire full-force. I can hear him gulp audibly, "I-I went out into the woods for some kindling like normal when a Dirolft attacked me. I was holding it off easily enough, but then a much bigger Dirolft jumped out with its pack not far behind it. The first one got his jaws on my leg while I was distracted, so I smashed my axe in it's skull, pulled my leg out and ran for the treeline."

Inwardly, I can't help but admire his grit. A Dirolft - Think large wolf with a long, scaled tail - on it's own is enough to take down a common mercenary, but to kill one and escape an Alpha is nothing short of miraculous. Idly, I wonder what kind of stats the old man has.

Mam, on the other hand, is less impressed, "What possessed you to try and stand your ground against a Dirolft! You're not a young man anymore, and you had to realise it's pack wasn't ever going to be too far away! And to top it off, you left behind my grandfather's axe!"

Da tries to voice a defence, but looking at Mam's furious demeanour, his honed Husband-instincts kick in, and he decides that the best way to survive this conversation and not spend the night in the guest room is to just stay silent. Then, looking at me, Da tries to change the subject.

"Thanks for helping me, sonny. It's great to see you back home..."

"I'll go get the axe," I declare, surprising even myself.

"What?"

I take a deep breath, committed to it now, "That axe is what puts food on our table, right? I'm saying I'll go get it."

Mam takes my declaration about as well as might be expected, "Absolutely not! Neither of you are going anywhere near those woods until you're healed, and even then, not until an Adventurer comes to clear out those monsters!"

Da looks defeated, torn between wanting to retrieve the axe and agreeing with her assessment of the situation. Indeed, I have to admit that her plan is a damn sight better than me rushing into the woods alone, but I'd be lying if I didn't have any ulterior motives.

The quest is just added motivation if I'm honest. I was already going to do it anyway for two reasons. The first is quite simply because Da needs that axe to do his job as well as he does. The other reason is that I want to fight the Alpha. Not to avenge my Da's flesh wound, but for my own satisfaction. I felt my blood crying out for battle as soon as Da mentioned it. Likely a side-effect of the Battle Hunger trait, even if it wasn't explicitly stated. Or maybe that's just me deflecting blame. I have to remember why I even agreed to this in the first place - to stop holding back.

And yet here I am again, holding back. No matter. I stare back at Mam and Da, and say with confidence, "I won't be going immediately, but I am going to get it back."

I decide it's probably best not to mention I plan to fight the Dirolfts as well. Convincing them to let me go is pushing it as it is.

Indignant, Mam puffs herself up, hands on her hips, "No, you will not young-"

"Fine. You can go," Da interrupts her, staring back at me with a look of understanding.

Mam recoils, head snapping to face him, "Walther are you out of your mind?!"

Calm, Walther stands up, wincing as he puts weight on his injured leg, "Vette, he's made up his mind. Even if I were in a fit state to stop him doing it without our blessin', I wouldn't try. It's like he said, that axe is my life. I'd go back to get it myself if I could run without bursting my stitches."

Horrified, Mam steps forward, the fury back, "Fool of a man, you barely escaped and you want to send our boy back there with the pack still close by?!"

"Vette," cold, authoritative, Da refuses to back down, "You're my wife. You're Nealan's mother. You aren't our jailer. I'm not expecting you to accept it with a smile, but I'm asking you to understand our pride."

This rare showing of a spine shuts her up. Mam chews her lip, turning around and hugging herself. Time stands still, until a ragged sigh escapes her chest.

"Fine. But it won't be now. His porridge is probably almost cold, and I won't have my boy's first meal back go to waste. The Alderman needs to be told about this as well, so he can put in a request for an Adventurer. I won't budge on that."

Me and Da share a smile, and we both agree readily.

Mam's head droops, "Come on then Nelly, go get your porridge 'fore it goes hard."

While I eat the stodgy, barely warm porridge, Mam goes out to the village to inform the Alderman about the Dirolft pack and Da's injury. He, meanwhile, takes has taken out his knife and starts carving himself a makeshift walking stick from a solid branch taken from our stockpile of green wood left out behind the lodge to dry.

"So," Da says absentmindedly, "I never asked what the story with your bandages was."

My face scrunches up as I force a lump of porridge down my throat, "Chainmail. Too small for me and my shirts were too thin."

Da carves another strip of wood off the stick, moving the sharp knife with a single sweeping movement, "I see. Did those sellswords not have armourers?"

"No. Just a bunch of scavenged equipment. The Bronze Loranics were pretty small-time, really. We usually got hired to escort merchant caravans and give the clients some warm bodies between them and any monsters or thieves that attacked. Not that they ever did, but I still got paid, so I bore with it until I felt like I had enough to buy myself a proper sword and leathers at Mhin. Then I'd apply to the Adventure Company. Do a few jobs, earn a reputation."

He flicks the knife tip over one end, removing a stubborn piece of bark, "You told your Mother about this? When you sent that courier saying you were coming back, she thought you'd 'come to your senses' with all this Adventurer malarkey."

I grimace, trying to remember exactly what Nealan told the messenger, "I did tell you both before I joined the Loranics."

"But not since you came home."

I stir the last globs of porridge around the bowl, "No. I haven't been back long, and it never came up."

Da nods, "Son. My opinion on this should already be obvious. I'm not going to stop you following your path. I'd be a poor excuse for a man, and a worse father if I tried to force you to continue me and your grandfather's work."

He turns the stick over a few times, rolling it in his palms, "Your mother isn't going to like it much though. This is her legacy, not mine, after all. Nevermind you going off to risk your life against monsters for an axe, but leaving Klennock altogether, perhaps never to be seen again."

Da takes his knife and starts sawing through one end of the stick, "When you left with those mercenaries, she was beside herself. Couldn't get her appetite up for months. Only started eating again when you sent that first letter back. Your handwriting were so atrocious she laughed herself into tears," He smiles, wistfully.

I finish the bowl and take it over to the counter. Mam'll draw some more water from the well and wash it later.

"So, I won't stop you from going. Just do us both a favour and visit when you get the chance, ok? It'll put both our minds at ease to know you're doing well for yourself."

"...I will."

A single tear rolls down my cheek as I leave the kitchen. Memories of my own dead parents fresh in my mind.