The Bonds that Bind

“We should hurry,” he noted, one hand on his dagger. Grocia looked up, smiling. “I thought you wanted to look around more,” he teased. “That’s my line,” he quickly and quietly added, “and we will.” Fel shook his head in exasperation. Gax looked out over the edge to their left, smiling warmly and following the path of a lone hawk for a second. “I love the view up here. Do you guys remember those games, hunting each other up along this path?” Ethril and Grocia nodded, but Fel just crossed his arms. Gax shrugged. “I kind of miss those days, before we all got busy, before things started getting so complicated. Remember when we could get up here every soltie, maybe twice a soltie?” Grocia smiled. Depending on your family and place in the greater scheme of things, blacksmith, potter, or merchant, each person, child or adult, lived in their own world of sorts. The chores and duties for each societal class were unique and separate, and they rarely only mixed in market or barter. Even then, only when necessary. Grocia, Gax, Ethril, and Fel had always been oddities in that mix. Those were the days. They were younger, all four of them, still working hard in their given worlds, but they’d always found the time, and no one had ever found out. Yes, those were the days. “Times are changing,” Ethril noted, frowning. “It’s not the same anymore, is it?” How long had it been since the last casual conversation? Three soltie? Maybe more? And how long had it been since the four of them had been up there together? That had to have been months, Fel’s attendance abruptly falling off, his words to them shorter, his time spent visiting less and less. Those months prior, it was almost like he didn’t know them anymore. Once, recently, Fel had even flipped out on him. Grocia pulled a sliver from his right foot, looking to where Fel flexed his right hand, fanning his fingers out, then around a few times. Fel had always been the one to hold them back: always one more crack to explore, one more root to cut. But that was then, wasn’t it? Grocia had been about for First Rights that last few times. First Rights was the first ceremony to mark the beginning of the next day cycle, the time for soldiers coming on duty to praise Grionde and ask for strength in their coming shift. Grocia had spied Fel on one side, intently watching the small vials being passed around. Fel was near age for a commission. They all knew that. But it wasn’t wine in those vials. They all knew that as well, and no matter how mature Fel had always tried to be, too boastful for Grocia’s liking, he’d always been frightful of the slightest bit of blood, and his sudden dare this time, the unexpected return to the old Fel, the way he’d been acting the whole time - something was off. Ethril and Gax were much the same as they’d always been, just taller. Then again, Grocia mused, they were more serious, and their jokes usually carried a graver tone, involving someone’s death more often than not. Maybe it wasn’t the world that had changed as much as it was them. “Can we go now?” Grocia looked to Fel again and nodded, slowly massaging and swivelling his ankle around. Yes, they, and things, had changed.