And so the day came and went where his sword was repaired and returned to him, and there was nothing left for Guts to do in the village but to depart. This realization left him quieter and a little more sullen once all his belongings were piled together in the guest hut. Preparations. It troubled him that he'd developed so much apprehension in such a short amount of time.
Can't have himself banking on false hopes, he reminds himself. This was not his home. He had simply been a guest to some overly generous hosts. And he was getting too used to the comforts of village life. In the month or so he'd been idling in the village, his greatsword had grown a little heavier. The edge was fine, the balance too - he was simply out of practice enough to notice his connection with the sword was off, even if he was leaving the village taller and better fed. This left him even more driven, perhaps fearful that he'd grow too soft if he didn't course-correct immediately.
And so, under a barely brightened sky, while the sun was hidden behind the horizon and the village still seemed asleep, he decided it was time to leave. He didn't want teary goodbyes. Didn't want to think too hard about Lashan, about the old warrior's gentle looks at him, or of Vena's disappointment. He never did get the knife of hers... But that was fine. He already had one, and the little girl could have her first one as a pleasant keepsake. The apothecary would probably breathe an enormous sigh of relief once she wakes up, he imagines.
His mostly solitary exit plans are interrupted, briefly, when he tries to get a small portion of food for the road. Apparently a handful of the girls woke up even earlier than this regularly, which shocked him, and it was certainly an embarassing moment to be caught at the kitchen like a rat using the cover of darkness. He couldn't leave a note, so he asks the two older girls to pass on his goodbyes for him after suffering a light teasing from them.
Easier than confronting his hosts any more, he finds wandering into the stables a simpler task - perhaps considering borrowing a horse - but in the end, simply giving Safflower one final scratch to the side of the neck before he goes. He doubts the animal will remember him if they cross paths again, but some part of him likes to imagine she will.
And from there, tracing the imprints of hooves in the mud towards the gate. The final steps into the forest beyond.
SNEAKS
Can't have himself banking on false hopes, he reminds himself. This was not his home. He had simply been a guest to some overly generous hosts. And he was getting too used to the comforts of village life. In the month or so he'd been idling in the village, his greatsword had grown a little heavier. The edge was fine, the balance too - he was simply out of practice enough to notice his connection with the sword was off, even if he was leaving the village taller and better fed. This left him even more driven, perhaps fearful that he'd grow too soft if he didn't course-correct immediately.
And so, under a barely brightened sky, while the sun was hidden behind the horizon and the village still seemed asleep, he decided it was time to leave. He didn't want teary goodbyes. Didn't want to think too hard about Lashan, about the old warrior's gentle looks at him, or of Vena's disappointment. He never did get the knife of hers... But that was fine. He already had one, and the little girl could have her first one as a pleasant keepsake. The apothecary would probably breathe an enormous sigh of relief once she wakes up, he imagines.
His mostly solitary exit plans are interrupted, briefly, when he tries to get a small portion of food for the road. Apparently a handful of the girls woke up even earlier than this regularly, which shocked him, and it was certainly an embarassing moment to be caught at the kitchen like a rat using the cover of darkness. He couldn't leave a note, so he asks the two older girls to pass on his goodbyes for him after suffering a light teasing from them.
Easier than confronting his hosts any more, he finds wandering into the stables a simpler task - perhaps considering borrowing a horse - but in the end, simply giving Safflower one final scratch to the side of the neck before he goes. He doubts the animal will remember him if they cross paths again, but some part of him likes to imagine she will.
And from there, tracing the imprints of hooves in the mud towards the gate. The final steps into the forest beyond.