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With heavy footsteps, Kirtok moved toward the rotted pile of wood that had at one point been his childhood home. He moved unsteadily on shaking legs, as though intoxicated. His hands hung at his sides, his fists clenching and relaxing repeatedly as he tried to find something to do with them.

The air should have been alive with the heady aroma of his mother's stew and the laughter of his younger siblings. Instead, the wind only carried stale, cool air that rustled the unkempt land around him. Kirtok stood there, transfixed by the memories that replayed in his head. Scenes of him working with his father or playing with his sister were overlayed by the bright orange flash of fire, as if both experiences had happened at once.

Anger and sadness welled up within him, and as a few stray tears rolled down his hot cheeks, they boiled away into steam before they could so much as soak into his fur. Now he knew why he'd put off returning here for so long. It was something he had to do, but it was still far too painful to look at his home. Were the remains of his family still within the rubble, their ashes mixed with the burned cinders of the house they died in? Had the harsh winds dashed them across the land? He wanted to take a closer look, but his body would not answer his wishes, as though the rubble repelled him by way of some magical force.

Knowing how superstitious the people in the nearby town were, it was little wonder why no one had purchased the land yet. No doubt the shaman had blamed the wildfire on vengeful spirits. No one would dare to put a bid on the plot with those sorts of rumors floating about.

It was prime farmland, and Kirtok's family had owned it for generations. Though he knew he would have been sad to see it taken from him, he was simultaneously upset that superstition could keep people away. This land was good and never failed to yield a bountiful harvest. It was a waste to see it go unused by man or Freehorn.

With a rattling sigh, Kirtok finally managed to overcome whatever force that was holding him back. He approached the house slowly as though he feared the ground would open up beneath him and drag him into the abyss. His skin crawled being so close to his family's grave, but he needed to do something to pay his respects.

Kirtok dropped to one knee just at the outer edge of the rubble and reached forward with a hand. An almost inconsequential amount of charcoal still remained on the ground, coating his fingertips in black soot. He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, lost in thought as he felt the texture of the charred remains against his skin.

He stayed there for a long time as the sun crawled across the sky over him. Kirtok couldn't think of what to say. It was almost a year since the fire, so what more was there for him to say? By all accounts he shouldn't have still been in mourning. It wasn't proper for a Freehorn to carry such grief for so long. Yet though it had been a year to the outside world, it had only been a scant few months from Kirtok's perspective thanks to his time spent healing. Society demanded that his time of mourning should be over, yet in his reality he needed more time to recover.

It would be night soon, and Kirtok didn't feel like remaining any longer than he had to. He remained on his knees and bowed his head in silent reference. There was only one thing he could think to say to the spirits of his deceased family.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you," he whispered, his voice choked by sobs. "I'm sorry I didn't perish along with you and join you on your journey into the next life." He dipped his head lower, his dangling septum nearly touching the ground. "Please forgive your wayward son."

As Kirtok rose, he grabbed a handful of ash. Some of it escaped between his fingers as it was picked up by the wind. He turned and faced the land that had once been his and stood in silent prayer to whatever God might be listening.

Kirtok looked down at his hand clenching the dusty remains. He had no way of knowing whether it contained any part of his family or if it was just dirt and ash from the house. Regardless, he held his hand out and let go bit by bit to sow the land with the ashes. The wind swirled around him as if at his command, carrying the particles far and wide across the farm. When all the ash he held dispersed, he stared at his blackened hand for a moment before letting it drop to his side.

He was not a superstitious minotaur, but he hoped that the lack of proper funeral rites for his family would not lead their souls astray in their journey into the afterlife. If he hadn't charged into the house thoughtlessly, he would have been there to perform the rites himself... but then he wouldn't have been able to live with himself for not at least trying to save them.

This land is plagued by too many regrets, Kirtok thought as he put one hoof in front of the other, then another, and another, until he was walking at a brisk pace. He wanted to look back at the last place he'd ever called home, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, afraid that he might not want to leave if he did.

Elsa, I think I have my answer.

Within a couple days, Kirtok managed to return to Mullead. It was before dawn, when the sun was nothing more than a hint of light on the horizon that turned the night sky a deep purple. Elsa would likely be asleep, and he entered the Peaceful Pegasus with as much care as possible.

As he reached for the silver key that dangled from a chain around his neck, he found that the door was already unlocked. Kirtok was surprised. Elsa would never have forgotten to lock up for the night. He pushed the door open, careful not to jostle the bell too much and risk waking her up.

His hooves clopped across the floor as he tip-toed towards the stairs. He didn't get very far when Elsa poked her head out from the kitchen.

"Back already?" she asked. Her hair was disheveled and frizzy, and the deep bags under her eyes suggested that she hadn't slept all night.

"What are you still doing up?" Kirtok asked, ignoring her question. He set his pack down by the bar and sat down. "Don't you wake up at dawn?"

"Couldn't sleep. I had to do everything while my barkeep was gone," she said, yawning as she playfully ribbed Kirtok. The minotaur grunted a laugh, wanting to smile yet feeling as though he didn't have the energy to do so. Elsa drew some mead from a keg and slid it down the counter towards Kirtok. "Here, you look like you could use it."

Kirtok nodded, and drank in silence. He could tell by the inquisitiveness in her otherwise tired eyes that she wanted to ask about his trip back to the family farm. She knew better than to straight up ask what was on her mind, like she would have done with a fellow human. Kirtok respected her for that. She waited patiently and busied herself with tidying up the already clean bar while the minotaur collected his thoughts.

"The farmland hasn't been sold yet," Kirtok said eventually.

A plate of lamb mutton, onions, and a half loaf of bread was set down in front of Kirtok. "Well, that's good."

Kirtok wondered when Elsa had the time to prepare him a meal. Maybe he was more out of it than he thought. He shook his head and smiled, knowing that he shouldn't have been so surprised by her desire to look after his needs during his time of grief.

Again, all was silent as Elsa cleaned. It gave Kirtok time to sort his thoughts into a coherent sentence. He was grateful that she was affording him the opportunity to think things through at his own pace. His father had a good choice in friends.

Kirtok picked up the larger, minotaur sized utensils Elsa had bought for him months ago and began to dig into his food. The meat was juicy and flavourful, while the onions were just the right mix of soft and chewy and in the right quantity to enhance the meal rather than detract from it. His mouth watered as the first bite touched his tongue, and he realized that he couldn't remember the last time that he ate. Surely he had some rations after leaving the farm, but thinking back on it, he barely touched the food he had packed for his journey.

By the time that Kirtok was finished his meal, he finally had a firm grasp of what he wanted to tell Elsa. He pushed the plate aside and eased back into his chair with an audible sigh of content. Elsa was already nearby, waiting patiently for him to talk. He noticed that she was occasionally glancing in his direction, checking to see if he finished thinking.

"You know I can tell when you're staring, right?" Kirtok pointed out, trying to break the ice before getting into the heavier stuff.

Elsa smirked knowingly. "Really? And what would I be staring at?"

"I don't think I want to take the farm back," Kirtok said abruptly, not bothering to beat around the bush any longer. He watched Elsa's reaction, trying to find some hint as to what she felt, but nothing betrayed her outward, calm exterior. "I thought that it was home, but without my family there, and haunted by their memories, I don't think that place is a home. It's a grave, and should be respected as such."

"Do you think anyone else will buy it?" Elsa asked. "Would that upset you?"

"Maybe," Kirtok answered, then shrugged and corrected himself. "Probably. The shaman from the nearby village said the land is cursed. It might be many, many years before anyone buys up that land with those kinds of rumors floating around. And by then, maybe I won't give a damn."

The minotaur sipped at his freshly filled mug, letting the silence hang between them for a bit longer than was necessary. He was transitioning from his life as a farmer to whatever it was the future held for him. Kirtok knew he wanted to work with Elsa. He didn't want to be a mercenary. He never wanted to be one, and he begrudgingly admitted that the time spent in Mullead were some of the best times he'd had in recent memory. The villagers warmed up to him and treated him like a person, unlike the people of Swifthaven and certainly unlike the Ebonwolves. Here, he could be himself and enjoy life instead of always feeling like a black sheep.

"Elsa," Kirtok said, in a voice so soft it may as well have been a whisper. She met his eyes, her face exuding warmth and affection for him, not unlike an older sister's. "I think I would like to take you up on your offer."

Instead of saying anything in response, Elsa walked around the bar and held her hands out at her sides. Feeling his cheeks burn beneath the fur on his face, Kirtok beckoned her closer and he leaned down to accept her hug. He held her as gently as if she were a grandmother, frail in his hands yet strong from a life of experiences. She rubbed his back and gave it a solid pat.

"Welcome home, Kirtok," she said before pulling away, her face beaming with a smile and the edges of her eyes wet with tears. "Now, I suppose this should call for a celebration, to acknowledge your moving forward."

Kirtok held his hand up to stop her. "That's really not necessary." The minotaur appreciated that she wanted to do something special for him, but he didn't see the point of it. He was much more content to simply go about his business as usual. There was no need to call special attention to him, especially when he hadn't done anything noteworthy.

"Nonsense. Besides, people have been asking about you the last few days while you were gone," Elsa said.

That caught Kirtok's attention. He never would have imagined that anyone would miss his presence.

"People like who?" he inquired,

"Fernanda, Lars, the Harkers, a few others," Elsa explained. "Oh, and little Nia, too. You know she turned six a couple days after you left."

"Huh, must have slipped my mind," Kirtok said as he scratched at the scruff of fur along his cheek. Maybe the girl had mentioned it at some point in the time that Kirtok had been there, but more than likely he wasn't paying enough attention to what she was saying.

"I'll have to ask the Lampsons if they will bring Nia along with them," Elsa continued, as if unawares of Kirtok's reverie. "And to tell the Harkers to bring some pies along with them. Mrs. Harker is always baking, so I'm sure it'll be no trouble."

Kirtok sipped at his drink, and occasionally nodded as Elsa went about preparing for a get together that he wasn't all that interested in. He was thinking more about how to break the news of his quitting the guild to Conor more so than whatever preparations Elsa wanted to make.

He's not going to be happy, Kirtok thought, then shrugged. Well, I've been gone so long they probably forgot about me anyways.