In no time it seemed, the traveling youths had made their way down the trail from the High Pastures back to Ramhorn Ridge. Smoke rose from chimneys in each of the scattered farmhouses, bearing the smell of the various meals being prepared to the odd group of youths and sheep that made their way downhill.

A search of the tents yielded several threadbare blankets, some assorted cooking equipment (also in disrepair), and a single rather smallish chest. The chest was only 3 feet long, and two feet wide, an not even a foot high. It was made of some sort of silvery metal, engraved and inlaid in flowing patterns on all six sides. There was a latch that held it closed, but no lock.

Risos looked up, as the box was brought out of the tent, and tilted his head curiously. "That's what all the fussin' and feudin' was over? It dont seem like much, for their former Master to chase 'em halfway down the Kal'Lorryn."

The sun shone down from amidst a scattering of clouds, giving the town of Lanburg a cheery feel. It was still morning but late enough that the dew had long since dried and the townsfolk were well into their daily errands and rituals. Tannis Merican strolled leisurely down the lane, smiling faintly as he watched the people of Lanburg—his people—go about their lives.

The town was not large, though in truth, other than in stories and tales, Tannis only had Ghal and a few outlying hamlets with which to compare. Still, there was a homey feel to it that warmed the heart. It was nice to walk the streets and realize that one knew nearly everyone, in name if not overly well.

He never looked forward to the Harvest Festival. Not even a little. It wasn't simply his aversion to physical sports, no real art or craft or knack with the livestock; he was never the competitive sort, so these contests never inspired him. He hadn't his older brothers' strength or dexterity, or his younger brother's creativity, or even his sister's dashing looks or charm. And he had long since accepted his father's disapproval for it, as well. Despite this gnawing feeling of inadequacy, however, it was rather, above all else, yet another affirmation that he was alone that festered this dislike of the annual event.

That evening the Plowman's Rest Inn was packed to the rafters. Almost everyone in town had gathered there to hear of the goings on in the world outside of the Four Rivers. The Polarchs (the proprietors) were busily moving back and forth to the kitchen and between the tables, serving up the evenings meal. The smell of the mutton stew and baked apples filled the place, and everywhere there was the incomprehensible murmur of dozens of conversations going on concurrently.

Background Story

Kinz Onomang is the Teamster of Lanburg, ferrying loads of excess crops and wool to the markets of Okarop. This line of work has chiseled him into a hard man, stern and sensible. He married a young and beautiful bride, Gwendolyn, the tailor’s daughter of Lanburg, and together they had five children. His work takes him from the home for weeks at a time, while Gwendolyn supplements his wages as a laundress while she cares for their family.