In the countryside somewhere between Lith Harbour and Henseys, a weather worn traveler followed the dusty road toward an old farmhouse standing tall away in a field of swaying long grass. The sun beat fiercely hot upon him and baked the world of almost unearthly green around him until the fragrance of dust, grass, flowers and all manner of plants were heated into almost overwhelming pungency. In the distance, the wheat and vegetable fields, and the old forests bordering the area were blurred in the powerful noon light.
Sighing with weariness, the traveler stopped walking and considered the distance that was left to the farmhouse. As he made the decision to rest, with another sigh of relieved contentment, he took a step off the path and plopped down in the grass, throwing off the bulky haversack that had been on his back all day. Insects droned in his hears and he tried and missed to catch a grass hopper that leaped across his lap. Pulling off the loose hood he wore, the boy ruffled his sandy-brown mop of hair and lay back in the grass, feeling the cooler soil.
It was quite a few moments before the boy heard a swishing in the grass behind him. He sat up quickly and looked around. A strange man in old, tattered traveling robes, carrying a staff, was approaching him. He was an old man, though this was difficult to determine because the old face, still quite clear, was overpowered by the grey eyes that almost radiated with intensity. The boy was curious; wondering what he wanted.
"Hello!" the old man greeted him cheerfully.
"Hello, sir," the boy replied appropriately.
" You look very hot and tired," the man nodded with a shrewd expression, even though it wasn't hard to see that the boy was tired. "What brings you here on a hot day like today?"
"I left home to come and work at the farm here," the boy said and chatted on openly, still sitting in the grass. " I used to live on Maple Island. I don't really know much about the people here, though. But the master here was friends with my father a long time ago."
"I see, I see," the old man replied. "And why did you need to come and work so far from home, if I may ask?"
"Oh," the boy began to study a grasshopper beside him as he spoke, "I have a big family and they need the money. My pa's getting to old to work. I'm grown now, so I decided to come here and help out. Its my responsibility."
"That's very noble of you," the man nodded.
"And I always wanted to come to Victoria Island. It always sounded like a big, exciting place. Someday I might get to explore it. I want to just be a wanderer, someday."
"What's your name, boy?"
"I'm Terrin, sir."
The old man pulled something from a pocket in his robe. "You look very dry. Drink this," he said, handing the boy a glass vial filled with a blue liquid. Terrin took it and inspected it with wide- eyed fascination. What a strange thing it looked to drink.
"It's alright, boy, it will cool you from the inside out."
Not wanting to seem rude, the boy slowly opened the vial and lifted it to his lips. It was thick and rich, like milk, but sweet; cool, but not cold, and he felt the coolness spreading through his body as the liquid ran down his throat and into his stomach. As he lowered the vial, Terrin was no longer in any discomfort from the smothering heat and humidity. He was strangely, fully, refreshed. He handed it the empty vial to the man in wonder.
The man nodded, looking pleased in an unsmiling way. "Your destiny, however, lies in strength and not magic." And with that, he turned and walked off through the grass.
Terrin did not know what his words ment, but he called out, "thank you," as he watched the old man leave.
"What are doing here," a rough voice demanded.
Terrin turned around. A young man, a few years older than him though quite taller, stood glaring at him questioningly. This man had a swarthy complexion and already his demeanour reminded him of an angry wolf.
Quickly rising, Terrin explained, "I'm headed to the farm here. I've come from Maple Island to work here, my name is-"
"Yeah, I know who you are," the young man snapped impatiently. "Come on."
Terrin hurried along to match his guides uncompromisingly rushed gait.
"Call me Dag," the young man murmured dutifully. He added, "You look like you're a kid or something."
Having heard this accusation in many conversations and caused by his innocent eyes and expression, and gentle, curious spirit, Terrin was prepared to apologise, "I'm 17. I'll work hard, don't worry."
"You'd better," Dag replied.