AN: I just finished rereading the series again, and so the call for answers tugged at me again and I felt completed to write more. Fitting since the fic is now in the correct tag, it appearing since I wrote that first chapter so long ago. It's like 1:40am here and I finished the book and then spent about forty minutes typing this out. I haven't read it over properly because I am trash and tired and want to post it but I think it's mostly okay. I hope you enjoy and I hope I capture the feel of the series for you dear reader.
Edit: Wow just looked at the word count. From a word count of nearly 300 to over a thousand. I may have had a wee bit more to say this time around
The travellers arrived at the village as the rest of Rin were settling back into the chaos that had been left of their once peaceful home. The winter had been harsh on the people and their village, and yet the Travellers could see that the people of Rin, though thoroughly shaken, were regaining their strength and courage as the village itself shook off the snow that had haunted it. Many things had happened to the land through the course of their history here, and many more things during the recent years. Young Rowan, the town's oddity turned hero had certainly earned his place among the legends. Ogden watched as a small group of people approached the travellers. He wondered what story Rowan would have to tell them this time.
The people of Rin and their Traveller friends settled around the fire. No one except the four souls who had ventured towards the mountain in pursuit of the Bukshah knew for sure what happened up on that mountain, they had not even told their own people as they drifted back home.
Sensing the arrival of the Travellers Rowan had decided the story could wait. Zeel could aid the story but as a Traveller it was not quite her story to tell, Shaaran was far too timid, and Norris although brave had always lacked the creative flair held within the gentler people of Rin. No, Rowan knew that he would be the one to tell this tale. He preferred to tell it once, and preferred to put it off. He had taken a moment to be amused at his trivial fears, ever present despite all he had been through. As much as Sheba taunted him, he could not believe that he would ever have his head swollen by the importance of his acts to protect Rin. Not while he continued to be afraid of her and of other people. Yes, he had been through much but he was still very much himself.
Rather than tell the whole story Rowan and his companions told a brief tale of the bones they held, promising the full tale when the moment was right. They mentioned that the bones were very important and they would wait the few days it would take for all of Rin to be home, for the Travellers to arrive to welcome their third forerunner back into their fold, and for their story to be told properly. It seemed to Shaaran that although they would be buried soon enough, these lost souls who had so resembled their own party in Rowan's dreams deserved to be in the fresh air after being buried for so long under the weight of the mountain and the weight of their own fears for their people, whose fate the people of Rin would soon know.
Rowan upon making the decision to hold on the story had let his mind elsewhere. He let his feet pull him towards Sheba's hut. With weary eyes and weary soul he could not find it in himself to completely dread her, but he was not so weary that he didn't notice the slip daisies forming on the hills, knowing that spring had been long overdue. Of course it would be these flowers, the golden armour of the hills, the representation of the friendships of the people of this land, and the cause of his hayfever, that grew the moment the unnatural cold retreated to the safety of the mountain's cold peak. His feet slowed as he reached her door and he had to chide himself in order to walk closer. He should not be so afraid of her, and yet old habits die hard with old fears being much more robust. Sheba, of course, barked at him to enter before he could work up his courage to do so. It was like old times as if nothing had happened as if neither of them had utterly feared for the future of the land. The medal was exchanged and for a moment Rowan looked at Sheba, understanding her, knowing her, before his childhood nervousness set back in, and yet he couldn't help notice that although he was nervous he no longer felt fear. It seemed as though some things had changed, and Sheba noticed too. Although she barked her usual words at him, causing him to retreat, her eyes contained a softer look to them.
Rowan although surrounded by people he knew well and whom all respected him to some degree still felt nervous. To be more accurate, because he was surrounded by these people, some of whom he trusted and loved dearly and others who had grown accustomed to him due to his deeds, he was nervous. He still didn't like to be the centre of attention but for the sake of his people and the Travellers he would tell the story of how intertwined their peoples were. He would confirm Ogden's suspicions and make the circle whole again. The bones of those who had come before him demanded this story and he was their storyteller for the evening.
Looking at the crowd before him and feeling the still of the air caused by such anticipation, he swallowed down his nervousness. For the sake of Bron, of Fliss and of Evan the keeper of the Bukshah, for these three who never knew what happened to their people and spent so long buried beneath such ancient horror, Rowan would be like his mother, like his sister, brave.
And so drawing himself tall in the face of all the eyes watching him, Rowan began to speak. He first told the tale of his own folly, of the Bukshah's needs to go to the mountain and of the four souls that followed them, aiding them in their goal. As the weight of the knowledge of the mountain settled upon the people of Rin and the Travellers, Rowan started his second story. The story that began many years before anyone knew, the one that led them around to the events of the past few days. He told the people present of the past and how it was not a simple line of old friends lost and new friends discovered, but rather of how it was a circle of friends being lost and then returning home again. Of people to be reunited with each other, and of old bones to be reunited with the land they belonged to.
He told the story as he never would again, with strong, unwavering voice weaving the tale in a way that (as much as it would be improved upon by Ogden) was spellbinding in the moment. None could doubt the tale when the beautiful and sad silks were revealed to them. There was no way to do so, only a sense of wonder could find its way in. The people of Rin were truly home in a way they had never expected.
