Kale had what he would describe as a nearly idyllic childhood. Growing up in the forest southeast of Thorns, in a large cabin built by his father, he quickly came to love the forest every bit as much as his parents. He learned to move through the dense, lush forest as quickly as a wolf might, and as stealthily as a snake. His father mentioned with pride that he had the natural skills of a woodsman, and both his parents delighted in taking him with them on their journeys into the living, breathing forest to gather food.
His parents showed him the small plant for which he was named; a hardy plant that was good for many things, and doesn't cause harm to the place in which it grows. He was aptly named, for he learned very quickly to revere the delicate balance of the forest, taking only what was needed. His father taught him that when he kills an animal, to thank the spirit of the animal for its generosity in giving it's life for them. In return for that gift, his father and mother used every part of the animal possible, to ensure such a gift was never squandered.
He didn't really miss having other children around to play with when he was young, as the animals of the forest to him were his playmates. He remembered one fateful conversation he had with his father one day when they found that the alpha of a wolf pack was slain by a caribou he was attempting to bring down. The pack's mournful howls filled the night air, waking all of them up.
His father gently touched his wife, startled by the noise, and kissed her to reassure her. Making no noise, he looked at Kale, and then began getting dressed as quickly and quietly as possible. Kale got the message, and got dressed as fast as he could, making no noise. He followed his father out of the cabin, rolling his weight on his feet as he stepped so as to make as little noise as possible, as his father had taught him. The two of them moved to through the dense growth toward the howls, and saw the pack slowly pacing and howling around their fallen leader. His father gently touched Kale on his shoulder, and Kale understood: that pack had been good to them, often driving elk and other good game animals close to the cabin where they lived, enabling them to get at least one of their own very easily. Kale's parents had returned the favor by driving a herd of elk toward the wolf pack with wild yells and loud noise, enabling the pack to bring down a few animals for their own.
The two of them silently moved away from the scene, and back to the cabin, walking slowly. To Kale, the death wasn't a mystery, as it would have been to most children his age, but it still made tears run down his face. It felt as if he'd lost a friend, even if it was a friend that he knew only from afar. His father walked with his arm around his son, understanding his feeling. He felt the same way.
The next few years were good to them. Kale learned more about moving through the forest in which he lived, the plains to the North, and even going with his father to Thorns to trade elk skins for the few items that they could not make themselves, such as lanterns and knives. He didn't feel excluded or apart from the children of the town; indeed, he joined them in their games while his father bartered patiently for the items he and his family needed. Kale had learned quickly that the agility he used on a daily basis in the forest he called home enabled him to outpace most of the children, but neither he or they minded. When his father was done, he'd come find Kale, and they'd go home together.
Then the great sickness came. The Great Contagion, as it came to be known. Kale remembered it indelibly, for it happened one month before his 17th birthday. It swept silently and cruelly through the forest in which he lived, violating and slaying whatever it touched. It claimed many of the animals in the forest, and it claimed his mother as well. It marked her with open sores and a bloody cough, and it withered her swiftly. His father was heartbroken by tended his wife constantly; leaving Kale to collect the herbs and food they needed while he lovingly tended his wife. She lasted three weeks before the Contagion claimed her as well. He was in the cabin, watching as she gave a great, shuddering sigh, and then lay still, the pain of her passing frozen in her eyes.
His father spoke up, in his usual quiet voice. "Kale, please go get more Adranis root from beneath the Elm trees, and bring it back."
Kale knew why his father had asked him. The Elm trees were a good three miles away, and would get him out of the cabin while his father grieved the passing of the woman he loved. As he left the cabin, he could hear the great, shuddering cries from his father. His own vision was watery and blurred; he cried himself as he raced to get the roots his father had asked for.
He returned in the space of a candlemark with a good selection of the roots his father asked for. His father's eyes were red from grief, but he took the roots from his son gently, and began mixing the roots with several other herbs to form a sweet-smelling paste, which he began carefully rubbing into his dead wife's skin. Kale watched his father perform his task, tears still running down his face. Despite his grief, he looked askance at his father for doing this: the thick, viscous mixture being unfamiliar to him. Through his tears, his father explained what he was doing, and his father's words were burned into his mind for the rest of his days.
"This mixture, called the Tears for the Fallen, is placed on the body of the person you love who leaves you. The act of placing the Tears on their skin shows their spirit you care about them and love them, and will prevent them giving into grief after they pass on. The smell also alerts the animals that body is not for them to eat, but it something to be claimed only by the Earth itself."
He was finishing rubbing the mixture slowly onto his wife's now lifeless body as he was speaking. Kale could tell by the slow, gentle, and loving way his father did so that he truly did love his mother, very much. His father's tears fell onto her body as he worked, and he mixed his tears in with the mixture. Kale understood why the mixture got its name, now.
He helped his father move his mother's body outside, and helped his father construct the pyre on which she would be returned to the world. As they worked, his father intoned various blessings at each part.
He finished building the small wooden pyre.
"Wood from the World, I ask for your help in helping Alia to the place that brings her the most peace."
He slowly poured a bowl of water over her body.
"Water from the oceans and rivers, I ask for your help in carrying Alia where she would reach the most peace."
He gently blew the sweet-smelling ash from incense he'd burned in a bowl over her body.
"Wind from my body and the world, I ask for your help in gently pushing Alia where she would find the most peace."
He scattered iron filings over her body from another bowl.
"Iron from the Earth's body, I ask you to help Alia navigate to the place where she would find the most peace."
He used a flint and tinder to light the pyre, and stepped back, tears filling his eyes as he finished the final part of the ritual.
"Fire from the energies of the world, give her the energy to reach her peaceful resting place."
His prayer complete to the five elements, he stood by his son, watching through their tears as the pyre was consumed by fire.
He and his father both heard wolves howling out of sight, the same howl he'd heard earlier in his life when their alpha died. His father put an arm over Kale's shoulders. "They know too, and they mourn with us."
Kale broke down completely, sobbing. Yet through his grief at the Contagion which took his mother away, he was comforted in a small way that the wolves returned the sentiment that he and his father had given them when they mourned their alpha's passing. Everything moves in circles, he realized through his keening.
The next day, his father told him that his real lessons would begin today. His father's face was still red-eyed, his mouth a grim line.
His father taught him many things, and kept pushing at Kale to succeed. Kale was somewhat surprised by this: not by his father wishing him to learn what he knew, but the underlying urgency with which he taught Kale. He saw a few months later that his father was passing along all his knowledge as quickly as time would allow, and realized why: his father was preparing to join his wife.
Kale was filled with sorrow at this, but didn't mention this to his father. He suspected that his father already knew anyway.
Over the next seven years, his father told him of the time he'd spent as a soldier, and taught Kale the art of swordsmanship, including lessons with his favorite weapon: the huge two-handed sword he'd used most. His father explained his reasoning: "When using a sword and shield, you tend to get lost in move, and countermove of a fight. Knowing you have no shield and must rely on your own agility forces you to learn the ways of ending a fight as fast and decisively as possible."
Kale saw the wisdom in this, and learned all he could. His father taught him the basics of using all martial weapons, but he felt as his father did: the large and heavy two-handed sword was his favorite. He learned how to block and parry many strikes at once with it, when to parry, when to dodge, and when and how to counter effectively. The way he was taught was focused on taking his opponent's life as fast as possible, with efficiency of movement. Kale was a little scared of this knowledge, since it seemed a bit heartless, until his father explained his reasoning: "If someone wants to take your life, and cannot be dissuaded, the time for talking is over. This will hopefully be rare for you, but if you must fight for your life, you must learn how your opponent fights, and then use this knowledge against him as efficiently as possible. The longer the fight, the more chances your opponent has of taking your life, rather than you taking his."
Many of the movements were viciously efficient, especially one where you dodge an opponent's downward chop moving as little as possible, drop your sword on the handle of their weapon, and "ride" the sword up through the neck. He hoped he'd never have to do this, but he was thankful that he knew how.
He'd used the bow, being a good archer from the time he was little, but learned also how to use the bow and arrow as a weapon of war, learning to be accurate and swift, following in the philosophy of efficiency his father had taught him from his experience.
In the last two years, he saw his father growing thinner, and slower. His father was no old man, or rather shouldn't be. Kale knew from his intuition that his father was starting to give in to the grief of his wife passing, and would be joining her soon.
In the latter two years of seven, he learned the many uses of herbs he didn't learn about as a child. He learned about the history his father had learned of the world; the political intrigue that surrounded those in power, and through his father wanted no part of it, living as and where he did, he learned all he could about it. Kale learned about how those touched and blessed by the Unconquered Sun, the Solars ruled this world, and the story that the Children of Dragons, the Dragon-blooded, spread about their former rulers: how they were corrupt, hedonistic, cruel and decadent. His father suspected that there was treachery afoot here, but he'd never been close enough to those involved to know more.
On the same day seven years after his mother had finally fallen to the Great Contagion, his father died in his sleep. Kale cried at his side, but performed the same ceremony for his father that had been performed for his mother seven years ago.
After he had spoken the blessings, and as he was watching the pyre through watery eyes, he heard the wolves howling once again.