A/N: This will be a short interlude. The story is taking shape itself, since I didn't even intend (when I made up a story line in my mind) to let this little chapter happen! Like I said in a review I did yesterday, characters tend to go the opposite way than you would like then to go (did that make sense??). Read on and let me know what you think!

These two people are mine by the way.

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10.

The sun was sinking below the horizon, giving the clear sky an orange tinge. Lights were lit in the houses and a mother could be heard yelling for her children to come inside. After that, all was quiet. So was the small farm with the pottery...quiet. It's two inhabitants sat at the kitchen table eating some potatoes and vegetables. This would be the third night of quietness in the house, since the only one who would whistle a tune sometimes was missing.

The inhale of a breath, indicating he wanted to say something, turned into a sigh as Brendil poked in his food. His wife cast him a glance that lay between annoyance and sadness. She took a bite herself, but didn't taste it as she saw the empty chair again on the other side of the table.

She would not admit it, but she missed the boy. Not because he did lots of work around the house, but...well...just because...

She swiftly stood up and put her plate in the sink. Looking through the small window above the sink she tried to make some sense as to why she missed Thomas. He was the reason her daughter had died. If he hadn't been conceived, Lilian would still be alive. If he hadn't looked so much like his damned father, she wouldn't be reminded of the one that had taken their daughter away to her death.

Her husband, still seated at the table, had similar thoughts. He also felt guilt, though he would not admit it either. Not in words...a remark here or a sad gaze towards the east were enough for the couple, who were now 43 years married, to understand each other.

The boy could be injured or dead already. They may have bitter feelings about him, but both husband and wife were of the same opinion: the boy didn't deserve to die in the wild alone...just like his mother had.

Unable to sit there idly doing nothing, Brendil stood up and joined his wife at the sink. They looked each other in the eye and some silence exchange went on. Finally, Meagan gave one nod. She then started gathering some supplies and put them all in a waterproof bag.

Brendil walked to the bedroom and came back with a long in leather wrapped package. He unfolded it and laid his eyes on a sword, his sword. The edges were still sharp after a few years in storage. The edges would stay sharp even after he and his house had long since turned to dust. There were writings on it, elvish writings. A gift from an elf who had been a friend 20 years ago. He put the included belt around his waist and sheathed the sword.

His wife was now packing some herbs that could be used for injuries. Meagan then pulled a cloak from a cabinet in the corner, draped it around her husband's shoulders and handed him the bag. He looked at her and embraced her. She held him tightly and released him just for a kiss.

Brendil opened the door and stepped into the darkness. He didn't look back as he headed east to find their grandson.

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A/N: review please.