Mathias crossed the line of small, grey stones and stepped into the graveyard. The morning breeze was slightly cold against his skin, especially his bare feet. He hadn't bothered finding his shoes in the morning. He thought there was something vaguely poetic about it, too - standing there in the graveyard, touching the soil that his ancestors were buried in.
Well, most of them.
He knew he had other ancestors whose bodies were burned or hidden in the hills long before his time. They had served different gods that Mathias had often wished he had known about, but the dead could not sing the old songs and they could not tell him the old stories. Someone else had done that much more recently, and that person's words had echoed in Mathias' head when he wondered what he wanted done with his own corpse. But he didn't want to think of that at the moment.
He thought about a lot of other things, though, and the women who saw him walk through the village remarked to each other that he looked burdened, yet determined. He was headed towards a small house on the edge of town.
A month ago, the nearby field was bare, the rooms were empty and the owner was dead (buried at the graveyard, worms eating him and body turning to earth). Now a new owner had come, life had returned to the house, and when Mathias stepped inside he saw a woman from the next town over leave with her child. He breathed in the smell of herbs and closed his eyes. He was only somewhat aware of the smile on his face, and he thought that it was fitting that it was someone stoic and quiet, someone who saved lives that gave him that strange, fluttering feeling throughout his entire body.
They had been talking more and more.
Mathias had a feeling that his life was taking a turn for the better. He had been feeling better recently, as if something had left his body alongside the blood and bile: something itchy and hot that had constricted his lungs. He could breathe freely again.
Now it was just a matter of courage, and for once not the liquid kind.
"'s there anything?" Berwald asked, his voice coming from deep within the house's shadows.
"I," Mathias said, "I'd like to talk. Can you meet me in a moment? By the river to the north would be the perfect place. I promise I'll bring something to drink and get you drunk for your trouble afterwards."
Before Berwald could answer, Mathias had darted away again. It wasn't long before he rounded a corner and saw own home. It was small (way too small to sustain both him and his mother for very long, Mathias knew - sooner or later he would have to leave the village. Maybe he would work at some other man's farm, maybe in the city - and if all else failed, there would always be wars and a need for those who would fight them). Out of the corner of his eye, Mathias saw the path that led down to the river. A chill ran down his spine, a mix of excitement and dread. He entered the house and found his mother waiting by the heath.