Chapter Two: The Old Man.

It didn't take long for things to get back to "normal" our first night home, as we sat around the dinner table, enjoying the beef stew mother had spent all afternoon preparing, I had been telling a story of one of Kampi, Ajax, Cypress and mine adventures when father chimed in. "Speaking of the Claymore, where is I" he practically glared at me. My father might not be much for fighting or violence, but he cares deeply for family, and the claymore had been a family heirloom. Maisie and I shared a quick glance. Swallowing my mouth full of stew I decided to leave out the part of my death by changing the story, but I also seized this as an opportunity to tell them about the Albannach cause.



"I lent it to a friend, as a promise." My father put his spoon down and focused all his attention on me "you have away a family heirloom as a promise? It had better of been a good promise" me and Maisie exchanged glances again but she continued to eat her soup in silence.

"I met a man over there. A man named Connor MacNessa. He is Caledonian, and laird to his clan, which was stolen from him by hi..."

"I am aware of the MacNessa story. Most clans are" my father interrupted.

"I have him the sword as a promise to come back and help him raise an army to take back his clan some day."

My father sighed heavily. "More fighting. Another clan war, and this time, it isn't even your clan. Why must you always race off to battle?" The disappointment in his voice was very clear. Where was Ajax or Kampi when I needed them? They were much better at words than I. I didn't want to get into an argument with my father on my first night back. I rose from the table and thanked my mother for the delicious food and made to leave the room. "We are not running a hostel, if you are staying here, you will be expected to work. You can help me on the farm tomorrow" my father added as I left the room.
I did not stay in the house. Unfortunately, there was not enough room. All three sisters still lived at home and my room had been changed into a small work space for my mother, who sowed and weaved baskets to bring in a few extra coin. Instead, I, along with all six of the dogs, stayed in the small cottage down by the small lake we had on the property. It was dusty and had not been looked after much. We never did use it. But it was dry, and once I got a fire going, it would be warm too.

That night I had a haunting dream..

I stood in a field. The grass was wet, I could feel it soaking through my boots and a thick fog hung all around. My only company was the sound of crows, which littered the Feild, feasting on many corpses. My hands were blood soaked, clutched tight between my fingers was my sword. At my feat lay the pale lifeless bodies of those I called friend. Kampi, Cypress, and Ajax all looked up at me with grey lifeless eye's. Fear gripped my chest, a fear I had never before felt. A Raven flew over my head and into the fog, I watched as it faded from view. Just as soon as it faded, the figure of a woman appeared from the fog. Slowly she walked across the field, her feet were bare and she was hardly dressed for the weather. She moved gracefully and with ease, as if she did not need to navigate the maze of corpses at her feet.



I do not know why I found this dreaming so haunting, but I had been having many like them since I passed through the Vail. I know my goddess when I see her, despite what form she might be in. I pride myself on knowing when she is there and that she is proud of me. But since she had to return me to the realm of the living, I have felt a distance between to the two of us. Not from my side, if anything, having been with her on the otherwise has strengthened my belief in her. The distance I feel is from her. Have I angered her? Is she trying to tell me something? What am I not seeing? A knock on the cottage door woke me from the dream. It was always the same. Just before she could reach me I would wake. I heaved a heavy sigh and wrapped my hand tightly around the pendant I wore around my neck. The three intertwined Ravens carved into it. The feeling of it brought me comfort. 



My father came into the cottage, the dogs pushing past him for the chance to run around the farm. "You ready to get your hands dirty?" He asked. "You ken I am!" I retorted as I stood and stretched. "Mom fixed you breakfast, get dressed and go eat. You will need to strength. You get to tend to the old man" my father smiled and left the cottage. My shoulders slumped and I sighed in frustration. Of course he would start me off with the old man.

Breakfast was delicious, oatmeal and eggs with a nice warm cup of proper Caledonian tea. How I had missed it. After a quick morning pipe in the garden, I set out through the front door. "Don't work to hard, your sisters are do home this afternoon." I walked almost half the length of the farm, and anyone who has seen my land knows, that is a lot of walking. I didn't need to ask father. I knew where the old man would be. Sure enough, there he was, under his favorite tree as always, laying in the grass and chewing away.

I walked up to the old man and gave him a sturdy Pat on the side. Sitting down I lauded against his bulk and relaxed, stretching out under the tree with him. This old bull had been on this farm his intire life. Was born here and would probably die here too. At one point he had been one of our breeding bulls. The best according to my father. The cattle who had been gathered by the old man, my dad claims were the best we had ever produced. But that was years ago and he was far to old for breeding. My dad says it was because of the such great cattle he gave us that he kept the old man around instead of having him butchered for meat. I don't know how true that was but I didn't care. Growing up this old cow had been my best friend. Even now I would proudly claim so. Last yule I had spent much of my time with the old man. Mostly because I was helping rebuild his barn, but still, I can remember countless summer afternoons spent sleeping under this very tree, resting against his bulk and just enjoying the day. I'd smoke my pipe and he would chew on grass.
"Alright old man, it's time to get moving." I jumped to me feet and dusted off my hands. I knew he wouldn't, but I waited to see if he would get up on his own. Never before have I ever met anyone or anything more stubborn than the old man. The first snow fall was always are sign that it was time to retire the cows to their barns for the winter. Sure we would let them out to roam, but after a long spring and summer of free grazing, the cows tend to forget that barns are a thing and when it comes time to use them again, they just don't want to. The weather gets to harsh here in Caledonia to let them roam free in the winter. Letting out a sigh I walked around to his backside and gave it a good hard slap. The old man looked over his shoulder at me and chewed his grass uncaring. "You won't make this easy for me will you?" He turned away from me. I swear, sometimes I think he is mocking me.
I walked back around him and gripped both of his large horns and pulled as hard as I could. His head lulled forward slightly but still the old man didn't move. I could sunder the ground and shatter shield walls with a single swing of a hammer, but getting the old man to move, forget it. 

I walked around to the other side and braced myself against him and pushed. Again nothing. I have taken on orcs, goblins, demons, abyssal Lord's, and even taken down two stone giants with only my sgian-dubh, all of that was nothing compared to getting this old cow onto his feet. "Cut me a break will ya!" I gave the cow a frustrated kick, which didn't seem to phase him in the slightest. He just laid there, chewing away on a mouthful of grass. "I am glad no one is here to see this" I muttered, my mind drifting back to the people of Dagger deep. "I should send you to fight our wars" I joked as I sat back down and leaned against him again. I pulled my pipe from one of my pouches and filled it.

I do not own any of these photos. All and full credit to the owners.