Sea as far as the eye saw and the boat rocked uncontrollably with the waves as if begging for mercy. The sailor would be begging for mercy too if the boat would also suddenly indulge him with a sudden leakage. Thankfully the boat, a stolen property, was at least in sailing condition.

The sailor's voyage had lasted nearly seven cycles now and the food had all either expired or been eaten, all that remained was rancid water and a bottle of miraculously preserved apple juice. If only a sea gull or a familiar fish would show up then the sailor would know he was coming home. Perhaps even the sight of a dragon would be welcome, even if that would bode ill for himself. Nevertheless, knowing would be better than idly awaiting death or salvation.

In one hand the sailor firmly held a bottle of apple juice, miraculously only a little bit off flavour, in the other hand he held up papers with notes he had written. The adventure of a life-time would be nearing its end and he could forget the last hundred or so cycles he had spent in a land of nightmares. His sanity was the one thing he no longer trusted. Then there it was, the irritating and demoralising squawk of a gluttonous sea gull, known only for their knack of stealing fish from the net. But that was a good sign for the first time in so long.

The sailor made his way out on deck and marvelled at the sight before him. There it stood, the grandest mountain range in the world as he knew it: the Sky Curtains. Even from this side, the sailor could identify the peaks and the landmarks that would be visible once he passed through the mountain - as he had done when he first left his home. At the tallest peak the sailor counted the steps of the Stairs the Sun Stands On, reflecting back on the uncovered sun behind him that lit up the ocean in enriching brilliance. Then came the down-side.

Starting from the root of the nose, the crawling sensation of bugs clawing carnivorously up the skull up behind the eyes, the sailor let out an uncontrolled sneeze, followed by a second one, and a third for good measure. For some reason he could not bear the excess light provided by an unshackled light source. The intensity was simply too much for his eyes to handle; and for reasons he simply could not comprehend, that light made him sneeze. But that would soon change as he neared the mountain.

Taking care to avoid shallows the sailor calculated the optimal course for the boat and took the helm: he drew a deep breath and called out in a commanding tone.

BLOW WINDS

And as ordered the winds pushed towards the mast and pushed the boat forward as fast as it could carry. Though he had only sailed these waters once before, he could vaguely remember how the safe route was shaped. Only a while longer and he would need to turn the boat ever so slightly starboard to avoid three shallows. After that he would turn the boat back on its original course and sail straight forward. Such was the memory of a farfarer as himself. Farfarer, a title bestowed upon those who seek lands of interest and sell the information to pioneers for precious sums of money.

Now the sailor could see the split in the mountain where he had exited so long ago. It was a dangerous path to take, as the slightest misdirection could topple the boat over, or rock it into the mountain wall, breaking the hull. But so long as he used the oars to carefully gauge the distance he would be fine, he thought. Slowly but surely he allowed the waves to carry him forward, and gave the boat a gentle nudge in the right direction whenever it steered off course. And with the last wave he was out of the tunnel and into the familiar waters of home. Now with the sun hidden behind the Sky Curtains, paradise had never looked so good in the mountain shadows of past noon. The sky was lit, but the sea was in shadows; no longer blinding him with over exposure. His eyes could finally see without impairment.

In the distance up the mountain wall a ferocious roar warned the sailor about a potential conflict. A dragon, who had taken a particular ill feeling to the intrusion, let it be known that it was not to be trifled with. There was no reason to delay, and so the sailor hastily slammed the oars into the waters to create a further distance. He could use his power to blow the sails, but he had no way of knowing if that would be perceived as more threatening. However the rowing appeared to be adequate proof for the dragon to believe the boat would not be a problem. Good for the sailor more than anyone else.

As distant ships drew their course to intercept trajectory, a feeling of home coming brewed in the sailor's stomach for the first time in, surely, many a season. Soon he would be greeted with sweet honey wine and seeded sour dough bread, topped with pork, cheese or seasonal fruit and berry preserves.

The sailor stood tall to allow the incoming ships to observe him. Though he had been gone for a long time, a farfarer never forgot the code and would not make his return tardy. However, something was simply not right about the incoming ships. While he could identify most of them as common warships, three corsairs and a flagship, there was now an additional ship he could not recall ever seeing - a new make. Possessing neither binoculars nor telescope, there was no way for him to discern a name or crew at this distance; but no one sailing the oceans would welcome a new sight when not requested.

Unorthodoxly, the flagship fired empty shots from its cannons, a custom otherwise reserved only for aristocratic weddings. Something was going on, and if the sailor appeared ignorant there could be dear costs to pay. But now the ships had almost closed in enough for shouts to reach the other party. Still maintaining the poise indicating his trade, the sailor awaited inquisition.

"The helmsman claimed good fortune was bestowed upon those welcoming a farfarer home," the nobly clad man said. "On this auspicious occasion, I greet you, farfarer. I request that you board my vessel."

There was no reason to decline the offer, for despite the unfamiliarity of the company, all was still very much in order with how farfarers were traditionally treated. Carefully, the sailor grabbed onto the rope ladder that had been lowered for him and dragged himself up. On the surface, the sailor looked calm and ready to tell stories about his journey; in his mind, however, he was spilling his guts over trying to figure out how he had managed to stumble upon an aristocratic wedding ceremony. There was an unjust penalty for ignorance, and usually even a farfarer would know in advance to expect these occasions. The sailor's unmistakably moon-marked, grey eyes set him apart from any of his false-kin; he was a child and that meant the use of questions were out of bounds.

"Tell me your name, farfarer, so that I may know you. You surely have quite the tale," the man said.

"Valkon, son of Dusell, farfarer born to the Commons District's far steppe; the Horse Acres," the sailor replied.

"Commoners have long names," the man laughed, barely hiding the mockery. "My name is Dal Vega. As my name suggests, I am of the Patriarchal Circle. You board the first interceptor class ship of its make." The man continued as he pointed to the deck: "You find it during its maiden voyage, and so timely you should arrive. I shall see this ship bring reckoning on many a pirate, smuggler and seed thief."

With a surname came rank and title, Valkon knew, and when you commandeered a ship it meant you had power. People in power were often best approached with a snake's tongue, sharp as a whip so as to impress, but soft as silk so as not to offend.

"You baptise your ship on a wedding day. Many stories imply misfortune will come after," Valkon joked. "Timely was my arrival, to be sure."

"To be sure."

The two shared a laughter and shook hands. Valkon was fortunate to pry as much information he already had, and that the wedding couple were on another ship would give him ample opportunity to learn more. Unfortunately, he would require further probing into Dal's mind. But a farfarer was not usually the type to press presumptions onto others.

"You will want to board the flagship. I will signal them to join us," Dal said.

"Eager to share my stories."

"To be sure."

Valkon quickly glanced over at the fleet that had gathered for the wedding. He counted the warships and their crew, now within eye-shot, and tried to draw out answers.

"Words implied a family of military background tied bonds with another," Valkon suggested, avoiding entirely to sound like he was asking for confirmation.

"True, but those words are not entirely honest."

"And dishonesty is the worst of sins," Valkon said.

Whatever that meant did at least confirm one family was military. If Valkon could only just learn the trade of the other family he would know enough to avert disaster.

"Words would presume a military family sought bonds with a family that shared an interest."

"True, the commoners like to riddle the events of the Patriarchal Circle."

"They are indirect; secrets are the best lies. Words also presumed a military family sought bonds to strengthen their naval front."

"So the commoners admire the craftsmanship that guards their waters."

To Valkon the answer had become clear.

"I have heard from a friend's friend about a military family tying bonds with a shipwright's family. The friend said a new vessel would tie the bond," Valkon claimed.

"So you guessed. The farfarers are more cunning than I thought. This is that vessel you speak of, and it shall track and hunt smugglers, pirates and seed thieves alike," Dal said. "I advice you inspect the ship as much as possible before we unite with the flagship. I hold no one's fate but my own here."

Valkon performed a speedy inspection on the ships exterior. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and sighed with relief from having successfully deduced the exact event he had sailed in on - and successfully avoided to resort to the question. Meanwhile, Dal took a particular interest in Valkon's boat; something Valkon had no intention to speak of.

"This boat, I have never seen a make of this kind. Tell me where you found it," Dal requested.

"It is a taken vessel, not one I would sail with. My own ship sank and the crew with it," Valkon explained.

"Tell me how it fares the waters."

"Unstable, slow and hard to control on open waters. It was not meant for the travels of a farfarer."

"Tell me, then, where it came from."

Valkon deliberated on that thought. He did not want to believe it himself, but he had been beyond the Sky Curtain, said to only be inhabited by dragons, pirates in hiding and dreadful sea monsters. Even a farfarer would think twice before going out there.

"It is a south-eastern make, from the Hidex province. I did not commandeer it from harbour. I found it at sea," Valkon lied.

"I believe you. The men beyond the veil know nothing of the art of building ships. But tell me why the boat has a horse hut. I see this boat is too small to hold one."

This was not good. Dal had begun to pry into Valkon's travels, something he had planned to forget all about for fear of people deeming him insane. Valkon would surely be locked up in a madhouse if it was known he had only just returned from a land ruled by small horses, horses who built houses, built ships and lived lives akin the children - Valkon's people.

"Valkon, son of Dusell, has come back from a journey past the Sky Curtain. I could see that with my telescope. Tell me... what you found there," Dal demanded.

FORGET YOU SAW ME

Valkon hurried back to his boat while Dal was standing there completely stupefied. Nothing good would come from this conversation. With haste Valkon rowed the boat to a safe distance. He took a deep breath and howled:

BLOW WINDS!

The sail caught wind and the boat was once again being pushed as fast as the wind could manage, faster than before. Land was all Valkon wanted now, the faster the better. He knew full well that his escape would only be a temporary solution. The boat was uniquely designed and so no one could mistake it. He would have to find some way of ridding himself of it. But then suddenly an opportunity arose: another boat, bound for the opposite direction, came into view. The other sailor was the first one to speak.

"Farfarer, I have incurred the dragons' wrath. Tell me where I might escape their eyes."

The other sailor was a masked type, sharing the boat with a horse. Valkon took to counting his blessings and cunningly made an offer.

"I have seen lands where you will find safe harbour. Trade me your boat and I will tell you where to sail."

The sailor did not even think before answering.

"The boat is yours, any personal effects and the horse are not negotiable."

"The boat is all I ask - mine is more suited for a horse, and so you will have more use of it," Valkon said.

"I take your offer," the other sailor said and threw over a hooked rope.

After binding the two boats together, the trick was to move the horse from one boat to the other. A sailor would have picked up these techniques over time, but a horse rarely learn these things. Clumsily the other sailor shoved the poor horse onto Valkon's boat and began to collect his belongings.

"You're not the caring kind," Valkon remarked.

The sailor paused and gave Valkon a vindictive glare.

"The sun will soon descend behind the Sky Curtain, after that the dragons can observe the waters. My horse is too important to be let had by dragons," the sailor said. "I did not injure her."

"So you say, but she's not standing."

The sailor drew a knife from a scabbard hanging over his chest. Valkon took a cautious step back, but the sailor instead started cutting ropes binding packages.

"She was never intended to be brought to sea - you will have observed her lying down before we met."

"That's your own horse, so you could be a horse master," Valkon said.

The sailor stood up again holding a wrapped cloth. He aggressively threw it over to Valkon and held his arms out.

"I am what you see," He said.

Valkon only now cared to observe the details of his trade partner. Before him stood a man wearing a long chain mail, a breast plate, partial metal leggings and a scaled, wide-brimmed helm. Over that he was adorned with furs, leathers, bones and exotic feathers. He possessed many blades of various sizes. His gauntlets were mismatched, the right hand being a leather-wrapped, decorated and studded cestus, the left hand was layer-plated, covering palm and back, but was also the only gauntlet with naked fingers, for no immediately apparent reasons. His face was hidden in the shadows of a small cranium and mandible, likely belonging to a man-sized reptile, attached to the wide-brimmed helm he wore on his head. Clearly the sailor was more a walking trophy stand and armoury than anything else, as pieces of scale and fur and feathers adorned his person; but that also answered Valkon's curiosity.

"You're a loather," Valkon said.

"As you see me," The loather replied.

"A loather bears the pride and legacy of the Culling Grounds and us childrens' history. You have slain a dragon. That is why you must flee."

"False. I would have stayed. The Proudclad exiled me to ensure that horse is kept safe," the loather explained as he threw over another wrapping.

"You will return."

"True, at the dawn of the next season." The loather picked up a small chest and slowly handed it over to Valkon before continuing. "I do not recognise your face. You are a farfarer past the curfew."

Valkon thought a moment before answering. In truth he was not sure how long he had been gone. Beyond the Sky Curtain the cycles were very much different, making it hard to count them. However, even a loather would have no trouble keeping check on the farfarers leaving and returning to port. Surely, then, the loather must have been right about him.

"True. But I have been otherwise occupied," Valkon replied.

"House arrest awaits you regardless, farfarer. You have a home, I presume."

"If it stands after all this time, I am certain it is still there."

"Quickly adapt to dry land. I hear farfarers lose their affinity for it. And shave off your beard, it is quite unattractive, you will find," The loather said with a sneer, throwing the last bag on his boat over to Valkon.

The loather now climbed aboard Valkon's boat and inspected the hut.

"For a horse to stand in," Valkon explained.

"Laying down in. This is for a foal, or a very small horse."

"You know this how I wonder?" Valkon said, letting a question slip his lip.

The loather stepped away from the hut and pointed, commanding the horse to enter. The horse did so cautiously, taking each step with long intervals, like a foal learning to balance anew. Soon the two would part ways, so it made sense for Valkon to learn about the events he had missed while he was gone. Having not been caught asking a question, Valkon tried tested the waters further.

"You would be familiar with the recent ongoings in Heaven Over The Azure?" Valkon asked.

The loather thought for a moment before answering. It was unusual for a loather to have to think before speaking. Such a thing came to them more naturally than breathing. So there must have been a lot to remember. Or he was baffled after having registered a question.

"The Patriarchal Circle passed a petition for a new petty chieftain. Of this you are surely aware," the loather said.

"False, this I was not aware of."

"That means you have been away for at least two seasons."

Two seasons totalled around two hundred cycles, or two hundred sun-rises. In Heaven Over The Azure, that meant a harvest.

"Two seasons, you jest."

"You will be aware that the dragons have turned the Town Hall into a roost."

"This I was not aware of, either."

"Then you have been away for at least three seasons. No longer are you past curfew, you should be considered dead by now."

"Three seasons is not possible."

"The Troll Woods are now threatened by a growing number of aggressive unicorns," the loather said without making the presumption.

Valkon wanted to pretend to be aware of this fact, but he could not help but shake his head.

"Five seasons," The loather said and took a deep breath. "Unicorns turned aggressive in the Troll Woods, an increasing number of mares are impregnated without studs, wildlife is dwindling, the dragons have overtaken the Town Hall, more people are desecrating the graves of Totemheim, the Culling Grounds are ravaged by disease." The loather paused for another breath. "Proudclad declared the Troll Woods to be out of bounds and has seen to ban troll tapping. The Temple of Loathing initiated another litter of whelps, and for the justiciars the Waterfronts have become a no-interest zone. The Patriarchal Circle petitioned for the crowing of a new petty chieftain, followed by a bloodbath." The loather sighed and looked deeply into Valkon's eyes, his own grey and moon-marked eyes gave Valkon a strange feeling of kinship. "There is not much more that would have interested the loathers."

"Perhaps you could indulge me in more recent news. I want to know of this season," Valkon suggested impatiently.

The loather glanced to the Sky Curtain before replying.

"Politics that are of no concern to my enclave. The Culling Grounds are my only interest."

"You know something of the Commons District."

"To be sure."

"You will tell me."

"Hide your catalyst. The Waterfront harbours many cutthroats from overseas," the loather said. "Better for your house arrest, sell it instead. The loathers and justiciars alike are willing to compensate generously for those."

"My catalyst, you say."

"Those sails would have no wind landwards, you commanded the winds to push the sails. Do not take me for a fool, a loather would know."

Valkon dug in his pocket and produced a small horn. He showed it to the loather with a raised brow.

"I do not recognise the animal this belongs to," the loather informed.

"I took it from a unicorn. I assume you mean this is a catalyst."

The loather broke out in uncontrollable howling, much resembling laughter. He beat at his chest trying to regain control of his breathing before violently throwing himself down to a seated position.

"You jest!" the loather barked. "A unicorn can evaporate a man's body into its most basic matter in the mere wink of an eye; here you claim to have slain one, and you do not even have a weapon."

Valkon did not know loathers to be capable of laughter, but something about the mockery made him think about this particular horn. Ever since he came close to it, Valkon had been able to command the world around him with varying degrees of success and it had most certainly served him well in finding his way back home. But now that he could show a trophy of his own to a loather, the loather was not even near being impressed. In fact, the loather would not even believe him, despite the horn being right in front of him, in plain sight.

"This is a unicorn's horn. But you think I controlled the winds by some other means."

"What you have there could belong to a unicorn, but it would have to be a foal. No one has ever seen a unicorn's foal," the loather said with an audible tone of mockery.

"Then you will show me your own catalyst!" Valkon demanded.

The loather stopped his cackling and grunted at Valkon:

GET OFF THIS BOAT

Valkon felt a sudden urge to hastily leap overboard. However, before he could dive into the water the loather caught him and tossed him over the other boat instead.

"Now you will tell me where I shall sail, farfarer."

Valkon took a moment to recover from that ungodly sensation. It had felt as if he was submerged in icy water.

"You will travel beyond the Sky Curtain, and sail with the sun for a week, half a week with good conditions, then you will come upon land. You will sail straight south-west," Valkon directed, with a heavy tremble in his voice.

What Valkon had done was giving a ruthless trophy hunter the directions on how to sail to the world he had been lost on for at least five seasons. Whether this was a good idea would not be a thought he would quickly lose sleep over, but as loathers were not known to lie perhaps then Valkon could ask the loather about his time in exile when he came back. Then he would know for sure if indeed there was a land ruled only by animals. Animals who behaved like the children.

"The unicorns are an aggressive kind at these times. You came across them on you own ventures," the loather riddled. "Tell me what I might expect of these unicorns of yours."

"They are inquisitive, most uncomfortably so, but your visage alone may remind them of the dangers of a stranger," Valkon informed, thinking back to his own time in those lands. "Though I do not know how they live as they do, know this: there are no impossibilities; heed not the question, but take for granted the answer," Valkon advised.

"A fine religion," the loather complimented as he dislodged the hooked rope keeping the boats together.

Valkon and the loather parted ways. They had not asked for one another's names, nor had they cared to learn it. Yet somehow Valkon could not stop thinking that he had met a very important person; slaying a dragon was no small feat. And that he might have to wait longer still to find out for sure. But at least he was home. At last.

Just as the loather disappeared in the distance, Valkon noticed one last item left on his new boat, something the loather must have dropped. It was a small wooden tub inscribed with silver-painted symbols. Valkon picked it up and read. 'The freezing fire, the burning ice. Life's essence.' It was a tub of troll fat. Surely a dear commodity since the Proudclad barred entrance to the Troll Woods. The healing properties of this substance made it a much sought after, and expensive, curative. So coming home might not have been such a good idea after all.

It seemed now that home was where danger was the greatest.