The sights and smells of spring are thick in the air. The warm sun is melting off the chill that had seeped deep into the earth over the long winter, filling the dirt with life and heat. Soft scents of fresh grass and flowers are brought along by warm breezes. Every tree is wearing a mantle of bright greenery, boldly displaying their leaves for the new season. Color pushed its way onto the land, laying claim and growing over everything that had been.

The tomb of the old temple lay at what was once the heart of the city, on ash and blood-soaked dirt. Nothing grew over its carcass. No vines or moss covered the burned and melted stones.  A strip of grass surrounded the temple grounds on every side. Few dared build a home near this barrier between the living and the monument to the dead. Only the poorest of the poor chose to reside near the boundary. While the rest of the ever-changing world shifted and clawed into the new season, the scarred patch of land remained. Perpetually frozen in the aftermath of its god’s anger, trapped in the moment of its destruction, and utterly unaffected by the passage of time.

A figure moved across the edge of Rosco’s vision. He squinted at the ruins. Could it have been an animal, maybe? Everyone knew the god’s anger still burned so an animal would have been odd. He had never seen any living creature willingly venture there, not even ghosts wandered the cursed grounds.

Curiosity pulled at him. His eyes flickered between the space where he had seen the figure and the pile of wood he was meant to chop down to size. He tightened his hands around the worn axe handle and pinned his lower lip between his teeth. Maybe it was a traveler? A person from far away, who did not know it would anger the god to tread there. A smile twitched at his lips, having found an excuse to abandon his work and venture closer to the ruins.

Rosco slowly crossed the grass to the edge of the temple grounds with his axe in hand (in case it was some kind of animal). His eyes searched for the movement he’d seen before, and his dry tongue worked nervously in his mouth. Curiosity was a strong force, especially for him, but fear could always dwarf it in comparison.

“Hello?” the boy called, nervously gripping tighter at his axe, “Is someone there?” The wind blew pulling some of his dark curls into his eyes momentarily blocking his sight. When he managed to clear his vision, a man stood outside one of the blasted holes in the temple walls, as if he had just stepped out of the ruined building.

Rosco dropped his axe with a yelp jumping back to keep the blade from slicing up his feet.

“You, uh,” bending to pick up his axe, “you should get away from there,” he warned the stranger, “the god usually kills anyone who gets too close.”

The dry earth crunched under the stranger’s boots as he strode closer. While looking Rosco over, he stopped before him, making Rosco squirm. The boy suddenly conscious of his sweaty, dirt covered skin, and his ratty worn-out clothes. The strange man was a good deal taller than Rosco, and broader in the shoulders. His short gray hair clashed with his unlined face, leaving his age a mystery. He carried no bag but had a long black coat that covered a set of plain black clothes, and a pair of heavy soled boots on his feet.

Rosco dropped his eyes; this man had the air of nobility around him, and he did not want to be accused of being disrespectful.

“Is there a temple here?” the man asked, crossing over onto the grass. He framed his words in a way Rosco had never heard before, further cementing the idea that the man must be a foreigner passing through the area.

“Of course, sir,” Rosco answered, surprised by the strange question. Did they not worship the gods wherever he was from? “The temple here is for Ocyrin.”

The man’s brow furrowed.

“The god of the Lake,” Rosco clarified, in case the man was unaware of the name. But, his look of confusion did not subside.

“You worship Ocyrin?”

“Not me personally,” Rosco rambled, “but Ocyrin is the patron of the city, most of the people here call themselves his followers. As far as I know, all the towns along his shores belong to him.”

The man’s expression darkened as though a storm brewed behind his eyes, “And who do you worship?”

Rosco stepped back instinctively, swallowing the nerves rising in his throat, “N-no one.”

The man hummed thoughtfully, looking past Rosco into the dilapidated city beyond him. “Will you lead me to this ‘temple’,” he asked, focusing on the boy in front of him again.

Rosco inched back seeing a way out, “I’m sorry sir, I will gladly give you directions, but I have work I must get back to.” gesturing towards his house and the wood pile beside it, waiting to be cut.

The stranger followed his gaze and nodded decisively, “Then I will wait until your work is done.”

Rosco reeled, not having expected this response, “You’d have to wait quite a while sir.”

“Time is of little consequence to me, and I will reward you for yours.”

It wasn’t like the strange man was really going to wait around all day for him, so it would not hurt to agree to his request. And if by chance he did, the promise of a reward was alluring, and his curiosity as to how the man had not yet been struck dead was still nagging at him so. “Alright sir, if you wish. Uh, our house is surely not what you’re used to, but if you’d like to wait inside, Lolly could make some tea or something?” scratching the back of his neck.

“Do not trouble yourselves, I will wait here,” the stranger replied, turning to gaze at the ruins.

“Um, okay well, if you change your mind just holler. My name’s Rosco if you need anything.” scootching towards his wood pile. When the man offered no reply, Rosco shrugged and headed back to his work.

As his pile for the day dwindled and his neat stack of chopped wood grew, Rosco frequently glanced back towards the ruins and the man loitering near them. Though he did not cross onto the grounds again, he remained close, leisurely walking along the edge of the grass.

The sky turned orange while he’d been working, and the stranger never got fed up and wandered off or hollered out any demands for food or drink while he waited. So, with the last log split, Rosco turned to face him, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

“Um, Sir?” he called.

The man looked up at the sound of his voice, too far away to properly make out any sort of expression.

“Allow me just a moment to change and then I’ll be ready to take you to the temple.”

Rosco caught sight of the man’s nod and rushed around into his house.

Inside the rundown one room shack, the aging Lolly sat near the stove stirring a pot and bounced a squealing baby girl on her lap.

“Lolly,” the boy started, hanging his axe on its’ peg, and pulling his filthy shirt off over his head, “Does Eric or Sam have a nicer shirt I could borrow? I found some work for a nobleman, so I should probably clean myself up a bit.” dipping a strip of cloth in the water basin to scrub his face.

Lolly clicked her tongue at him, “you know good and well boy, they ain’t got nothin’ but what’s on their backs. Check Yewins things, he might got a spare.”

Rosco winkled his nose but dropped to his knees in front of Yewin’s trunk to dig around for the extra shirt anyway. Finding it only served to deepen his frown. Yewin was a lot bigger than he was. It was going to be obvious to anyone who looked at him that he was wearing somebody else’s shirt.

“If he gets back before I do, will you let him know I took it?” he asked Lolly, pulling the massive shirt on over his head.

“I’ll tell em,” She answered, “You gon be needin’ to eat or that noble man gonna feed you?” she called over her shoulder.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll eat while I’m out.” letting the door swing shut behind him.

As he made his way across the grass to where the man stood waiting for him, Rosco rolled up the sleeves of the borrowed shirt in an attempt to not appear quite so much like he was drowning in it.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting for so long,” he apologized as the man turned noticing his presence.

The man looked thoughtful for a moment, obviously eyeing Rosco up and down, taking in his appearance, but saying nothing.

“Ah, well this way then.” nervously pointing off through the rows of run-down houses, “May I ask for your name sir?”

The man paused, “You may call me Hayden,” he answered before proceeding along behind the indicated path.