Meadow

In all his years, he was better at finding things that he wasn’t necessarily looking for.

Water was often of great import, and there was something in his bones that itched and always managed to bring him to a sweet smelling creek, or slow gurgling river. Food was always easier- mosses and grasses that hid away under the snow- it was a simple fact of tipping a toe towards the ground and digging.

With necessities met, the other things were harder.

First, sleep had eluded him for years. Memories of his father- a wicked, hateful man- and what Vercingetorix had done to him haunted him. He remembers the sensation of tearing flesh, and the stink of war and combat. He was not gifted in the art of battle as his father was. He had been diplomatic and smart. Yet, as the years waned on, sleep soon found him and eventually he was no longer exhausted.

Love, was something he had yet to find outside of the endearment that he felt towards his many children, and he loved each one as much as the last.

Something digs into the back of his mind, a little memory that whispers in his ear, but he can’t quite grasp it. “You don’t know your mother’s name?” He finds it odd, and it saddens him, to know there are some secrets that will never be known. “I would be heartbroken if any of my children did not know who I was…” Softly, he still picks at the little strand of a memory that dangles in front of his nose- but nothing comes from it quite yet.

It was something he would have to explore later.

“You may call me Vercingetorix, by the way.” He offers to her with a little smile and a nod, gesturing to the field and offering that they begin a walk in search of the girl's mother- as nondescript as she claimed the woman to be. Of course, he was uncertain of how successful they would be, and wordlessly promises that he will not let her go about her journey alone.