At the gate his father clapped him on the shoulder
with a gnarled, weathered hand. “Son,”
he said, “you know I don’t approve. The
Light knows I can’t trust the other boys to take over the pig farm when I’m
gone—they’ll probably sell it to those damn butchers on the other side of the
family. But as my own pappy used to say,
when the piglets escape through a hole in the fence, you just have to trust
that they’ll come back before a wolf gets them.
So that’s what I’m going to do with you.
I’m going to trust you’ll come home before a wolf gets you. Or a bear.
Or one of them other weird creatures out there.”
Struggling to keep
the quaver out of his voice, Bert answered, “Thanks, Pa. That’s very decent of you.”
“Good boy. Oh, and wait.” His father began fussing with a bulky burlap
bag. “I didn’t want to send you away
empty-handed against the orcs, so take this.
Whenever you use it, think of us.
And the pigs. They’ll be missing
you, too.”
From the sack
Bert’s father produced a battered dustbin lid—the one, judging from its smell,
that had been used to cover the dung. He
handed it to Bert.
“No, Pa, it’s too
much-"
“You take it, son.
We’ll just cover the bin with one of Ed’s old sweaters."
Bert nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. “I’ll use it with pride, Pa.”
“The Light bless
you, son. Now off you get. We’ll be here waiting for you when you’re
done killing orcs.”
Overcome with
emotion, and clutching his dustbin lid, Bert opened the pasture gate. He could hear his father start shuffling back
down the road to the family farm as Bert himself stepped into a brave new
world. Determination, glory, and destiny would
be his only constants now.
Five years later he was found dancing naked in a pub
in Goldshire.
