“Aye, its are long lost grandson,” beams his grandfather, “knew nothing could kill one o’ me own blood ‘cept old age!” as he awaits the ladies turn before embracing him.
“Me boy, I wez worried ta death don’t ya know, heard bout a collapse and the lost...” as she securely wraps her arms around you more firmly then you’d imagine the commander at Illeth had. Her words are drowned by her sobs and joy at seeing you again and she appears to have no intention of letting go anytime soon.
Your grandmother smiles at you with tears in her eyes, “I knows ya were taught better then ta be makin us worry so, If I had me way I’d teach ya a fine lesson in manners,” in a tone some woman get when they get too upset. She had always been strict and it almost seemed wrong to see her not in control of herself fully.
From the rear of the home you can hear some banging and cursing, “What are ye sayin? Can’y hear a thin when I’m diggin back ‘ere,” as you can see your father emerge from their room with what appears as a half fixed lantern in his hand. He stares at you in disbelief, “Me son?” as if in shock.
The home itself appears exactly as you had left it so many years ago, crude stone walls that were painted a light hue your mother had requested. The simple furniture and small stove exactly as you had left it. As your gaze sweeps across everything, the only difference is that over the hearth again hangs your families axe and underneath a sketch of yourself. It must have cost a fortune as you knew no one with any talent when you grew up and you had certainly never sat for such a thing.
The smell of a mushroom stew fills the home and although you had not been particularly hungry before, your stomach begins to rumble as if on cue.