The Storyteller swiftly returned to his humble dwelling. It was well hidden, as it was just a mound of dirt above the ground, and the dwelling itself was simply a hole dug beneath the ground. The furniture was simple with not many signs of decoration. The ceiling was only stretching height for a forester, and the door so short that anyone would have to at least bend over slightly to enter. Still, it was home for the Storyteller, and he loved living in such an isolated and quiet place, with only his wife to live with him and the birds to sing and lull him to sleep.
His wife was sitting on a wooden rocking chair when he entered, painting some sort of image of the forest. She was wearing simple garments, and yet when she stood to greet her husband, she showed grace and elegance in every move. She was, in fact, slightly taller than the Storyteller, which was unusual considering males were slightly taller than females on average in Parvilien. She gave a quick kiss on the cheek before hugging the Storyteller tightly for a moment.
“Welcome back, my dear husband,” she said before gently brushing aside the messy hair of the Storyteller, “How was the tale?”
“It was quite easy and relaxing,” the Storyteller replied, “I promised them to return next week to continue the tale.”
“The children have grown a lot since the last time you met them, haven’t they?”
“Yes, especially Toqum. He was the first to greet me when I came. They were quite lovely and it was comforting to see every one of them grow in their own way,” the Storyteller answered, “but not as comforting and lovely as my own wife.”
The Storyteller’s wife blushed. “Oh, you always know how to make me feel glad, don’t you?”
“You’re just the same to me.” He suddenly noticed a small tear on his wife’s cloak, now hanging on the wall. “There’s a small tear on your cloak. Did you get tangled in some bushes?”
“Well, I did when I was picking up some fresh herbs from the forest. I’ll quickly patch it up.”
“No, no. Leave it there for now. It’s already late into the night. I’ll fix it tomorrow. Besides, you must be tired of waiting for me for the entire day. Only a good sleep will get you energized for tomorrow’s work.” He shut the lights, with only the moon and stars providing illumination. As he wearily climbed into bed, he thought of his childhood, dancing with his now-deceased father and playing with his friends, among them his wife. He thought of the dagger that he received from his wife many years ago, a small but intricately decorated dagger. It now rested in a cupboard. He thought of his sword that changed his humble life. More thoughts attempted to flood his mind, but they stopped short by a kiss on the forehead and a light touch of a cold hand on his cheek.
“Night, Lel,” his wife whispered before wrapping her arms around his body. He responded by gently resting his hand on her soft and flowing hair.