It's the little things that matter

The silvery drops of morning dew slowly settled upon the green leaves of spring as the sun began its journey across the heavens.  The coming dawn had painted the sky into a crimson splendour, and a gust of chilly wind entered through the open window and blew across Denholm’s face, which was only partly exposed beneath the grey blanket. Ysle sighed and moaned quietly in her scenic slumber, and her hair was resting all over the pillow like golden strands of wheat upon a field. Some of it touched Denholm’s face and tangled and wrestled with his uncombed beard and moustache; as if it was caught in a battle of wills, to see who would come out the strongest in the end. He abruptly awoke with a twitch as Ysle – unknowingly – jolted his chest with her elbow when she turned around in her sleep, effectively sending a tremor of light pain through his torso. He stretched out his stiff, aching legs and sat up on the bed, with legs dangling over the side while the naked feet took several seconds before they dared to reach the wooden floor. He rested his elbows towards the knees and shot a glaring, hazy eye towards the slumbering beauty beside him, who was still trapped in the far-away realm of stirring dreams. He briefly looked at his hands, before burying his face within the embrace of the two blemished palms. He rubbed the dust out of his eyes and shook off the blanket that covered his thighs, and by doing that he partly exposed the woman’s feet and ankles as well. After quietly moving up from the bed, he dressed himself in a light green tunic and a pair of heavier, brown pants. He gently nestled down Ysle beneath the blankets again, and bowed down to give her a light and kind kiss upon the brow, even though the sleeping beauty would not wake up from it. He decided to let her stay in the kingdom of dreams where she was safe and sound, and quickly pulled on his boots, jacket and belt as well, and went as quietly as he could out of the house, softly shutting and locking the door behind him. The tiny house in the middle of Snowbourn had been a fine refuge in their time here, and thanks to an old acquaintance of Denholm’s father; he had haggled for a decent price to stay there for a while.

The red dawn that ascended before his eyes were one of great excellence indeed, and the warm and moist air gossiped happily about spring’s grand return. There was a chill, soundly wind in the air this morning however, one that blew across the streets of Snowbourn and made every early morning heart shudder as it passed them. Denholm gathered his entangled hair and tied it up into a knot to keep it out of the way, all while watching the town come to life around him as he walked the streets and aiming for the northern gate. The sound of merchants setting up their daily trading posts, smiths heating up their fires and children playing in the dewy grass – this town was indeed alive and well cared for, despite all of the troubles in the Eastemnet. Life must go on, no matter what. As Denholm reached the gate, he hailed the guards and exchanged a few words of pleasantries with them. The night watch always had a fire running just outside the gate, and there were still red glowing embers shining brightly in the midst of the ashes. There were also plenty of dry firewood left, so he sat down by the fire and carefully placed a few smaller twigs and logs in the midst of the still glowing embers. By softly blowing on it, the fire soon took up speed again. He gave a quick nod to the guard at the gate while stretching out his legs and enjoying the warm sun caressing his face for a few but very precious seconds. He then reached for the medium-sized bag that was fastened to his old and rugged leather belt, and he took forth the trusty, yet even older, pipe together with a small pouch that was filled with sweet-scented pipe-weed. He took a deep breath and inhaled the fragrance of the fine, dried leafs which smelled of rosewood and apples, before crushing a few between his fingers and softly pressed it down the pipe’s head. By igniting a twig in the fire, he used it to light the pipe. As the leafs started to burn, the smoke he inhaled and let out filled the area with a sweet scent, and the guard soon walked over towards him.
“May I have a smoke, sir?” he asked politely with a tired but friendly smile upon his lips. Denholm gave him a deep nod and the pipe, and the guard closed his eyes and seemingly enjoyed the quick smoke. “Let your friend over there have a smoke too, just return the pipe when you’re done.”, Denholm said. The other guard looked up briefly from his post as his partner came over with the pipe. When they were finished, and made sure the guard captain wouldn’t notice them smoking while standing on post, the man passed the pipe back to Denholm. “Thank you, sir. Much appreciate it. It’s been a long and slow night, so this was much welcomed.” Denholm smiled and took the pipe to his own mouth, as there was still plenty of burning weed left. He gazed out upon the green fields across the Entwash as the smoke circled around him, and he thought:

“A beautiful dawn, a warm fire and a good smoke… It’s the little things that really matter."