The Benevolent Hand
Stephan did not know what to feel at the latest news to confront him. This time it was not that of a bad crop, or the actions of George Hanson or one of his cronies. In recent days a citizen on a routine hunt had discovered to the south, traces of what appeared to be a recently vacated human habitation of many individuals.
The elderly leader never had any reason to suspect that others lived so closely by, and he pondered the idea if they would be a threat, or perhaps a boon to this settlement? So many people living in close proximity in caves, and it appeared by the report they lived rough. He feared a raid, for desperation made great enemies. They hardly needed to be attacked by two separate forces. So it was decided that they would put more energy into exploring the southern wastes inhospitable that they were.
Stephan detested the specter of war, he had done everything in his power to avoid it, and still, it came for him and those he loved. However, some things were one's destiny, and there was little to do but shrug and continue on.
After a short discussion the evening prior, it had been agreed that the elderly leader would go on a reconnaissance with some of his men, and see these caves for himself. He rarely traveled these days. Renard had tried to convince his frail father that he should go in his stead, but Stephan would not hear of it. He wanted his son to remain home in case of an attack. Spring was here, and soon Lothar would strike, of that he was sure. He would feel much better with his son at his side if this was to occur. He was thankful to God every day that he had come home.
*****
Stephan felt tired. A weariness and a gray lassitude that these days crowded his vision, and usually acute mind was upon him. Regardless of the many reasons his aging body may have had to dissuade him from this scouting trip, he refused to let them get in the way, as he sat on his old and trusted horse. He moved as swiftly as he could, not wishing to slow the pace of his men down. Though the rigors of a very physical day on horseback were already taking a toll on the elderly man. He found himself aching and clutching the animal's mane by midday for support.
Carefully he and his column of men located and inspected the cave that the hunter had wished to bring to Stephan's attention. Crude remnants of domesticity remained. Broken sticks, a shattered clay platter, some strips of soiled fabric, and many bones of butchered meals. The mandatory circle of stones garnered with ashes gone cold, and coals scattered from the long-dead fire.
Stephan leaned on his cane gazing into the dark recess, that ran deep beneath the cliffs. "It would appear they left some time ago? It would have been a job to keep warm here, there is little to burn."
"Looks that way." Dale nodded, casting about.
"These were indeed an impoverished people. Life must have been hard here."
Stephan ruminated out loud. "So why did they leave, and more importantly where did they go?"
"My guess is they ran out of water, and game, maybe with the turn of the weather they decided they should seek someplace better to live." The hunter named Peter offered. He was a young man with sandy brown hair and a quick manner about him.