Chapter 41. Memory Depletion.

  “I can see the towers.” Sid sighed. It was the most pleasant sigh that could have ever been conjured. “We’re nearly there Abram.” His mustache curled with delight—he forgot he could do that.

  “Hey yeah that be great Sid.” He said, now walking side by side with the big guy. The pines had opened gently. Same with the sticky webbing. Everything had thinned. They were emerging from the timbers. “Sid me hates to brings it up. But wheres the rug me gives yas?” He laughed.

  Feeling his waist, it was true. He dropped the horse blanket back there. “Abram you don’t happen to have any other kind of clothing in that chest do you?”

  “Me sure don’ts.” He chuckled again.

  Arieo too was braying ecstatically. Sid hated that noise. He came to dislike the sound the same night they met. And that donkey was just going wild behind the two. Abram would laugh at every other annoying noise the animal made, then he would say something like ‘oh don’t ye be listens to him’ or ‘Arieo would not have done that he be only jokings.’

  Like he could understand the animal—like he even cared. Sid had his mind on one thing right now—who just said his sons ashes, don’t be dumb—he had his mind on that dark drink Abram talked about. He was sure his axe and sword could fetch a few horns of the dark mead. Not only that but Abram said he would get him something to eat and drink so that could be one more horn, or pint he wasn’t sure how the taverns served the drink. Maybe he would need his own. He’d heard fire-tale about how some taverns had not horns or canteens of their own. One of the reasons why many players would travel with their own.

  “Abram when we get our dark mead, will it be given to us in a drinking horn, or do I need to provide one?”

  “No no big guy theys should haves em.” He scratched his chin thinking about it—Arieo loved that stubbly sound. “Well the last times me was here they hads em anyways. If’ns they don’t it be alright Sid mes has a fews somewhere in me chest.” He answered more thoroughly. Watching the pouch along Sid’s sword sway with his slow steps. “What about yer ashes big guy? Ye still lookin to gets them blessed?”

  Sid glanced at the pouch like he had forgotten about them. “Oh yeah.” His answer even lingered with the same aftertaste. “Umm. No. No I don’t think I will be.” The mustache wiggled, shaking the reply free. He continued to watch the pouch thinking of who was inside—he had slightly forgotten. It honestly wasn’t his fault though. The boy was very ordinary. Nothing of imprinting importance or memorable recognition—well yeah—I mean other than being his son.

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  “Who be in there.” Abram asked, rather bluntly too. “Me means if ye don’t mind me askins.” He tried to correct himself.

  Sid thought about this. Not so much a debate of weather or not he wanted to tell him, but more so along the lines of mentally seeking a name. It seemed like a daunting task though. Names poured through his thoughts like the sands though through the time glass. None of which seemed correct. He blinked furiously as if that threatening eye would bully an answer from out of thin air. He came to a stop and looked at the pouch. Squishing the contents getting a feel for the insides. Obviously it was ash.

  “Umm, my son?” Sid let each word hang. Hoping it was the right answer. It sounded right. Guess he’d just have to see what Abram said about it. He said he was stupid, maybe he his. He couldn’t remember the reasoning for this pouch of ashes.

  “Me mighty sorry to hears that Sid. Ye knows what though that kind of explains a lot about yas. How big was he Sid?”

  Again, Sid had to really think about this question—why could he not recall anything about this pouch. He thought of the previous days. Every memory was accounted for—all except for his reasoning for the pouch. Instead, he chose to ignore the question. He held a single eye stare at Abram for a long time. Abram looked right back up at Sid.

  He was most definitely who he was looking for. Just look at him. Sid was huge. He fit the shape alright. There was without a doubt something locked up inside that big guy. It was hard to think straight though. That eye is intimidating. Really making it hard to keep a stare with him. Especially when that pit and grotesque worm are looking right back. Abram’s mind was flooded with thoughts of his own. All from Sid's shape and size, to what Lakora would be having them do once Sid had ascended. Another daunting task he wasn’t sure was possible. Watching Sid while he only turned away from the conversation and continued leading the group for the castle. Oh how Abram clung to high hopes. Turning through all the faces of possibility. Had he choose wisely? Was Sid was the correct one he endless looked for.

  Areio stopped alongside his master. Fenrir scurried from underneath, pacing himself in the great shadow of Sid. Those big beautiful browns looked up at his master. Studying those odd swirling eyes.

  “Haw?”

  “Me be sures its him Arieo.” Abram answered. Watching Sid step through of the tree-line. “He justs aint sure who he be anymore. Scarlett cans helps with that. She knows the ritual.”

  It was but only a short walk now. The sun had reached twice its length over the mountains. The day was brisk with wind but still warm enough. The stones of the castle now gleamed in the warmth, no longer looking of the purest blacks but a very deep green. It was those iron rods that made up the fence though. That is what caught Sid's eye. He wanted to really inspect those spiraling details. He also couldn’t wait for that dark drink. He would have a drink, and walk the yards admiring the metal work of the fence. The chatter within the courtyards began to grow as the markets set up and folks started their day.