Whistling for the dogs whilst throwing his greatcoat around his shoulders as he made his way up the garden path towards the road to the manor proper.
ALARIC
The forest welcomed him like an old friend.
Alaric moved silently through the undergrowth, every sense attuned to his surroundings. This was where he belonged, among the ancient trees, tracking prey, living by skill and instinct.
But now, for the first time in his life, it wasn't enough.
He wanted to be back at the cottage.
Wanted to be in bed with Hanna, holding her warm body against his. Wanted to be teaching James to walk, watching Maria fuss over them all, and caring for the family he'd never known he craved.
Soft,he told himself.You're getting soft.
But he couldn't bring himself to care.
A branch snapped to his left. Alaric froze, his hand moving automatically to the rifle.
He scanned the underbrush, looking for movement.
There, a flash of brown. He stalked closer, keeping the animal always just within sight. A stag, magnificent and unaware, moving through the trees about fifty yards distant.
Alaric raised the rifle with practised ease, sighting down the barrel. The stag paused, presenting a perfect shot. But he lowered the weapon, taking note of where he was.
The stag would make a fine trophy for the nobles hunting party, and Alaric knew how Lord Emsley loved to impress his guests.
The stag's head came up, scenting danger. For a moment, their eyes met across the distance. Then the animal bounded away, disappearing into the thick forest.
For a moment, he felt a twinge of regret that such a fine creature would be chased down by dogs and horses. By men enraptured by bloodlust.
Definitely getting soft.
Alaric spent the rest of the morning tracking smaller game, taking two fat rabbits and noting some fox holes.
When he finally turned toward home in the late afternoon, his bag was full and his mind was clear.
He had realised he had everything he could want. A wife, a son, a home. Purpose beyond mere survival.
The flint cottage came into view, and Alaric felt something in his chest ease at the sight.
He was halfway across the garden when the back door opened and Hanna stepped out, her cheeks pink and her expression shy.
"Alaric," she said with a small smile. "You are home. I didn't expect you tonight."
"Are you that eager to be rid of me, woman?" smirked Alaric, setting down his rifle and bag beside the kitchen door, his hands going automatically to her waist to pull her closer.
"Not at all, I am happy you are back," she said as she ducked her head and pressed her palms to his chest. The admission seemed to surprise her as much as it pleased him.
"And I am glad to see you too, wife," he teased as he tilted her chin up and kissed her lips, not caring that he smelled of gunpowder and forest.
"I… I missed you," she said softly, her breath ghosting across his cheek. "Is that so strange?"
"No." Alaric buried his face in her hair, breathing her in. "Not strange at all. I missed you, too."
They stood like that for a long moment, just holding each other in the dim evening light. Then Hanna pulled back, as James wailed inside the cottage.
"Did you have a good hunt?"
