The sounds of wind rustling through branches, and the soft chirpings of birds fluttered into Cedar's ears, as the grogginess of hibernation finally-- at last-- began to drain from his senses. He did not feel all that great. Humans often thought that taking "A big nap" like that, surely must leave you feeling invigorated, rejuvenated, and ready for the spring, but they were also very much, very very mistaken. Consider instead how you would feel if you had drunk several shots of hard liquor, had your liver working overtime, and had not gone to the bathroom for 4 months solid, and you would have a closer approximation of what "coming out of hibernation" feels like. His mind and body were only just starting to "come out of it"-- where "it" could best be described as a state not quite asleep, and not really awake, in which the lines between fantastical dreams and imaginings, and the waking perceptions of the world are blurred. It's not really "sleep:" Even the slightest noise would have "roused" him, but he would NOT have been "Himself", and would have "Reacted" more than thought or planned like a man-- interspersed by small, perhaps hour-long episodes of semi-wakefulness, in which he might put his nose outside to eat a small mouthful of snow, now and then. For the moment, he was just some-what grateful to have "man-thoughts" again. It was this state of debilitation, and "Not being worth a shit" that he had tried so very hard to impress upon the king of Kindeance last fall; The reason why he had no choice but to refuse his request to stay and help further-- It wasn't that he did not WANT to, it was that he would have been UNABLE to. Getting that point across seemed like trying to argue with the wind though. His thoughts wandered, while he waited for his body to finish "waking up"; reflecting of their own accord how that conversation had let to his returning home just before the snows hit, and just in time to get into his hovel for the winter. The trip back had been more or less un-eventful, but he had been in a hurry to return, lest he be forced to dig in someplace out in the wilds between Rascade, and here, in the great misty forest of the north. He had collected his horse-- A massive black stallion named "Paragon", according to the royal groom-- (a hairy and somewhat dense fellow named Griswold.) It had taken a fair bit of convincing on his part to get the beast to trust him, requiring the services of the groom to get him hitched in harness and strapped to a simple wooden cart he had purchased for the trip. He had spent a few more hours in Rascade, loading it with as much food, grain, and supplies as he could pack in it, then headed home, stuffing his gullet on the way while driving the wagon, then stopping each night to "Chat" with the horse, planning on how best to care for him when they arrived "home." He wondered how the massive stallion was faring right now, after a whole winter under his dad's care. He had been paid a king's ransom-- literally-- for his services in bringing home the lost prince, and it has been well more than sufficient to provision the both of them. That wagon had been heaped over the top with half of it full of bags of grain for Paragon, and the other half stuffed with barrels of rendered fat and preserved meat for himself, with several bags of apples to share between them when they stopped. As opposed to the month it had taken him to wander in earlier that fall, it had only taken a week with the cart, and the improved travel time it afforded. Arriving "Home" through the village's road (which was necessary to get into the wood the way he needed to go, and meant passing through the town) had been met with spectacle, as he arrived with much more than he had set out with. Even more so, when he had to make arrangements to have hay delivered to the old tower ruins-- then a VERY lengthy, and tear-infused conversation with his father, who had been beside himself with worry and grief at his protracted absence. That seemed so long ago now, after 4 months of "not really awake, and not really asleep", with "Barely enough fat to survive" after gorging himself on the trip home. He could feel the bones showing through his tight skin, and he realized he must look like absolute hell. But at least he survived. That was reason enough to be somewhat happy. His palms and feet itched, like they did EVERY spring, after just "coming back alive again"; Months of being buried over with leaves and tucked away deep into the ground where the frost couldnt reach, meant that the pads over his fingers, toes, hands and feet began to detach, then slough off. He started every year with "New Shoes", and it would mean his feet would be tender for several days at the least. Idly, he curled up, and nipped at the thick and offensive hunks of dead skin, and peeled them off to stop the itching, then groaned as he felt the rest of his body coming into normal function. The need to toilet, being especially prominent. Like a recovering drunkard, he wobbled this way and that on all fours, as he lifted the trapdoor in the floor of his hovel that led into his winter den, almost knocking over the table and wide bench that served him in the summer and autumn months as he careened for the door, then stumbled outside and into the light for the first time in months. "Relief" was difficult and a struggle, as it always was after hibernation-- but the results were very satisfying and met with much appreciation. He sniffed at the air. So familiar, and comforting- the smell of wet autumn leaves under melting snow, hints of fresh greenery, and the promise of early spring mushrooms greeted him, shouting into his nose that spring had indeed arrived. He smiled, despite himself, took in the care-free singing of the birds overhead for moment, then staggered back inside, then hoisted himself up onto the wide bench, to hunch himself over the table for a few minutes; the initial "labors of the year" having been seen to, and leaving him tired. He'd need to go find something to eat soon, then go check in with his father, and see how Paragon had fared. Thoughts about what all needed to be done this year flooded through like a flock of noisy geese, but he was glad of them; It beat the inhuman, bear-thoughts that had dominated his mind for the past 4 months. It was good to be "a man" again. ---- It was several days later, when he decided to go through his things, and actually get ready for the year's work. There was much to do, given that his sisters and younger brother would likely be "Put out" this year, and SOON too, meaning they needed hovels of their own built, and his dad would be far too... "Busy"... with their mother to offer much more than kindly advice on how to put things together that he had prepared for them. The thought that perhaps, next spring, he would have new brothers or new sisters again made him smile, and he was very happy to see his mom and dad spending time together without young ones underfoot. It was like watching them fall in love, as if for the very first time, though this would be the second time he would watch those two go through those motions. He chuckled, then dug through the coarse wooden trunk that served to store his belongings. Inside was a small wooden chest of very ornate construction, packed clean full of small gold bars and a sizable sack of cut diamonds. He pushed that aside-- then pulled out the folded coarse cloth robes, gloves, and heavy leather boots. He was always happy to see these, as his father had made and gifted them to him when he himself had been "Put out" so many years ago now... He inspected the stitching, noted the beginnings of wear and tear that would need patching, then dusted them off, and laid them aside to put on later. Underneath them, almost forgotten, was a curious heavy medallion with strange letters that made no sense to him-- What exactly was a 'XIV' anyway? How do you even SAY that?-- He picked it up, and held the cool metal medallion in his tender, newly-smoothed paw, and idly felt its weight, while thinking of far away things. He had accepted it, under the premise that he would someday visit Rascade again, and give demonstrations to young people wanting to learn how to do the work he did-- That was good and honest work, and he felt no shame in agreeing to it. Idly, he breathed in the nascent magic that ebbed and flowed through the woods, like blood in the veins of some giant sleeping beast, and let it just filter and flow around and through him, gauging the health of his home, and trying to discern if any part of it would need immediate care this spring or not-- Those wily loggers were wont to take trees they shouldnt in the winter, when he and his father were least active to stop them, and it could sometimes have "unfortunate" consequences if not dealt with and corrected promptly. Those men did not, or would not, understand that these consequences were not merely superstition, and could very much spell a cataclysmic event if not seen to immediately-- all they cared about was the quality of the timber, and the price it would fetch at market. Strangely, he felt the medallion tugging on the magic flowing through him, as if it were hungry, and this drew his attention. Why would it try to draw in magic like this? Was it magical somehow? If so, what did it do? His curiosity got the better of him, and he let the flow he was immersed in flow more freely into it, keenly interested in its reaction now...