Rhys had taken the Northern route leaving home, taking the route by land around the body of water. Had he gone across the bay instead, he might have arrived in town when the announcement was just being made about the assembly of a group to go to the west. Had he been delayed at all by the kingdom to the North, he might have missed the opportunity entirely. Rhys didn’t consider himself to be the most social of individuals, but traveling with a group into the West was certainly preferable to going on his own. The provisions and the coins would help too. Though Rhys had enough funds to get some dried meat and other foods, he wouldn’t be able to supply himself food for the entire journey. He had intended to forage off the land.
He wondered, when he arrived at the keep, if his brother had taken a similar route. Had fortune—good or bad wouldn’t be revealed for some time, yet—provided him with an entourage and food? Had he chosen the route by water or by land? Rhys thought land. His instincts were drawn to the forest of the third route, and he believed that his brother would have been as well. They were both very familiar with forests, hunting for food and moving among the trees. A faint flicker of concern crossed his face for a moment as he thought that the mule and cart might struggle with such a journey. But that was not his problem. The owner of the cart would determine its limitations. Rhys only had to consider the limitations of the weight on his back and the strength of his legs.
In continuing to consider the third option, Rhys knew that he had no cause to return expediently, nothing driving him back to his home village. The answers he sought were out there…out West. He waited until all of the options were laid out, not really wishing to be the first one to speak. He would have greatly preferred it if the other men simply chose the third option and then they could come to a consensus. But his patience grew thin, and he did greatly prefer the third option to the others. “I think…” When he began to speak, he could feel hundreds of eyes upon him. Perhaps it wasn’t that many, but a part of him was convinced that there were more people in this keep than were in his entire village. “I think that we should take the route to the North. We will be able to get food and shelter, and avoid potential ambushes on the main road. It may be slower, but I’d rather be slow and alive than quick and dead.”
His voice didn’t sound like a grown male, and there were likely a few who wondered just how many years he had under his belt. But Rhys wasn’t looking at the eyes of the merchants and the seamen. He was looking at the rest of his crew. There was an older, scarred man who might agree with the value of taking one’s time, but might instead be at the point in his life where he wants to be unnecessarily reckless. The man with the horse seemed to be armed for the woods as well, with his dark clothing and bow, and Rhys hoped that he, too, would prefer the cover of the trees. The other man he couldn’t gauge yet, and he seemed rather quiet. He waited for the others who mattered to voice their opinions, and in the back of his mind began to wonder what these people would think of him, with his worn brown and green clothing, and somewhat over-sized bag currently by his feet.
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