Chapter Two: In which we see more of our surroundings.

Ralph the Timid came to his decision to leave his foster parents and the only home he could remember in the year of the Oak Tree. The oak tree was an auspicious year for childbirth - it promoted longevity and sturdy good health - and even in the small village he lived in the midwives were kept busy as almost every household had welcomed a new arrival. He never really enjoyed the auspicious years - babies cried too much for a boy to like them - but he didn't looking after the newest addition to the family. She was the youngest of seven, and a daughter. This, combined with her birth date (a lovely starry night in midwinter, just a few months ago), meant she would grow up tall and beautiful and probably marry some passing prince who fell in love with her at first sight. Ralph couldn't quite believe that - she still looked a bit like an old man, as babies so often do - but she was good and quite cute when she slept, so he hadn't minded playing nursemaid.

Of all his foster family, he was perhaps saddest to leave her. The others, after all, would remember him. To her, if he was lucky, he might be a vague voice in her memory. This thought depressed Ralph, but since he was, as the chartmaker had accurately noted, incurably cheerful, it did not keep him down for long. He would be back, after all, and he wouldn't be gone all that long. A few months, maybe a year. Certainly not long enough for the prince that would inevitably marry her to come riding through. That would happen when she was about sixteen, if things played out as usual.

The village Ralph lived in was called Glenwood, and it was one of many similar villages scattered around the high forested slopes of the Eastern Mountains. Here, dozens of seventh sons were born and raised to seek their fortunes in far off places. Servant girls with evil stepmothers were rescued by princes or kissed amphibians who turned out to be princes and then lived happily ever after. Not everyone lived happily ever after, because life just can't work like that, but the vast majority did, and those who didn't usually died with pathos or with the certainity that they were fulfilling their purpose (in particular those born in the year of the sacrifical cow or during heavy showers of rain).

The rest of Ablet was slightly less smugly happy that the folk of the Eastern Mountains. Life was more fragile, and a happy ending far from guaranteed. Why then, would not the people who resided in the valleys, hills, plains, marshes, shores and cities of the rest of Ablet not migrate to the Eastern Mountains? The omnipotent power of the birth dates kept them where they were meant to be. There has to be some balance in the world. Besides, while those who lived in the mountains got almost certain happiness, they also had to work hard, produce all their own food, make all their own clothes and live in drafty houses miles from anywhere. A little drama was a small price to pay for luxury.

So when Ralph the Timid set out on his journey, he was leaving a place of safety and heading towards a place fraught with danger. His foster mother, Beryl, had been most exclamatory on the subject. "Ralph!" she had cried. "Ralph! You've never been beyond the foothills! You don't know what it's like! It isn't safe!"
Ralph, a sensible boy, then asked what he could expect. It was better to be prepared, after all.
Beryl, having never gone further than the foothills herself (travel was too hard! another argument in favour of the towns) was unable to answer his questions.
He patted her on the back. "I'll be all right," he said cheerfully. "And as soon as I find my purpose, I'll be back."
She looked doubtful, but said no more and just hugged him very tightly.
Harold, home from wood cutting to see Ralph off, patted his foster son on the back very hard. He was man of few words, and he'd said them all already. Goodbye, good luck, here's a map down to the road.

So Ralph set out on a spring afternoon, with birds singing and the sun shining, and his baggage slung across his back in a light bag. He didn't have much - a spare shirt, a cloak, water and food, the map, and his favourite hunting knife. But then, he didn't need much. It was a lovely day, and he'd be back before he knew it.


[Word Count so far: 2053]