He did not know of this village she spoke of. It must be some remote and isolated it didn’t appear on the maps he had long studied in his youth. But what use it might be to him, he had yet to gleam. Ruled by a tyrant, who possessed a gang of thugs to keep the others downtrodden.<i>Like the rest of Ostavia</i>. But when Elisandra mentioned those who might oppose, Aica quirked an eyebrow. A resistance, an army, started with a few to spark a flame and eventually it grew into a great congregation of fire and heat. But was it possible? He eyed the sprite intently as she hovered before him. He couldn’t deny everything she said had some modicum of wisdom and logic.<br/><br/>Aica glanced to the side, then back to the sprite, taking a step back but only so he could bow his head without headbutting the creature. He knew good counsel when he heard it. “I kiss your hand, sprite.” Aica said, a phrase of respect and deference. “I am not so foolish as to think me and this blade can stand against a larger group and prevail on identity alone. Twelve rabid dogs can kill a lion they say. But I will consider what you’ve told me. It is news, more than I could have hoped for.”<i>Indeed, this may be the sign he was hoping for all these weeks.</i>His identity would play a part, perhaps earning loyalty through the power of his name, Larenzac. But the large part, the hard part, would be through strength of arms and skill. He did not know what part Vesta would have to play though.<br/><br/>“Farewell and should I return to my own, your forest shall have the sanctity of a holy place.” Aica bid to Elisa and thinking their business was done, turned on his heel and marched off to where he assumed Vesta would be. They never ventured far from the river, a source of water for drinking and bathing, with the occasional fish to be found.<i>Or bodies</i>. Bodies of the slain, of allies and friends who fought for him, or simply had the displeasure of being someone his Uncle disliked.<br/><br/>If the sprite followed, he would be entirely unaware. His mind was elsewhere, the wheels churning. It must be the sign he needed. What else could it be? A creature he thought only existed in legends comes and unveils herself with this specific news to him. He had to act on it. At once.<br/><br/>He found Vesta on her belly, overlooking a flowing stream. She had her hand dipped in, furiously concentrated on her task. And despite the sprite’s words, he couldn’t help but feel some fury as he approached.<i>Stupid girl, with her eye on the stream, not even watching about her. Blabbering hillmen could sneak up and carry her off and she probably wouldn’t realize it until she was in the air.</i>“Wife.” He snapped, announcing himself, as he was sure he could probably cause a heart attack if he appeared right beside her.<i>Head always in the clouds with this one.</i>Aica came and crouched beside her, his hand resting on the small of his back, one knee bent to the ground with his other arm across his second knee.<br/><br/>“You missed a most interesting conversation. Forget the fish. We do not have the time to catch and prepare it. Berries and roots must sustain us. We are going westward.” Aica told her, though he didn’t quite rise either, his hand subconsciously caressing the small of her back, drifting a little onto her rear, as he watched the flowing water. Like time itself, it was ceaseless.<i>How much time had they wasted here?</i>It was time to make up for it.<br/><br/>“There is a village. Like my home, it is oppressed. I think…we might be able to do some good there, if we are smart. And the sprite, which you are so fond of…” Aica scoffed then, sighing as he forced himself to repeat it, “thinks you will be able to help me. But I see you are quite preoccupied with your mud pie. Get up.” Aica commanded, smacking her rear, ending with a tight grope, before he rose to his feet. And to end her efforts, stepped into the stream near her finger, scaring off any catch she might have had a chance of grabbing.