The town gates sang with the hymns of labor. Merchants who were tagging along for the security and comfort of the prison cart scrambled to load their carts with crates of goods before departure. Husbands waved their tearful goodbyes to their wives and children as they hopped up onto Merchant carts, some as caravan protection and some to find better work in the capital to send money back home. Two Tortulgas helmed the front of a thrice-forged black iron prison cart which was twice the size of a small townhome.

  Tortulgas were excellent transportation for large heavy carts like this one, They were similar to large snapping turtles with 6 legs and a plated skull. Docile and tame, they were slower than your average horse, but had excellent stamina and strength in return, able to travel long distances at a steady pace. Their natural armor meant protection from incoming bandit attacks when they’d retreat inside of their shell during an assault. Most importantly of all though, they ate nearly anything, from planks of wood to boulders using their incredibly powerful jaws, even taken to travel barren strips of land.

  Keldon and Bertram stood nearby, shooting the shit as they usually did, making nonsensical assumptions of passerbys as a game to pass the time.

  “Hmmm, how about him?” Keldon asked, pointing out to a short- man with tussled brown hair and circled glasses.

  “Well of course, he’s an apprentice crimelord. Lad probably came over to Greenhearst to sell sweet to them local Tar-Eyed folk, but he got laughed outta town cuz he looks like he’s either thirteen or thirty though, maybe he’s an exhibitionist now that he’s got nothin’ else to do. ”

  Keldon snorted a little bit. Admittingly, the game wasn’t always the most polite thing to do, but as long as it stayed between the two of them and was purely in good fun, Keldon didn’t mind indulging in an active imagination every once in awhile.

  “Yerr go. The lad over that a way, with the short blond hair and the chin which never should have been shaved.” said Bertram

  “Ah yes, the eccentric artist I'm sure, look at him with his jittery hands and suave demeanor. He’s definitely not staring at us whispering protagonist because he’s just huffed half of the fumes in the Hissings. No no, he’s most definitely a visionary, an artist that has peeked beyond the mortal realm; Why else would he be vacantly staring at a barrel of potatoes like a virgin at a royal orgy?” Keldon said

  Betram chuckled, cackling notes of joy in the way that only the elderly could.

  “And wut’s this virgin boy’s name then?”

  “That’s a Tanner MightyCock for sure, His mother wanted him to grow up having the finest cock in the land, so he inherited the MightyCock name.”

  The two of them looked around for more interesting looking passerbys, but quickly dropped the game shortly after in lieu of the crowd being mainly boring workers and guards.

  They sat in a comfortable silence, not expecting the other to feel the need to force awkward conversation due to their history.

  But, something the doctor had said before he had left popped into Keldon’s mind.

  “So…do you wanna tell me about Bertram the Bloodied?” Keldon said vacantly.

  “Not particularly. But, I know damn well you’ll snoop around anyways if I don’t tell ya.” Bertram responded. “I used to be a soldier way back when. Pointed my sword wherever the donut with the biggest stick up the WarAngel’s ass told me tah’ go.”

  “Aha! So you DID fight at Juniper Meadows!” Keldon said.

  “Close, didn’t fight but I worked leather then.” Betram countered.

  “Then why here? With a moniker like that, you could at least use some of that notoriety to get some easy mercenary work. I’ve heard some of the highways are getting more dangerous so I'm sure they could use the extra muscle. Did something happen?”

  Bertram just sat quietly for a few moments.

  “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s o-”

  “I killed my son.”

  Keldon blinked, staring at Bertram stunned, expecting him to switch up and say he was messing with him like always. Unfortunately, he was not.

  “His name was Gabriel, and no, no punchline this time buddy.” Bertram said, avoiding Keldon’s gaze.

  “But, I’m sure knowing you, Bertram, there must have been a good reason, right?” Keldon said.

  “He died because of my obsession with honor. Honor for my fallen wife, honor for my house, and honor for me. My wife fell in active duty, and rather than lose myself at the bottom of a bottle, I devoted myself to my work, hoping to be so exhausted i couldn’t spare the energy to grieve. If I could manage it, I wouldn’t have to think about the empty chair at the dinner table. Problem is, I lost my son in the process. That day, I may have lost my wife, but Gabriel had lost us both.” Bertram said bitterly.

  “While I worked, he had thrown himself to the thrill of gambling, turning to sell sweet to local tar-eyed folk to make up for his piling debts. Eventually, he got hooked on his own supply, and was thrown in the slammer. You should have seen how angry I was, while I was off busting my ass for our family, sweet-boy was out having the grandest time of his life. I don’t think I was even disappointed in him back then. Just envious of how easily he could run away from it all, and angry at what he did to undermine my work to honor his mother.”

  “So what’d you do?” Keldon asked.

  “Made the biggest mistake of my life. I tossed him out the front door, without a penny to his name. I thought if he faced the real world on his own, he’d come crawling back a new man. But turns out, in a trial by fire, most folk usually end up getting burned.” Bertram said, finally turning towards Keldon.

  “Gabe joined a bandit camp and was killed in a subsequent raid a few months after. But, do you wanna know the most fucked up part of that story, Keldon?” Bertram said, giving him a long look. “ I felt relieved. Knowin’ I didn’t have to worry ‘bout him sullyin’ my hard work. But now, all I can think about is how my baby boy died in a ditch alone when all he wanted was a hug from his Pa, and to know everythin’ was gonna be alright.”

  “He didn’t deserve his fate no more than I deserved to live my life from ivory towers, so I left it all behind. Honor my ass. No man of honor turns away his flesh and blood in their darkest hour.”

  “I-... I’m so sorry Bertram, I didn’t know” Keldon said, unable to find the right words.

  However, Bertram just waved him off.

  “Don’t be, I didn’t tell you for sympathy. I told you so you could learn somethin’ from my mistakes, Keldon. It’s too late for me, but you’ve still got time buddy. Live your life for the living, not the dead.” Bertram said, poking him in the chest. “That includes you.”

  Bertram hopped off the bench, taking a moment to stretch as Keldon processed his words.

  “Looks like they’re just ‘bout done packin’ up, come on buddy. It’s time to leave.” Bertram said, turning away from him to walk towards the large iron cart.

  Whenever Bertram was embarrassed, he always did that thing where he’d hunch over with his hands behind his back and stop looking at Keldon. It was usually his signal to say he didn’t want to talk anymore.

  “Live my life for the living huh? Learn to take your own advice old man.” Keldon muttered to himself, staring at Bertram’s back, wondering in awe as to how many more burdens that old back carried.

  “I ain’t hearing them bunk-ass baby feet behind me!” Bertram yelled from the front.

  Keldon slipped into a grin, picking up his belongings and quickly jogging after Bertram.

  “Right, time to leave.”