You know, I always hated spring. Don’t get me wrong though, it is a beautiful season. It is the season when people come out of their warm homes, when the oppressive winter finally lets us out of its grip. It’s the time when the lakes unfreeze and the trees are allowed to show their natural beauty. The animals leave their little homes and refuges. It is, a simply beautiful time. And I hate it more than anything in my life, which is weird, since my father always taught me to love spring. He always told me that he loves spring for three reasons: it’s more convenient for fishing, you don’t have to rely on such a destructive thing as fire, and because that’s when he found me.
He says he found me while on a stroll in the woods near a human settlement, though he never said which. He found me being protected by a dog, a very old dog. He says he thinks the dog brought me food and kept me safe, all while dragging the basket in which I was in towards deep in the woods. I would’ve loved to meet this dog, but it died of old age when I was still too young to remember. Father says it took him three years to give me a name, because he did not know what a female name was like, so he named me like he would’ve named anyone else: Kuraqh.
Father taught me the basics of life, such as: stick your beard under your belt if are feeling cold, and always keep your shield ready to catch a surprise bolt. But my favorite by far is: always end the day drunk, preferably surrounded by friends. According to him, they are all tips acquired through personal experience, principally the bolt one. He told me that he was the best friend of the first dwarven High King, and that he was haunted by a magic creature that lived in the rivers. In short, he was a crazy old man. A crazy old man with many books, and knowledge for two.
When I reached an age that he judged appropriate, he left me at the edge of a small village and disappeared, leaving me with some clothes, some books and countless live lessons. He taught me how to fish. He taught me his language and the common, along with both writing systems. He taught me how to shoot a crossbow, how to slash someone to pieces with an axe and how to properly use a shield. With all that in my roster of knowledge, I was left in the edge of a village called Nelose, at the age of 12.
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