At first the Arconians had wondered why Steve had dissapeared as quickly as he came. Nobody saw him leave, and the most they had hear from him was a message, promising his return within a couple of weeks. This was nearly a month ago, and still no sign. A couple of rumours had started to babble out abou what had happened to him, one about him returning to his homeland, for whom he was a spy, and another that he was dead, and lying out in the wilderness Both were untrue. The only thing that was for certain was that he had arrived, stayed around a bit, then dissapeared, and returns now, and is within two miles of the great northern gate to the city.
The sun shone down. It was a very clear day. Somewhat cold, due to whe it being the middle of third season. Steve stopped on top of a ridge above the city. Having been a traveller for most of his life, he had seen cities before, and saw them as merely opportunities to spend a couple of weeks resting before moving on, but as he looked down upon Arconia, he felt different. This wasn't an opportunity. This was
home.
He decided to savour the view, and set up camp near an old tree. As he lit his fire, and picked one of the succulent fruits, he had a sudden overwheming sense of Deja Vu. This was the tree where he had rested when he first came here. It had a thick, siver velvet covering where it once had bark, and the fruits were much larger and redder in clolour, but even all of these seasonal changes gave him a strange sensation in his gut, making him resless. This was something he had never experienced before, and indeed, something he thought he'd never experience... He was homesick! He jumped up and kicked out his fire, bundling all his stuff, and a dozen or so of the fruit, stuffing it all in his bag, and ran down the hillside toward the city.
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Hello... So I hear I've missed quite a bit, Eh?
Steve.
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