Where are they now? - Leaper

It was a cold night in the mountains, and he had been away from Galavir for two weeks now. The fire was warm though, and the pelts kept him warmer still. From up here it felt like he could see the whole of the world, he could even swear he could see the mountains of his homelands, but he doubted it. The wind howled past the small alcove he had made camp in. His tribe believed that the howling was the voices of their ancestors, and it brought him some comfort to think they were still alive on the winds. He picked the skewer from the fire where he had been roasting it, the wolf put up a good fight, and he honored its passing by erecting a small cairn on the sight of their battle. It was nights like these his mind raced with memory. Memories of Fort Ettin, of the adventurers he called companions ever so briefly. Every time he thought of joining them again, every time he shook it from his mind. He had lost a part of who he was down there, fighting for money, gloating about his victories, it was barely better than when he was a slave fighting in the pits. No, his place was up here, carrying on his people's stories and traditions, living in the high mountains. Occasionally he came down from the mountains, traded furs and stories with the Galavir, but his days as a mercenary were over. It was getting late though, and as he curled up on the thin bedroll he smiled, for in that moment he was truly free again, and he was happy.