The sun was beginning to set beyond the skyline, the fire red orb blazing and blurring the edges of the trees and buildings. There was plenty of old wood, rotted and dry in the train station. He broke apart some of the wood seats with ease and piled them neatly together on the edge of the cement platform. The paint had long worn off from the cement and there was nothing flammable on the rails. Gale had piled the wood on it, and set it on fire with a box of matches he had bartered for in Freetown. The wood, mixed with very dry paper he found hanging on the walls and on the floor of the office. Most of it was too dry to rot so the flame happily licked at the paper and soon engulfed the wood.

The golden pup sat a ways away, watching her 'father' set up their evening meal. Her belly growled and the man continued to set up their meal. He had managed to kill a boar armed with a spear he had crafted. Hunting wild boar was much like killing it in the arena and it would make a filling meal for a growing pup and a broad and muscled man. He had cleaned some piping and made large cuts in the meat. With the piping he managed to rig up a platform to cook the cuts of boar. They would be only lightly seared, for some level of flavor and just in case. He was not used to Western meat, though the boar had acted the same as the ones in Rome had.

Yvette lay on her father's lion pelt cloak, head on the the soft material as she watched the fire spit as water and fat dripped from the meat he had managed to get them two. It had been a while since she had last eaten and her mouth salivated at the sight. Gale eyed the meat then sat back beside the pup, who nudged her head against his thigh with a high pitched sigh.

His mind receded into memories, eyes shut as his toes warmed by the fire. Even the pup's growling belly would not pull the memory of his sister as she taught him to weave with her delicate hands on the loom. It was one of the small lap ones and he had dwarfed it. She had always laughed as he had put it to use. She would laugh in her soft voice and chide him for his messy and loose weaves. Hers were tight and her thread count was higher than he had managed. He could only do about twenty when she had laughed at him last, but he had occupied himself with his garden and her loom while he waited for her to get better. But she never did.

The rough clop of horses set his hair on end as he opened his eyes, looking about for the source of the sound. A woman on horseback approached them and the man instinctively put a hand on his growing niece. Her ears raked his fingers as she looked up at the woman, then let her head fall back to the lion pelt with disinterest. Her deep green eyes peered at the fire with drops of flame in her orbs. Gale watched the woman and she apologized. Through the setting sun he could not see the tension in her body, though she sure as hell did not seem thrilled to see him there. Perhaps she did not see people often; the duo certainly had not seen many people themselves.

His roots began to tug at his words, and he gestured to the fire burning beneath the rack of boar meat sizzling. "Please take a seat," he said in his equally thickly accented voice. His English was tainted with London but it was heavy with the Roman lilt. "Plenty of meat to go around. I'm sorry, there is only water in a skin and no wine," he added with a shrug, unsure of the customs of this land. Wine was a dominant drink back home, but heavily watered so it only accented the liquid. Water was plenty common but that was not for meals.