Son of the Archiereios

A drop of water fell from a leak in the roof and struck the table next to him, sending tiny droplets sprinkling against his face. He woke, shifting, blinking, stretching. It was still dark in the hut, but small slices of dark blue seen through cracks in the thin wooden wall told him that the sun would rise soon enough.

He heard the whisper of soft rainfall all about him, drowning out all other sounds of the village, all other sounds of the nearby forests and mountains.

Quietly rolling up his warm blankets, he unpinned the woven flap from the doorposts and stepped out into the rain. He sloshed his way to where old Arktouros the fire keeper sat. A thin leather canopy stretched outwards from his hut, supported by two wooden posts a few feet out. It covered his hunched, weathered shoulders from the rain and more importantly, kept the fire of Enypnia alive.