Here is the same chapter, but better because I’ve got some help with my grammar and spelling problems. Cm58 did the proofreading so we all have to thank him for that.

So read and rate!

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Little puffs of red dust were stirred up every time his boots hit the dry road, it had been a very dry spring and the trees as well as the small bushes on either side of the road where bone-dry.
Dust of two days walking soiled his face, where his down poring sweat gave him a look as if he was melting away.
Even if walking was sometimes essential in his line of work, he didn’t have to like it. So he walked further west cursing his luck and cursing the people that where responsible for him having to be here. Sometimes all of that cursing was interrupted by a muttering, which indicated he thought about his black hunter he had to leave behind in the stables of Bramen Castle.
After an hour or two of walking, cursing and growling, the dense vegetation suddenly made way for grassland and with the departure of the trees the blue sky was clearly visible now. Standing there on the edge of the forest, the young man who would introduce himself to others as Mathew let out a string of curses the trees behind him would frown at, if they would be capable of facial expression. Because there on the horizon, he could see the first sign of what was to come, the only thing he hated more than walking in the heat: walking in the rain. But before he had finished the curse he spotted smoke rising behind the next hill top, so he abruptly stopped what he was doing and got on with walking.
The moment he reached the top of the hill, there was little farm to be seen, nestled between the slopes and a little bridge over the stream that crossed to the porch. Peaceful was the first thing that popped up in his mind and he chuckled at the thought. Hopefully the habitants would be as welcoming as their home suggested.

After wrapping them up in an oiled rag he hid his bow, short sword and knifes under a hedge. Armed with only a long hand knife he made his way to the farmstead.

A woman, in the fall of her life, was tending to a flock of geese, she looked up on hearing the muffled sound of boots meeting the wooden bridge. Still bent over, her gaze fell upon the young and dusty wanderer. Her dark blond curls where bound together preventing them falling in front of her face. A face that must have been called pretty if not beautiful during the prime of her youth, but the process of aging and years of hard work had left their marks.
`Greetings, my name is Mathew and I’m on my way to the monastery of Karligen`, the youth said, `when I saw your lovely home from the top of the hill, I hoped that I could get some respite her, from the road and to shelter from the storm to come.`
`O’course. Me man will ‘ortly be comin’ back from the fields, then you can join us for supper` was the farmer’s wife’s answer. `The tub is out back, there’s a well also an’ if you want warm water you have to chop the wood logs stacked behind the barn. `


The axe met the wood with forceful blows while Mathew was chopping it into easily handled pieces. The amount of chopped wood was already far more than he actually needed to warm his bath.